Ann Haertel

Fifteen years ago, when we were living in our house on Little Cottonwood Dr., I was out in the backyard and heard some funny squeaking noises coming from our female collie's dog house. Upon further examination, I discovered that Princess had delivered a litter of puppies. We had had her for several years, along with a white, male collie, Murphy. After all of those years, we had never had seen any sign of Princess being able to have puppies. Unfortunately, the puppies started dying off one by one. Soon there were only two left. On March 29th, just a few days after the puppies were born, I opened the garage door just as a UPS truck was driving past. Princess darted out of the garage and was hit and killed instantly. I had to feed the two remaining puppies myself. A day later, one of them died. A few days after that, Murphy got out of the yard and was hit. He didn't die immediately, but was so severely injured, the vet recommended we put him to sleep. I was heartbroken. Murphy was one of the best dogs I have ever owned. Now, I had this little week old puppy who was helpless and had no littermates, no father and no mother. I kept him in a box in my room and fed him every few hours. We grew to be very attached and he was almost like one of my sons. We moved shortly afterwards and Simba followed me around our new large yard. He always wanted to be close to me and sometimes got in the way while I was in the garden. If I spoke sharply to him, he looked really sad, hung his head and pouted until I said I was sorry. As the years went on, he proved himself to be a quality dog and a true friend. He watched over our other dogs and tried to help them be obedient. He is very old now, at least 14 or 15 years old. He is hard of hearing and can't see very well. He has arthritis and it is difficult for him to get up. However, when he realizes I'm watching him, he starts to try and leap happily to see me and pretend like he's a young teenage dog. A few weeks ago, I got home late and went out to feed him. He looked up at me weakly and struggled to get up. I tried to help him by putting my hand under him. There was a lot of fluid coming from his ear, He finally gave up trying to get up. I felt like he had suffered a stroke. He was unable to get up, eat or drink. Josh and I cried and told him good bye. I sat up for an hour or so with him, but he kept trying to act like he was okay and I knew he needed some rest. I checked on him every few hours through the night, and he made it. The next morning, he was still alive, but just barely. I kept brushing him and talking to him. I went outside once and was shocked that he wasn't on the patio. I had made a bed to keep him warm, but I found him wandering around the yard. He was very unstable, but was walking on his own. He refused water, so I tried spraying some in his mouth. I tried feeding him tuna fish, and he finally ate it from my hand. The next night, I brought him in the house and put him by a heater. Each day he got stronger and stronger. He eats two cans of tuna fish out of a bowl instead of my hand. He is also eating regular dog food. He's still old and I don't think he'll live much longer, but I'm so glad he fought so hard to come back. Dad thinks he was loved back. I don't know if that is true, but I do know I've been through an emotional cycle of his life.