It’s the year 2010. I spend most of my days at the SPCA, helping out in the office and working with the animals. It’s a labor of love.
One morning, a guy arrives on a bicycle. He has a box strapped onto the carrier at the back. We watch him through the reception window as he unties the box, wondering what he is going to present us with. He is an elderly man, and we can see he is rather tired, so he must have traveled quite far.
He walks into reception and puts the box down on the counter. With an air of finality, he says, “I don’t want this dog anymore. You can have it.” We open the box, and a little blonde head pops out. She has these beautiful brown, almond-shaped eyes looking at us as if to say, “What now?”
While completing the admission forms, we learn that he had cycled all the way from Sebokeng to bring her to us. This warms us to the old man a little. He could easily have adopted the stance of so many others and just discarded her, but he traveled all the way to ensure that she would be in safe hands. There is a lot to say about the character of people when they do things like this. We thank him and go to work on the new admission as he leaves.
This is a terrier x female of approximately 2 years old. Medium build, friendly, and very, very cute. She goes off to surgery for a quick bath, and we put her in a block right behind the office so she is in prime view of the public as they arrive. We have high hopes for the rehoming of this one.
Over the next few weeks, I start spending a lot of time with her. She is just so lovable, and she has this cute bounce in her step. Her hair on her head looks like a little fountain and also bops around. She gives me little glances out of her almond-shaped eyes, and my heart starts walking around outside my body. When I am working in the office, I bring her in, and she stays there until I go home. We send her for grooming, and she comes back even cuter. Despite all of this, there is no interest in adopting her. Every week, our kennels are flooded with beautiful pedigree animals, and they are the first to find their forever homes. With so much pedigree going around, the mutts take a back seat. Time is running out, and I needed a plan.
I could adopt her, but things are a little precarious at home. Saint Christopher is being difficult, and when I bring it up, it looks like he is going to burst a blood vessel. That’s out… for now.
Plan B is rather more complicated. I am forming an idea that the SPCA office needs an office dog. This plan is a little more difficult because during the day, it would be ok for Mina (as we named her), she was spending all her time in the office anyway, but what happens at night and over weekends? We already had two SPCA dogs, both rather large, and they were old. They had a kennel that they shared, but the door was left open so they could roam the property day and night. Would Mina be accepted?
Sometimes things work out because that’s the way they were intended, and with Mina, everything just fell into place. Mina was adopted by the SPCA; she got along well with the two other SPCA dogs, was loved by all in the office and staff, and her presence often brought a little light in times that were very dark. When we went home in the afternoon, Mina stayed behind, and she seemed quite happy. At night, she shared the big kennel with the two oldies, roamed the property, and was the first to welcome us all back in the morning. It seemed we had found the Mina solution, and everybody was happy. Until one morning, we arrived, and there was no Mina to greet us. Everybody rushed around looking for her, and then she was spotted in the dipping bath. She must have fallen in, and because she is so ditsy, she didn’t know how to get out and nearly drowned. After that, the bath was covered overnight, and Mina was put in a kennel for her own safety. That little face just killed me when we had to go home. One Saturday, I was driving out of the property and looked back to see her sitting in the kennel with a very sad face. I turned around and asked the manager if I could take her home for the weekend. That’s how Mina came home the first time. Saint Christopher was very unsaintlike in his attitude, but that didn’t last long. Mina took one look at this tall man and immediately fell in love. That weekend, she followed him all over the house and cuddled up to him at night. At first, he was bemused and bewildered, then I saw the ice melt around his heart. He looked at me with accusing eyes and said, “I don’t know how you are doing this, but make it stop!” To which I replied, “Doing what?” keeping myself all innocent.Praise to Mina.
Monday morning came, and Mina went back to the SPCA. This carried on for months. Mina came home when the SPCA was closed and went back with me when they were open. We settled into a routine, and it seemed to work for everybody. The reunion between Mina and Christopher was something to behold every time she came home. The little blond bombshell would sing and dance for him, literally throwing her heart at his feet. Dad was caving little by little, I could see a happily ever after soon when we were presented with a curve ball.
