We got Saj (pronounced "Sage") on New Years Eve 1999. The ridiculous spelling of her name I place solely on the shoulders of my sister, who was so incensed that I came up with the best name for the puppy that she insisted on adding her "creative" (cough cough) flair to the name by throwing together random letters and assigning them to the sounds made by the word "Sage" (think Gob Bluth from "Arrested Development.")
She was five weeks old when she came home - too young, really, but her mother stopped feeding the pups and she came home with us and assumed for years that she was human. She played the part well, but not flawlessly. Setting aside the four leggedness, and the persistent facial hair, she was too loving, too loyal, too faithful, and too eager to please to ever pass as truly human. It is in some ways astounding she lived to the age she did. When she was six months old or so we came home to find her carrying my mother's brand new dogwood sapling around the yard in her mouth like a chew toy, happy as you please. Lab's, if you have never lived with one, are a force of nature - particularly in puppyhood. Saj was no exception.
She was my dog only for a short time - I left for college, and she stayed home. I visited, and I loved her dearly, but by the time I was in a position to take her with me she belonged to the whole family equally, and it would have been unfair to take her into a crummy college apartment. She was the epitome of a family dog.
We brought Beagle to meet Saj the day the Wife and I adopted him more than six years ago. Despite a rough beginning in which Saj tried to eat Beagle, the two of them became... if not friends, precisely, at least companions. Beagle was all dog where Saj still held on to the illusion that she was mostly human. Beagle taught her to embrace her inner dog, to play with toys, to roughhouse and play with other animals. Saj taught Beagle very little, because he is a beagle, and too stubborn to learn anything much. He did at least learn to stay out of the reach of bigger, less patient dogs. As I write this I am looking at a picture of the two of them sharing Saj's pillow. You can only see their heads in the photo, but as was typical of their relationship, Beagle is undoubtedly stretched out to take up the maximum amount of space on the oversized pet bed, and Saj has her head alone on the pillow beside him. Saj was a giver. Beagle's a jerk. We love them both.
I will miss my lab. I didn't want to make this a terribly somber post, because it's somber enough that she's gone without adding to it. Dog's lives are so much shorter than ours I sometimes wonder if bringing them into our lives is worth the inevitable pain it brings. But I don't wonder for long. The answer is yes. If everyone in the world could strive to be the type of person their dog believed them to be, what a fantastic world would we live in? They love freely and ask little in return. A ball, a bowl, a bed, and a little love.
The title of this post refers to the phrase "All good things must come to an end." The problem with the phrase (besides being the title to a rather weak ending to Star Trek, the Next Generation) is that I don't entirely agree. I won't get into the theological debate about pets and heaven, and I'd thank you to not share your own thoughts on this forum. As with many theological issues, I like C.S. Lewis' take, and that's all I'll say. But I do not believe the good that came from Saj's life has come to an end. You were and are loved Saj, and our lives are better for you, and you continue to share in that. Rest easy girl.
