Thank You, Missy: An Aging Pitbull’s Lessons in Life and Love

Beloved Missy

I will be forever grateful for Thursday, January 3, 2019, a day my life suddenly became so much richer, so much brighter. It was the day that, unsuspectingly, I fell in love. 

Missy came into my life that day, a roly poly, senior, deaf, balding pit bull. But it was a sad day for Missy. Outside, it was cold, gray, and wet, and she was being relinquished to the shelter because her owner, a young man of about 25, was probably going to prison for theft. 

I remember the first moment I saw the weary pair. Shoulders slumped, they both looked so defeated as they walked up to the shelter door. I was in a meeting inside in a nearby building and, to be honest, my first response was to look away. I was going through some heartache of my own at the time and didn’t have it in me to cope with such a sad, frustrating situation. I simply could not handle the sight of an elder bull being surrendered. So I turned away.

But as fate would have it, I would not get off that easily. As I walked back to my truck after the meeting, a shelter staffer called me over. I was almost to my vehicle. I’d nearly gotten away, closing my eyes to the reality of shelter life for dogs that are not in high demand or not considered particularly adoptable - older dogs, homely dogs, and, of course, pit bulls - simply because there are so many of them and they are not the type of dog for everyone.

The shelter staff wanted me to weigh in on the condition of this blocky red, white, and balding forlorn footstool of a dog. She was shivering, head down, pretending not to be there as she was surrendered by a guy who, frankly, I had already silently judged for abandoning his helpless companion, without even knowing his story or the reasons he was making the heart-wrenching decision to leave Missy at the shelter.  

Missy in her blanket fort at home

Missy looked so cold. I sat on the damp pavement and instinctively scooped her up into my lap. I held her and stroked her while I listened to their predicament. I quickly decided that Missy was never going to even enter that shelter and offered to foster her on the spot. The next thing I knew, Missy was curled up, riding shotgun in my truck as we headed to the store for pet supplies. 

Over the next few days, I reflected on the compassion of that young man, who had fallen on hard times and was struggling with addiction. I thought about the kindness and responsibility he had demonstrated by adopting Missy in the first place and, later, by doing the hardest thing ever - surrendering his beloved companion to a shelter - because he knew it was the best thing he could do for her. He had given me his mom’s phone number when I took Missy so he could stay in touch and see how she was doing. As I got to know his mother, she told me sweet stories about her boy before addiction took hold, and she shared painful tales of frustration and heartbreak as she watched her son slip into the abyss. She was proud of her son for taking responsibility for Missy, even when it became difficult. I told her I could see the animal-loving, compassionate young boy she described in the scruffy man with the kind, wet eyes I met at the shelter. The man who told me everything he could about Missy and thanked me profusely, with relief, as she and I drove off into the sunset. 

Meeting Missy and her former owner taught me compassion. I learned the value of listening rather than jumping to conclusions and judging a situation without all the facts.

We really did drive off into the sunset, or rather Missy’s sunset years. I was determined to make them as warm and as bright as possible. Missy got comfy sweaters and a plush new bed (she was always cold) and, at one point, we also had matching pajamas, which prompted pajama party nights with popcorn and cookies and even, once, with her dog best friend, Willow, also in matching PJs. 

Missy reminded me of the importance of cozy evenings with friends and snacks, silly movies, and funny outfits. This tough old broad somehow brought out the playful little girl in me. My friends and I loved buying Missy seasonally appropriate outfits and dressing her up. Missy really loved the attention and, because she was always chilled, she actually appeared to relish the extra layers provided by those goofy clothes, even in the summer. 

Missy flanked by her pack, Mars and Laz

Missy also accompanied me on adventures, road trips, and many very slow strolls. When I met her, she was likely already 12 years old, and while she loved to go for walks, between her creaking, tired body and her lack of hearing, she moved at a much slower pace than my young Belgian Shepherds, who do not so much like to stop and smell the roses as they do to race around and trample them. Walking with Missy taught me patience and how to be present in the moment. Meandering along with her was a balm to my soul. It gave me time to tune into my thoughts and feelings, to take a breath from the fast-paced workday, and to just be present, rain or shine, day or night. It warmed my heart and helped me heal old wounds. Being with Missy reminded me to be open to love because you just might find it, even when you are trying to hide.

The author with Ms. Missy

Wednesday, July 29, 2020, one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been fortunate enough to receive departed peacefully from this earth, surrounded by comfort, love, good food, and friends. Missy’s body left this planet, but the memories we made together, the lessons she taught me, and the loving impression she made on my heart will stay with me forever. 

For that I am eternally grateful.