A couple came to the SPCA expressing the wish to adopt Mina. They lived in a small townhouse, and her husband had fallen in love with the little dog when he had come to the SPCA to drop off donations. We knew them well, and we seriously debated the adoption. I was very sad, but also so grateful that she would find the stability of a forever home. After much consideration, we did the home check, and Mina left the building. We actually escorted her to her new home and sat there for a while, making sure she was okay with the new surroundings. My heart bled for the loss of this little ray of sunshine, but it was great to think that she would have a home over the looming festive period. I gave Christopher the sad news, and I was met with a stony silence. I think that sometimes it is hard to be my husband. He had to present a cold front when I knew his heart was breaking, but where did he draw the line? I would bring everything home if he didn’t say no.
Christmas came and went, New Year was over, and just before my birthday, I was working in the office when Mina arrived in the arms of her new mom. She was being returned. They felt that they had made a mistake, and they no longer wanted her.
Despite being very sad for the little dog, I was grateful they were honest enough to face the decision head-on and return her. I can’t say I liked them much, but that is beside the point. I just looked at Mina and thought, how many times must she be brought back?
I adopted her. That night, I took her home and prepared to face the music. There was none. That’s how Mina came to stay.
There was one little flaw in Mina’s charming personality suitcase… she loved to wander off. She was the only dog that we had been owned by who would happily make her way down the street if the gate was left open. All our other dogs knew better, but Ditsy, as we called her, didn’t.
She was sterilized shortly after arriving at the SPCA. That didn’t stop her from flirting. My Lord, could she bat those eyelashes and swing her behind! When she met up with a male dog, she would become quite the charmer. One afternoon, our staff went home, and she must have slipped out with them. There was chaos, but I should have known better as I found her batting her eyelids at the German Shepherd living down the road. She never even made it to the end of the block. This behavior earned her the nickname of Sebokeng Slut.
Her one big love in life was Christopher. She loved us all, but he was her everything. She would wait for him to come home from work lying in the sunroom at night, and nothing would keep her from lying at the door. She would hear the car and start drumming with her front feet. It was the cutest thing to see. Those little feet would play imaginary drums, and when he walked through the door, her joy knew no bounds. Every night the same thing.
Dogs have a way of slowly “infecting” your heart. They start small and finish big, and you don’t even know it until they are no longer there. An abundance of loyalty and love given with no expectations or wanting reciprocation.
Mina had found her forever love, and she made sure we all understood that he was hers. She would wait for Christopher to go to bed at night, and when he was settled, she would climb on top of his pillow above his head and settle down right there. That was Mina’s place.
Every morning, she would watch him intently from her perch, waiting to see his eyelids flutter. Then she would quickly make her way down to him and settle on his chest. While he was still trying to wake up, Mina would start playing drums on his chest with her front feet. Every morning I expected Christopher to get upset, but he proved me wrong every time. Mina would drum his chest tratatatata, and his hand would come up, stroking her head, his eyes still closed.
Mina had found her knight in shining armour.
This bond continued to grow, and in 2017, Mina was diagnosed with diabetes. It didn’t happen overnight, and there were a lot of very expensive vet visits until we found out what was wrong with her. If we had thought the diagnosis would return our life to some sort of normality, we were so wrong. We had to get the dosage of her medication just right, and there was a lot of “slip twix the cup and the lip,” as they say.
Once we got her stabilized, we all heaved an almighty sigh of gratefulness. She was firing on all cylinders, and we thought we had mastered the art of having a diabetic dog. There were a few curveballs waiting for us. One day, we noticed that her eyes were gradually becoming milky white. Back to the vet, tests done, and it was confirmed that she was losing her eyesight.
We had no idea what her actual age was; it was all just a thumb suck. But by the greying around her mouth, we knew she wasn’t young anymore. That’s the only clue she gave us about her age. Everything else about our little Sebokeng Slut screamed youth and happiness. We had a family powwow and decided that we would just roll with the punches. Nothing would be moved around the house; Mina was familiar with the layout of the rooms, and we would keep a close eye on her. She lost all her eyesight not long after that.
