Sarabi

Even her name has always been an added complication. Sarabi, the mother of Simba in the Disney film “The Lion King,” isn’t easily recognized or pronounced. (Sir Robbie seems to be the typical way her name is understood.)

Fifteen years ago “The Lion King” ruled in our household of 7 year-old twins, and a 4-year old. We planned to get a little Rottweiler based entirely upon our love of the dog Carl in Alexandra Day’s classic books. When we heard of a female Rotti who had recently given birth to some unfortunate half-breeds, we decided to pay a visit and ended up with new puppy, soon to be named Sarabi by our Lion-King-crazed children.

From that very first night, we had an idea that Sarabi was going to add complications to our domicile, as she barked the entire night without ceasing. By the second night she lost her voice from all her barking, but the vet assured us that she would adjust and not to worry. We took her out for a walk that first weekend and discovered another life-long trait: she disliked certain people. At 9 weeks of age, she would not allow the neighbor to pet her, but growled and barked at him. Until the years took her hearing and much of her sight, she continued to target random people for inclusion on her list of “Dangerous-Criminals-Who-Shall-Never-Be-Trusted.”

Although the kids lavished her with affection and attention, she seldom sought out physical affection, content to lie nearby. She did enjoy romping with our older dog, and eagerly shared her affections for her canine-friends. Except for her increasing anti-social behavior to guests, she was easy to train and demanded little attention. She would “sit,” “come” and “speak” on command, but mastered no tricks worthy of remembrance. Until she was fourteen and her eyes clouded with age, she didn’t even slow down or show any graying on her black muzzle.

Her quirks included panic attacks at the first sign of a thunderstorm, a phobia about having her paws touched, a manic hatred of the mail carrier, an ability to shred mail which dared to be thrust through the door slot, and a bark which would literally rattle the windows. When we moved to a small city for a few years, she was assuredly the sole reason that a rash of neighborhood break-ins skipped over our household.

Two years ago we got another puppy, thinking that Sarabi wasn’t long for this world. Her hind legs weren’t working well and the vet didn’t think she would make it through another winter. But never one to go with trends, Sarabi rallied and continued to maintain the use of her back legs, although she lacked feeling in them. Her incontinence and bad breath were legendary in our household, but she was like the energizer bunny and just kept going and going. That is, until this past week, when she seemed to lose even more eyesight and started running into things. First, she missed catching dog treats thrown her way, and then began running into cabinets, end tables and chairs. The panic attacks (which had subsided with her loss of hearing) seemed to return. This weekend she began having seizures and refused to eat for the first time in her fifteen-plus years of life.

So, tonight is the night, at 6 PM. She lies on the floor in our mudroom, incontinent, drooling and confused. Her gaze is vacant and she is clearly ready to be at peace. We have had many dogs over the years, and truthfully, while Sarabi hasn’t been one of my favorites, she does hold a special place that no other dog can ever take, because with her passing an era ends. There will never be another puppy picked out with our excited young children, as the “children” are now all in college themselves. So with Sarabi goes another piece of our family history and another link to the past. I mourn not only the passing of an old, quirky, yet faithful friend, but also the passing of a season of life, the aging and changing of a family and the closing of another chapter.