The afternoon sky was still a bright blue. 
The haze of yellow dust would not descend on Suncheon*, South Korea for a few more weeks. Magnolia buds and cherry blossoms were starting to open, and uniformed school children skipped arm in arm up the haphazard brick and marble sidewalks-- on their way to the mini-marts to purchase all kinds of sweet frivolities before heading to their after school academies. I followed them, entertaining them by speaking my rusty Korean while they bravely ventured a few words in English. I was there as a teacher, and my work day was over. I watched the disastrous traffic roar past me as I turned the corner. The road safety laws were mere suggestions to the innumerable drivers on this four lane highway. Flatbed delivery trucks, microvans, scooters, taxis, and the ever-present grey, white or black sedans swerved in and out of lanes at high speeds with little regard for courtesy. I took my place at the bus shelter along one of the main roads by my school, and patiently waited for the arrival of the "orange crush" bus that may or may not have gotten me home in one piece. Fortunately, I was spared from having to board that bus that day.
(*pronounced Soon-chun)
At once I noticed a tiny little dog negotiating its way across this gauntlet of high speed machinery. It leapt out from under a moving van and nearly got flattened by a scooter. It was no more than a foot high, with two beady little intelligent eyes, tightly matted curly hair of indiscriminate colour, thanks to the encrusted filth, and no hair at all on a scabby patch of its rump. It ran straight for a pile of garbage (bags left against a lamp post for eventual removal) and began scrabbling at the plastic in search of something to eat. I walked over, and the pup appeared unafraid. Before I knew what I was doing, I had scooped it up in my arms, tucked it into my jacket and was hailing a taxi. It was March 17th, 2006: Saint Patrick's day. This is where my involvement in the life of my dog Paddy began.
She had the luck of the Irish with her, and I needed an unpretentious name for the little purse-dog that I had just acquired. It was my mom's suggestion, and I accepted it willingly. Truthfully I was less than amused about finding such a ragtag dog; I was a cat person or a large-dog person, not Paris Hilton. In my opinion very small dogs were not really dogs, but they were animals, and I took such pity on her. I can only imagine the horrors she must have been through-- the abuse and neglect.
A brightly lipsticked woman asked me to put Paddy into a coin locker when we got to Kim's Club, the closest grocery store. They have special 'doggy' coin lockers with newspaper and ventilation in most Korean department stores, for your hands-free shopping convenience. I felt awful for leaving her in there, thinking she must be frightened, so I hastily purchased some dog food, shampoo, a leash, and I rescued her from her confines. We returned home to our 13th floor apartment. After a meal, which she wolfed down at amazing speed, she had a bath. The water turned a hideous dark gray, and it amazed me to discover she was actually a white poodle, not an apricot one.All fresh and feisty, she raced about the apartment, barking with joy. I called friends to acquire the phone number of the veterinarian, and an appointment was made for the next day.
Dr. Jo, the vet, gravely looked at me across the counter and told me nobody would adopt this little poodle in her condition. She was at least ten years old, not spayed, malnourished, had an awful skin rash, horrible bad breath and gingivitis, and what was worse, she was riddled with mammary tumors. I looked back with a resigned, skeptical expression and asked what could be done for her. We were soon set on a course of action, to clean her up, get her shots, bring her back to general health and get her spayed. The tumors were biopsied, and there was good news: they were benign, and a mastectomy was scheduled for the same time as the spay. Veterinary care is relatively cheap in Korea, and through the salary of my teaching job, I had the means to afford it. Who was I to deny this little dog another 'leash' on life?
We soon got into a regular routine of two square meals a day, three times daily walks about the apartment complex, and cuddles while watching Discovery Channel Asia.
Paddy was perfectly good left alone all day while I was at work. She was house trained and quiet, content to sleep the day away knowing where her next meal was coming from. After her grooming she looked quite presentable! She recovered well from her surgeries, but unfortunately acquired a limp from gaining some weight in a short time without the supportive muscle strength. X-rays proved she had severely displaced patellas in both back legs, and barring more surgery, which I was not prepared to consider, we could but put her on a low calorie diet and give her painkillers. She lost the weight and recovered from that too, and although occasionally she would favour a back leg, she has been fit and healthy since.
Because she was so small and portable, I took her many places with me that most other dogs would not be able to go. She has been with me (covertly) into shopping malls, stores, museums, temples, and hotels. She has traveled with me on airplanes, ferries, buses, trains, taxis, and even the front basket of my bicycle. She developed an excellent judge of character, alternately charming or frightening off people who got close to her. I'll never forget the occasion where Virginia and Paddy and I met a woman on a bus who asked me to
give her my dog, as if Paddy were a nice scarf, or a hat. Dogs are not exactly considered to be family members, in Korea.
She survived the flight home from Korea not once but twice, and
to Korea once, as I returned to Canada for six months and then went back for another year of teaching. There was no shortage of red tape or documentation required for such journeys, and on the return trip to Korea she narrowly escaped quarantine by the skin of my foreign teeth.
