Cozy Little Colonial: Remembering Cadi Mae

Just after Thanksgiving, we said goodbye to our yellow Lab, Cadi (pronounced "Katy"). She would have been 14 in January, and although her spirit was still strong, her body had become weak. She struggled to get up and fell over at the slightest nudge. She seemed to be in pain more consistently, so we knew it was time to let her go.

Cadi had been with Don and me for nearly our whole marriage. She arrived as an eight-week-old puppy. I came up with the "perfect" name for her: Acadia, after the national park in Maine Don and I had visited on our "first date." I figured it could be shortened easily to "Cadi" for every-day use. My creativity proved to be an ongoing source of frustration for Don, as every time he brought her to the vet or kennel, the staff would call her "Caddy." (I wised up when ordering the tag for her collar and listed her name as "Katy," so a stranger could call her properly.)

Having grown up with golden retrievers, I'd lived under the misconception that Labs were the same beast, just with short fur. I soon learned that unlike co-dependent goldens, Labs are independent thinkers (and doers), with their own agendas and priorities.

Cadi had a strong will. "Come, you say? Perhaps...after I've checked out this splendid scent." She took a number of unauthorized forays into the farm fields and down to the backwaters of the Mississippi River near our Wisconsin home. Once she got a certain distance from the house, if Don called her, she would look right at him, consider for a moment, then take off running in the opposite direction. An hour or so later, she'd return (under her own power or having been tracked down by Don) filthy and exhausted, and act remorseful, but I always sensed she felt the temporary freedom was worth any consequence.

This independent spirit served her well when hunting with Don, especially for pheasants. She just would not give up on a scent and made some remarkable retrieves of wounded birds, birds that normally would be lost. She also enjoyed fishing, or at least watching fishing. Every turn of the reel would get her full attention. She watched with excitement as the line came in, greeting fish or weed with the same enthusiasm. She loved to crunch yellow perch that flopped free and landed in the boat.

Cadi took a long time to grow up, and she also seemed to age more slowly than the goldens I've known. She was three years old before I could get her to walk on a leash with me without acting like a wild woman, and then I needed a Halti head collar to hold her back. She remained young-at-heart nearly to the end, ready to jump and play at the slightest encouragement.

She was my devoted exercise companion for 10 years. The last three required ascending the steep hill on which we now live, and she still did it at a steady trot at age 12. When she was no longer strong enough to come with me, she would hover close while I put on my walking shoes and look disappointed when I left without her. In the early years, she was also my camp buddy at Lake Winnibigoshish, keeping me company while Don was out in the boat fishing and I read by the lakeside.

Though she was physically fit, Cadi was plagued by seizures and allergies (including to house dust), requiring medication most of her life. An itchy tongue caused her to lick her front legs compulsively, which often drove us to distraction. Like most Labs, she would eat anything she found, which, especially when we lived on the farm, gave Don fits. It always made me laugh to hear him scolding her and saying, "Ack, ack!" as if his sounds of disgust would make her spit out whatever vile thing was in her mouth. We left more than one large stain on the carpet in Trempealeau, where she had emptied her stomach after ingesting something unfit for consumption.

Sarah loved Cadi from the start. When she was younger, she would use Cadi as a back rest while sharing her Cheerios with her. Cadi was always gentle and patient and, of course, welcomed the new source of treats. Cadi earned her keep cleaning up the floor at mealtime.

One of my favorite memories of Cadi was the time she stuffed herself into a cat carrier. I was taking my cat Reggie to the vet and had the carrier open in the back of the car. When I lifted the hatch to put Reggie in, Cadi leaped right into the carrier, which was about half her size. She not only squeezed herself in, but proceeded to turn around. I had to take the carrier apart to free her. The memory still makes me smile.

In her final months, Cadi's hind end was so weak she couldn't get up the stairs from the basement/rec room. Knowing how she loved being with us down there, Don would let her come down every night, then he would lift her back legs while she climbed with her front ones to come back up. I found his dedication touching.

The day before she died, we took Cadi to a nearby state park for a short hike. She seemed to enjoy being in the great outdoors again. The next morning, Sarah wrote her a love note and attached it to her collar before heading off to school. Don and I took her to the vet and comforted her while she got the shots. She was sweet to the end, which came quickly and quietly. She lives on in our hearts and memories.