In memory of Opie, my first love

I just got the call that Opie will be put down at 6:30pm Eastern time this evening. She would turn 13 next month.

Opie was my first rescue – back in 1995 when I was 12 years old. In many ways, adopting her has changed the course of my life ever since that point. I still remember like it was yesterday… how tiny she was… how much I adored everything about her. If she hadn’t come along when she did, who knows where I would be now. There’s a chance I might not be around today at all if I hadn’t had the joy of raising her to keep me going every day.

When I moved to New Orleans, leaving Opie behind was the hardest thing I had ever done – in fact, it probably still is the hardest thing I’ve ever done to this day. But I saw it as the right choice for her; in Massachusetts she had a big yard and three people to take care of her. Plus there were plenty of visitors to say hello to, animals to chase in the woods, a pond to swim in and fetch sticks from… She had it pretty good for the runt of an unwanted litter of mutts! Bringing her with me when I went away to college would have been unfair at best, impossible at worst.

But God did I miss her when I left. I would call home just to talk to her through the phone – so that she’d know that even though I wasn’t with her physically, I was mentally. After all, she was the reason I had gotten into college; in her I had a topic close enough to my heart that I could write about it with feeling for my college essay:

            “Do you want a dog?”
            I remember wondering if it was a trick question. I had only wanted a dog for as long as I could remember. “My cousins have a puppy here, but they can’t keep it, and they can’t find anyone else who can. If you want it, come get it now.” I hung up the phone and ran out the door, putting on my shoes as I hurried down the street to Jessica’s house.
            As I walked up the driveway, I could see a small cluster of people huddled around a girl holding a tiny bundle in her arms. She looked up and solemnly nodded hello. “My friend’s dog just had puppies … this one was smaller than the others … my friend’s an alcoholic … I don’t know if she’s fed this dog anything but vodka … we didn’t want it to die … when she passed out, we took it.” She said that the puppy hadn’t thrown up since the morning, but it was still sick and wouldn’t eat. She said that she had been calling the dog OP, for Our Puppy, but I could change her name if I wanted. I said I liked the name, and I would take her home.
            Moments later, I stood on my doorstep as my mother glared at me through the screen door. I begged her to let me keep my puppy. She finally agreed on a trial basis only, but if my fur allergy bothered me at all, the dog was gone. That night, my puppy slept on my bed directly in front of my eyes, and I stayed awake all night watching her chest rise so I could be sure she didn’t stop breathing.
            Opie is almost five years old now, a healthy eighty-five pounds, and her head is bigger than her entire body was when I got her. A Lab mix, her fur is primarily black, with a white-spotted chest, and white toes. She is the most beautiful dog I have ever seen although I may be slightly biased. When I tell people the story of how I got Opie, they often say that she is lucky I rescued her. In reality, I know that she rescued me more than I ever rescued her.
            Opie came into my life when I was very depressed and questioned my life daily. I had gone through a period when I knew that things had been fun for me before, but I no longer had any desire to do anything. Opie made me happy again and gave me a reason to live, someone to care for, and someone to care for me. We are partners in life, striking out into the world together. I have seen her through teething, housebreaking, surgery, and two car accidents. She has seen me through broken bones, my parents’ messy divorce, the deaths of two close family members, and the rest of my adolescence. She is the only one who wants to be with me when I am in a bad mood, and I am the only one who hugs her when she has been sprayed by a skunk. In a world where nothing seems constant, I know that no matter what happens, Opie will always be happy to see me walk through the door.

Just when the pain of missing Opie had gotten too great for me to handle (and the strangers whose pets I regularly accosted on the street had gotten wise and learned to avoid me), I saw a flyer looking for volunteers for the Louisiana SPCA. As far as I was concerned it was a gift from the gods.

Because the shelter was in the 9th Ward and I lived on Tulane’s Uptown campus without a car, I took a taxi there my first day. Even the cabbie seemed to think I was nuts to pay all that money to be dropped off at an animal shelter with no plan in place for a return trip. I couldn’t have cared less.

As soon as I walked in I knew I had made the right decision – nearly every dog in the kennels had a somewhat eerie resemblance to Opie. Once I looked at their paperwork I realized that apparently my beloved Lab mix was actually my beloved Lab/pit bull mix. Growing up in suburban Massachusetts I hadn’t been exposed to pit bulls, so I had no idea what they looked like – or that I owned one.

This too was a sign from above: these dogs still weren’t Opie, but it was because of her that I had been alerted to their plight, so spending my free time with them was the next best thing to being with her. Plus, there was a chance that through pairing these dogs up with worthy owners, I could be a part of changing other lives like Opie and I had changed each others.

Once I graduated from college, I entertained the idea of bringing Opie down to Louisiana to live with me. But once I saw how happy she still was in Massachusetts, I shelved the idea. After all, Opie was 9 years old at that point, and finally had all of her family, friends, and neighbors trained perfectly!

At the same time, Opie was beginning to look her age. The formerly black fur on her head and legs was now white, and her teeth were worn from years of gnawing on butcher’s bones and the small saplings she dragged from the woods. But she could run circles around most dogs half her age, and still showed puppy-like enthusiasm when presented with a large stick or soccer ball.

However, you can only volunteer at an animal shelter for so long and remain dogless. By the time Trap Jack crossed my path I had reached a breaking point. Plus, how could I say no to those eyes – they looked just like Opie’s.

Opie and Trap Jack met for the first time after Katrina. My mother said it was like I had brought home a second wife, but Opie’s Top Dog status was never in jeopardy – Trap Jack assumed the role of annoying little brother without hesitation. Content to allow another subject in her kingdom, Opie let him be with only occasional reminders of his “bottom rung” status.

I remember after they met telling my mother, “Now you’ve always said that I only think Opie is the smartest dog on earth because she’s mine. Well, I love her and Trap Jack equally – but Opie is the smartest dog on earth. And Trap Jack… well… he has a good heart.” She finally conceded my point. I’m not sure how she could’ve ever argued with it though – neither one of us had ever met a dog that could spell “ice cream” before (needless to say, she also knew where it was kept, and the exact look to give to guilt someone into letting her lick the bowl).

I may be devastated that Opie’s life is coming to a close, but, even through all these tears, I can’t say that she hasn’t made the best of the time she was given. Whether she was chasing squirrels through the woods or stealing the neighbor’s Jack-O-Lantern or just reclining on her couch and watching the traffic go by… she lived each moment exactly as she wanted to. And at the same time, she managed to touch more lives than I would’ve ever thought possible back when I carried her home in my arms thirteen years ago. Every dog, cat, bird, and rodent that I’ve rescued, every family that I’ve helped find a lost pet or adopt a new one – they all owe Opie a big thank you. As for me, I know I’ll always be indebted to her for how she turned my life around, and I’ll spend the rest of the time that I’m given just trying to do her memory justice.

- Emily Roberson
April 9, 2008

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Posted April 9, 2008