My Sadie Sammiches

One week after I moved to Atlanta, I felt the rug pulled out from under me. He called to say he had to rush Sadie Sammiches, our sweet pitbull mix who genuinely looked like an alien baby, to the emergency vet because she was yelping in pain. The staff ran some x-rays to locate the source. The next afternoon, the doctor called my cell while I was covering the reception desk. She’d tried reaching him first, but when he didn’t answer, she called the secondary number. I sat there, fully exposed, as she said the word tumor. Tears poured before I could stop them. Her business-like tone did little to calm my racing heart. The mass was likely inoperable because of its position on the spinal column. Their goal was simply to keep her comfortable. I was in disbelief — I had just kissed her goodbye a week ago. She was only three.

Ironically, Sadie Sammiches was a Georgia rescue brought to Indiana, where her odds were better. Georgia shelters — especially for pitbulls — are heartbreakingly full. Sadie Sammiches had started as a temporary foster with us. Since she was such a good fit with our pack, we decided to keep her. An added bonus was that we could also provide a fenced yard where it was safe for her to run and play with her siblings, and this was an important requirement for her forever home. She was a door darter, trying to run any chance she got. Perhaps this is the reason she ended up in the rural Georgia shelter to begin with. She had also obviously just had puppies when she was found, but the puppies were nowhere near when she was scooped up by a concerned community member. Another possible scenario is that she was intentionally bred and dumped. Both fates had been preventable if her owners had given a damn.

We loved Sadie Sammiches and her always happy demeanor. She was an example of a dog who you could take anywhere because all she wanted was to make everyone else happy. A favorite memory with her was going to admire Christmas lights in Indiana in 2015. We took my friend Ryan and Sadie Sammiches for a long drive to see how everyone had decorated. We had identified a few streets in neighboring towns where the lights were pretty exceptional. As we passed each display with holiday music playing softly from the car speakers, we oo-ed and ahh-ed. She seemed to take it all in, eyes bright and smiling.  To this day, Ryan will comment about how special it was for him to share that evening with Sadie Sammiches because she behaved exactly how you expect a toddler, mesmerized as if she knew she was part of something magical.

As soon as the intern working the reception returned, I slipped away to the bathroom to check my mascara and take a moment to collect myself. I talked myself through deep breaths and whispered quiet prayers to get through the next couple of hours.The pain in anticipating losing Sadie Sammiches was devastating because I really wanted to be comforted. Instead, I was in a new office with new colleagues and no one I felt close to yet. I tried to pull myself together but once the tears started flowing, it was impossible to draw them back in. He was going to the emergency clinic to sit with her until he heard an update.

I was full of adrenaline and extra layers of makeup to cover the sadness. I had an event I was supposed to attend. My supervisor Carmen suggested I  review my predecessor’s documents to find specific details of the evening. I forced myself to keep functioning — scanning old emails, piecing together plans for an event I barely understood. I made the best of what information lay before me and headed to the local theater. 

In the parking lot, he called. The surgeon had responded to Sadie Sammiches’ tests and confirmed that an operation would not improve her quality of life. He was going to put her to sleep. We wept. I spoke to her and told her I was so sorry to not be there for her. I told her I would remember every sloppy kiss she gave as she fell asleep. I told her that I would never forget her wrapping herself around my pillow at night or how she would dance to get fresh water (even if the water bowl was already full). My heart hurt. My body was weak. We hung up because the staff had arrived to begin the dreaded process. I sat alone in my car sobbing and wishing I were in Indiana. Like me, Sadie Sammiches had been given a second chance in a new state — only hers ended too soon.

Knowing I had to walk into the theater as soon as possible was weighing on me. I needed to be in there, representing the organization. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I had promised to bring some informational materials to be distributed because Carmen insisted the event wouldn’t be complete without our presence. I returned to deep breaths and quiet prayers until my body felt stable enough to stand. I carried myself inside where there was a young woman standing in the foyer. I tried to act as normal as possible and inquired about our event. I introduced myself and mentioned the printed flyers I had brought. She smiled a sympathetic grin. I couldn’t tell if she knew I had been crying or if she was embarrassed that I had fully misunderstood the event’s purpose. It was actually quite simple: They were watching a German language movie, and there was no real opportunity to interact with the crowd. The movie was about to start, and I was free to watch. I sighed. I would have crawled into a cave to cry in private had I received clear instructions and guidance from my supervisor. I thanked the young woman for her time and left.

On the way back to the Airbnb, I called him. Sadie Sammiches was now out of pain, and the grieving could begin. I pulled over so that I could focus on everything he was saying. Together we pieced together a Facebook post to announce our loss, celebrate her life, and thank all of the people who worked together to save her from Georgia to be with our family. It was a short time together, but one that meant so much to us and our pack. We would miss her forever.

I didn’t know it then, but losing Sadie Sammiches would force me to search deep for a new kind of strength — one I’d have to call on through many more tears in Atlanta.