She endeared herself to all who ever looked after her, my ex-boyfriends and family in particular, and was as much a part of their life as she was of mine, although for less time. Chris taught her to shake a paw; I could never get her to do that for me again. My Grandparents doted on her, and she loved them dearly. I remember on my way to Korea the second time I stayed the night with them, and as I was bringing my suitcases into the house, Paddy was in paroxysms of joy as she suspected we might be moving in with some of her favourite people.
She spent four months with Lee in the Mokpo apartment as his writing companion during the days that he stayed with us in Korea, and he grew to love her.
When we were all back at Westwood, she became Grammy Dot's treasured companion, competing with Xuxa (shoosha) for attention and rights to a spot on the couch. She put up with Luna (her feline sister) and her antagonistic behaviour. She did NOT put up with the big dogs at Lone Butte, asserting herself in the pack and claiming her place in rank and my bedroom as her own private space. Living here in the Interior she became rather fond of Mike's lap when he was home, and enjoyed it beyond all measure when my Mom would allow her to bark during breakfast preparation.
Mostly, Paddy endeared herself to me. Over the three years that I've been privileged to know her, she's become my little daemon, my shadow, my good luck charm. I grew to love her more than I was prepared to do. I loved her little cotton ball tail when she came back from the groomer's; it would inevitably make me laugh! Since her teeth were removed last year, her tongue has hung way out the left side of her mouth, giving her a dopey expression, but she was sharper of mind than ever, and pleasanter of breath. I loved her long tongue sticking out too. I loved the way she would spin around in a circle when she thought it was time for dinner, or tilt her head to the side when I said the word "hungry?" or the phrase "wanna go for a walk?" I thought it was hilarious how she would groom her face like a cat, or turn her tail to you when she wanted to be picked up because facing away
was most comfortable for her. During my saddest moments she would remind me to get out of bed and face the day, in my happiest she was there to offer her tummy to be rubbed.
I used to call her along by saying "ka-ja," the Korean phrase for "let's go!" Now when I catch myself saying that to the other dogs I feel pretty silly. The little tippy-tappy sound of her claws on an uncarpeted floor followed me for a long long time, and this week it is awfully quiet.
(note: this picture was taken several weeks ago)Paddy got sick on Good Friday. In the evening she urinated on my bed while she was sleeping, something she would never *ever* do. It turns out it was a minor stroke. On Saturday she began breathing heavily, becoming lethargic. She suffered two major strokes on Sunday and developed a chest cough, continuing with the rapid shallow breathing, heavy on the exhale. Symptoms of heart failure. My heart was failing just as much when my neighbour took us to the vet that night, on an emergency evening call, and I paid the vet 130 dollars for her time and a shot of a diuretic to make her breathing more comfortable. I selfishly allowed myself another night with Paddy. She slept in her crate up on my bed so that she could sense I was near, and she could still have access to her water bowl. Her breathing was so ragged that sleeping next to her was much like sleeping next to a ticking clock, and never was a simile so apt. By morning she was not much improved, and I knew what had to be done. Her quality of life would never be the same, and I owed her the comfort to which she had become accustomed.
The saddest thing about owning pets is that they do not outlive us. Losing a beloved pet is as hard as losing any friend or loved one, except that we see them through their entire lives, as stewards to their care and comfort. I only got to care for Paddy in her final three years, but they were the best three years of her life, and at times, perhaps even mine. Putting an animal to sleep can be one of the hardest decisions in life, even while it's perfectly clear to you what must happen.
The morning sky was clear and blue and the sun shone brightly on the porch steps. I sat with Paddy there for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth and the fresh air, hoping she was enjoying them too. The snow was receding from around the garden beds and the juncoes hopped about and pecked among the unburied perennials for seeds. Chickadees called out "spring's coming!" from the firs and aspens, the latter now heavily laden with catkins. I carried Paddy to the truck and seatbelted her crate into the front seat, sighing with the futility of that action. She panted and sighed, hunched over in pain, as I drove into town dreading with each passing kilometer the drawing nearer of the end of her road. I talked to her cheerfully and comfortingly along the way but she hardly listened. She naturally fell asleep in my arms once we were inside the vet's office, and once the injection was given, she just never woke up. There was a baby lamb in the next room, baa-ing plaintively, and that would have been the last thing she heard. I was holding her in my arms when she died, finally and peacefully. I can hardly stand to remember it now as I type this.
In the last week of her life we visited Stanley Park in downtown Vancouver, and we had a run on the beach at low tide. This is how I want to remember her, running for joy, with the wind blowing her ears back.
Paddy left behind a lot of people who loved her, and a lot of memories. For some they met her briefly and she touched their lives in unforgettable ways. Many people have never actually met her but followed her exploits on this blog. Her very favourite people (chronologically speaking) were Myself, Dr. Jo, Chris, Grandma and Grandpa, Lee, Dr. Jang, Kirra, Christa, and Grammy Dot. We will miss you Paddy, "My Little Dog," Paddy Mae, Paddya, Paddywon, Padouin, Patsy Cline, Patricia, Paddy dog, Miss Paddykins.
May you rest in peace.
PADDY
In my care: March 17, 2006 - April 13 2009