The family was pedantic about her care. The injections were done on time, and if we couldn’t make it home in time, we had taught our housekeeper, Mirry, to administer them. The area to the pool was also a no-go, though we knew Mina wouldn’t voluntarily venture anywhere near water, even in her blind state, as she had a great aversion to it. Nearly drowning once was enough for her.
As fate would have it, there was this one incident that nearly ended her life. I had been to a function, and Christopher was working late. The dogs had all been put to bed in the room, and the doors were closed to the pool area. Our sliding door in the main bedroom was open, with only the trellidor shut so that the evening breeze could keep the room cool. It was summer and very, very hot. Unbeknown to us, the trellidor was shut but not locked. Our dogs have a knack for opening the trellidor when they want to go outside, and that must have happened that night. Little blind Mina ventured outside, and her worst fear came true as she fell into the pool. Where she had fallen in, we don’t know, but Christopher came home, went outside, and saw Mina standing on her back legs on the step, waiting for somebody to come rescue her. How long she had been there, we didn’t know, but it was nothing short of a miracle that she had survived. Her knight came to her rescue, wrapped her up in towels, and dried her down. When I came home, it was to a series of long talks about responsibility and caring for the blind. Dad spoke, and I kept quiet and took one for the team. After that, all the doors were locked and checked and locked again before we went out. The dogs never had the luxury of the evening breeze again.
One morning, Christopher woke up, looked at me, and said, “Isn’t there eye surgery to correct Mina’s eyes?” Keagen’s girlfriend ,Hannah, told us about the eye surgery for animals in Johannesburg. Coming from a veterinary family, she was well acquainted with these things, and without any further ado, we started investigating.
Our vet told us that we had a 50% chance of restoring her eyesight and referred us to the specialist hospital. Mina went for an assessment, and they felt confident that they would be able to give her some of her sight back. The family went into a huddle again, and Bank of Dad was presented with the estimated quote. It was the same price as buying a secondhand small car, and we watched with fascination as he calmly said, “We have given other dogs bionic legs; we can give Mina her sight back.” This statement refers to the many TPLO surgeries we have had for our big dogs throughout the years. True story.
Mina went in for surgery, Bank of Dad paid the bill, and she came home. The aftercare was hell. She had a little cone of shame on and would purposely drive the thing into our ankles as if to say, “Take it off!” We had to live with this for 12 days and then return to the vet. The check-up went well, and they told us that we would see a difference pretty soon. We all watched her day in and day out, waiting for the moment she would be able to see again. The vet said it would be a gradual process. First, she would discern between light and dark, and then she would be able to see shapes, and then…
On the morning of May 24, 2018, we woke up, opened the blinds, and Mina just turned her face to the peeping sun, blinked her eyes, and looked at Christopher as if to say, “There you are!” That’s when we knew she could see. There was a lot of uncontrolled crying that morning, Dad included.
In January 2019, we bought our plot. Mina’s health had been deteriorating, and her little light was slowly dimming. We knew it, but it didn’t make anything easier. I took Mina to the vet one evening late, and she was admitted to the hospital again. This was the third time in a month, and I could see she was struggling. She hated going to the hospital; I think all dogs do, but Mina more so. It became harder to control her diabetes and even harder to leave her there. Her little face said it all, and pretty soon we had to have the talk. I took Mina to the vet one morning. We had a lovely lady vet that spoke so kindly to Mina and handled her with so much care. She looked at me and said, “When is enough enough? Mina is tired.” I knew that, but how do I explain this to Dad?
The vet looked at me and said, “Call him, let me speak to him.” On speaker, she calmly gave him all the facts, but in the end, she said, “I have given you all the facts, Mr. Wilde, but here is the emotional message – Loving your dog means you love them enough to let them go, even if it breaks your heart.”
There was silence, and then a very broken voice said, “Can she just come home, so I can say goodbye to her?”
That day, I took Mina to see the plot. She couldn’t really walk, so I drove her around the property. She was lying on a big pillow on the front seat of the Goanywherevehicle, nose in the wind. I wanted her to see the place. She slept on top of Christopher’s head that night, and the next day, we sent her to Jesus.
Our little Mina’s ashes are buried under a beautiful rosebush gracing the corner of the garden on the plot. She graced our lives from January 2010 to January 2019. She is so missed.
