Rayni My Rock

There is a belief amongst dog people that you do not choose the dog that comes into your family but the dog chooses you. I really didn't understand that until Rayni became a part of my life in 1987. She came to me after what was probably the darkest year in my life, a year of sadness and lost hope. Her spirit gave me a desire to try again for something that I always knew I wanted. And that was no easy task.

At the time I decided I needed a dog in the house, I was on the verge of staring my third and final in vitro fertilization attempt. It had really been a difficult road for Oscar the Grouch and I. We thought like most married couples do that when we decided to have kids, it would take us maybe a few months to get pregnant. Granted, we were in our early thirties - kind of on the older side physiologically - but with stories in the media about women in the 50s and 60s on the Mainland having test tube babies, it didn't seem like a long shot. Boy, we were ever wrong.

What we thought would take two months max turned into a three year ordeal that brought us to the breaking point financially, emotionally and physically. Not a single pregnancy during the entire time and worst of all, no medical reason why it was not happening. Anyone who has undergone infertility treatment can tell you that a diagnosis of "unexplained infertility" is the worst thing that can happen to you because you are in a state of limbo for the duration. In a way, it is easier to be told that there is something medically wrong with you so you will never conceive your own child. You mourn your inability to conceive a biological kid but that puts you on the path to seek an alternative. You don't have to wonder what if or when because it is effectively a done deal.

With unexplained infertility, you keep trying and trying because there is still a glimmer of hope and no end in sight. You cannot give up because there is no physical reason to stop trying. You cannot move to the other path because you will see that baby waiting for you on the other trial.

The worst part of the ordeal for me was coming home to an empty house after each month's failure. While your spouse can be a rock, he is dealing with his own issues and as compassionate and caring that Oscar was, I don't think he really understood the depths of my loss. I don't think any man can truly understand what a woman goes through when you are told yet again that it didn't take.

I knew I needed an addition to my family that would greet me when I got home from what I anticipated would be yet another failed IVF. I had a house rabbit named PJ but as much as I adored my bunny, I knew from the past two failures, he would not "cut it" in terms of emotional support. So, the month before I was scheduled to go back to Kapiolani for IVF attempt 3, I went to the Humane Society to look for a dog. As is the case with anything involving something furry, Oscar had no idea about what I was planning to do.

I had no idea what kind of dog I wanted. My only requirement was that the dog get along with my rabbit. That was pretty much it. As I walked through the cages of adoptable dogs at HHS, my heart sank because I did not feel a connection with any of them. Being a demented dog lady pretty much all of my life, I knew when the dog was the "right one". It's even more of a spiritual thing than meeting your significant other. There is just something that hits you in the heart and soul but unfortunately, I didn't feel that with any of the dogs who were in the adoptable section. However, something told me not to give up, to keep walking around the place because someone there was the right one for me.

I walked behind the adoptable dog section and saw two small crates behind the cages. Each held a dog that looked extremely scared and forlorn. I walked up to the crates and looked at the dogs. One was a Chihuahua-Terrier mix that cowered in the corner, did not take one step in my direction. The other was a black furry mutt, kind of on the raggedy side. She too stayed in the corner but when I went up to her crate, she slowly walked over to the front and leaned against the door. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and I bent down to pet her. We never broke eye contact and I knew this was my dog. However, she did not have an information card nor did she have an ID tag so I worried that she already belonged to someone else.

I asked an HHS employee about her and was told that they did not know what her status was. They let me take her into a play area and spend time with her. She was still a little shy but did not leave my side the whole time. She did not run around the pen like the other pups nor did she make a sound. Just kept looking up at me as if to say, "You know I am your dog, right?"

The employee returned and said the dog's name was Kealani. She was approximately 10 months old and her family had given her to the HHS because she was too noisy and too hyper. Swearing me to secrecy, the employee told me that she had been at the HHS for a while and was actually in the holding area awaiting transfer to "death row". It was likely if I hadn't taken her home, she would have been killed the next day. Because she was a black dog who had been considered a "behavior problem" by her former owners, she was viewed as unadoptable and the space she took up was needed for a more adoptable "pretty" dog without any issues.

