My letter today is D, and the story of Daisy. I hope you will read to the end and discover how she took such a tight hold on my heart. She is an amazing little dog who has been through many traumas: two major oral surgeries, loss of a toe to second joint because of cancer of the bone and a near death experience with a motor vehicle. She has taught me so much about unconditional love.

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Daisy is my eight-pound, no longer all-white schnauzer. Her ears are light brown, her tail is black, and her eighteenth birthday passed in February. I’ve had her for eight wonderful years. She has made me smile almost every day since she became mine. She is funny and still adores Henry, my other schnauzer. Although, I am not sure he has forgiven her for biting his ears and pulling his whiskers when he tried to play with her in the early days of their togetherness. Now, he tends to ignore her, but on rare occasions, I see them nose to nose, and I imagine he is telling her something nice, they once slept close together.

For her first ten years before she came to me, Daisy lived a pampered life in a home in Olympia. She was the adored princess puppy of an elderly gentleman and his wife. In the three months after the death of her original owner and before she became mine, she went through multiple traumas. Daisy’s owner died suddenly, and then his wife fell and broke her hip. Daisy was moved to Samish Island Campground and Retreat Center to live with the wife’s brother. Unfortunately, he became sick, and the lady running the center took over Daisy’s care. But that lady had a young child and a large dog who ate most of the food meant for Daisy. 

Shortly afterward, I came into the picture. My daughter, who worked with the lady from Samish Island, suggested I might be interested. The lady brought the dog to Bellingham, where I met them both, and Daisy came home with me for a trial weekend. 

I wasn’t really interested in another dog. I already had a mini Schnauzer named Henry. But I thought the least I could do was find her a happy forever home. While listening to a talk at the Firehouse Cafe in Fairhaven, I met an elderly lady interested in having a small dog. Unfortunately, when I went to this person’s home, I discovered she was a smoker, a hoarder, and didn’t walk much. She might have loved Daisy, but I doubted that she would fully be able to take care of her. Daisy was fragile and frightened when I collected her. I didn’t feel that I couldn’t hand her off to another person. Suddenly, I was a two-dog family. Daisy’s big, liquid eyes looked into my heart and hung on for dear life. But I had a problem, a month later, I was flying to England for a family reunion. 

I got the address of  Daisy’s original owner’s wife, Betty; she was out of hospital and doing well. I took a day out from my landscaping business and drove to Olympia with Daisy. Seeing Daisy brought back emotional memories for Betty. She was wavering about taking Daisy back and not wanting the responsibility again. I suggested that Betty might like to take Daisy for the month I was in England to decide. But in less than two weeks, my daughter had to drive to Olympic and bring Daisy back to Bellingham. Between my daughter and my neighbors, they took care of Daisy until I returned home. 

When I returned from England, Daisy weighed only seven pounds and a few ounces. I spent nearly a year working at getting to eat from a bowl, in preference to being fed by hand. She went to the small dog daycare with Henry while I worked with the five or six landscape clients I still had. She had a blast until she was about sixteen. She couldn’t fend off the more rambunctious and amorous male dogs anymore. Her health was good, and she walked at least a mile twice a day with Henry and me. Then, a year and a half ago, she had a terrible accident. A careless person didn’t apply the brake when she got out of her car, which careened down a slight slope and rolled over Daisy, scalping her. It was probably the most terrifying incident I have ever experienced. With her screaming in my ear, I drove to the vet’s with her held tightly in one arm, afraid she was going to die. Just writing this last sentence brings the fear right back. I close my eyes tightly for a few minutes to remove the pain.

Unbelievably, she recovered. The picture is of her just a week later. The trauma is likely what caused her peripheral vision and hearing loss. It still makes my heart soar when I see her staring directly at me and then running towards me or Henry if he is in her direct vision.

Daisy had always been the energizer dog, although she has slowed down in the last few weeks. She doesn’t go further than the end of my alley anymore. But, on sunny days, she loves to be in the garden, pacing around and around in her over-energized way. Getting her to eat isn’t always easy. She loves peanut butter, and while I try to limit the amount, if I put it on the rim of her dish, she’ll eat everything! 

Daisy went from being a pampered princess for ten years to an endearing creature who delighted in her freedom. I called her my  Paper Bag Princess, as in the picture book by Robert Munsch and illustrated by Michael Martchenko, a favorite book when my children were growing up. It is 40 years and 7 million copies since this thin paperback story about a kick-ass princess who has inspired generations of readers to stand up for themselves was published.

That is my Daisy, who loves her independence, even today. She may be almost blind and deaf, but her memory is still excellent. If no treats are waiting in her bed in the car or at night in her bed, she glares at me until I provide them.