Of course, I adopted her then and there. Unfortunately, I could not take her home because HHS requires that all animals be spayed or neutered before they are released to their new families. When I picked her up a few days later, I noticed that rather than surgical stitches, she had been closed up with wire. Yes, wire. I took her immediately to our vet and he was horrified. He said that was animal abuse and reported it to the authorities. This is a major reason why I cannot work at, volunteer at or support the HHS (in addition to it being a kill shelter). For almost a year after we took her home, whenever we drove past the HHS, Rayni would jump from the car seat and cower onto the floor of the car until we were near University. I wondered if it had to do with the fear that we would leave her there or the pain she underwent during her medical "care".

The vet also pointed out at her first examination that it was likely she had been abused or neglected. She had a large patch of fur missing near the base of her neck, along her back. He said she probably had been chained up all day and the collar had rubbed all of the fur off of her. She was "noisy" because she was in pain and she was "hyper" because she did not have a lot of time away from her chains. Until the day she died, she was terrified of large trucks and would bark hysterically anytime one came down the street. I wonder if she had been a guard dog who was chained up in an industrial area somewhere to serve as a watchman.

Oscar was shocked but not surprised when he returned home from his trip to Florida to find out that our family had grown from two to three.

From then on, she was my constant companion. Just as she stayed by my side during our first meeting at the HHS, she was my support as I underwent IVF number 3. My acupuncture doctor had ordered that I stay on my back in bed with my legs raised for two weeks after the IVF. Although Rayni was not a bed-loving dog (she always preferred the cool of the floor), she would jump up and sleep next to me as soon as I woke up and remained there until I went to bed. She would take her favorite spot, under the end table next to the bed, curled up next to PJ the bunny. They were just inseperable. Because PJ was black too, you couldn't tell where he began and Rayni ended.

When I would get up to do something, she was right next to me every minute. Once the pregnancy was confirmed and I got back to somewhat of a normal life, she no longer hung out in bed with me but returned to her favorite spot on the floor. However, when I was put on bedre

st at 28 weeks, she returned to my side on the bed.

Because she and I were so close, I worried about her reaction once the twins came. Would she resent the attention they required? Would she go into doggie depression? I should have known not to worry about anything like that. From the minute the kids came home, she appointed herself their guardian. She slept under their cribs and would only let my Mom and I near them. Anyone else, including Oscar, was met with a serious growl and a menacing look. When the kids were in the living room, she was right next to them watching their every moves. When they would sleep on the floor, she would serve as their pillows - one head at her front paws and the other at her back paws. Several times one of the kids would grab her tail and use it as a pacifier!!!

She continued to think of them as her property and even began "herding" them when they started walking by bumping her nose into their heels when they ventured beyond the point that she considered safe. Unfortunately, this usually resulted in them crashing down onto her, full smash, but she never snapped or whimpered. She'd let them use her to get up and would go back to herding them again.

Of course, when the Mad Cow came along, she already knew what to do and took it upon herself to be his playmate. I think she wondered why our "litter" this time was only one and not two because she spent a lot of her time letting him do whatever he wanted to her. He would pull her whiskers and she'd kiss him when he was done. His favorite game was to try and catch her tongue. It was gross and hilarious at the same time.

These are the memories of Rayni that I will keep in my heart always. Even in her final moments, she put the needs of our family first and put on a "brave face" for the kids. When they came in on Thursday morning to say what I knew would be their final goodbyes, she painfully forced herself up from what had been her standard position for the past week (lying down on her right side on the bed, unable to move) to greet them and kiss them. The minute the front door closed, she slowly went back down to the reclining position. I told her that I had to take the Diva to school but would be back shortly. Although she could not move and her eyes no longet met mine, I knew that she understood what I was saying and that she would wait for me to return.

When I got back, I told her that the kids were all out of the house and that we were ready for her to return home where she could play with her beloved bunny pal PJ and our foster dog Lana who she adored. Having been through the death of several pets in the past, I knew our time together was drawing to an end. I lay down next to her as she had done with me some 14 years ago. I thanked her and told her I loved her. She took three short breaths and she was gone. Less than 5 minutes had passed since I had gotten home.

Since she has passed, people have asked me if I will get another dog "to replace her". The answer is "Yes, I will get another dog" and "No, I will not get one to replace her". Nobody - two footed or four footed - will ever replace her. She was a one of a kind dog, my rock who was there to comfort me when noone else could. I can only pay homage to all she gave to me by rescuing another "unadoptable" dog like her.