Farewell to our warrior princess

By Virginia Winder

I had to throw my crusts to the birds today.

It’s the first time in nearly 11-and-a-half years I’ve had to do that.

You see, my crusts have always been fed to my dogs. Plural. I grew up with Cushla and Tina, then in our marriage of 27 years, we’ve had Ella and Xena.

In fact one of my verbal pre-nuptial agreements with my then-to-be husband was that we had to get a dog. He grew up fearful of canines, so it was a big ask. But Warren grew to love our girls as much as our kids and I did.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to our darling Xena, a black Labrador-kelpie cross. She was nearly 13.

We got her as a rescue dog and it was love at first sight on all sides. The day we picked her up from Waitara, she was so strong I had to sit in the back seat of our stationwagon to fend off her attempts to jump over.

That’s why she had to have a name to match her power. Xena fitted perfectly.

Sometimes her strength was tested by her zany human mother. I used to wind her up and then wrestle her on the lounge floor. I was completely undignified, ridiculous and fearless. Xena never hurt me as we rolled about trying to pin each other down and growling. Yes, me too.

Our children watched on with amusement and possibly embarrassment. I’m not sure.

Xena used to have a bed in the kitchen, but one stormy night when she was barking, Nelson saved her. Or it could have been the other way round. From then on, probably about 2009, she slept on his bed nearly every night, giving him company and security.

That was the same time we swam in the sea every single day of the year. Clementine, who was learning to drive, was often our chauffeur. Warren, Nelson and I, with Xena at our heels, took the plunge in wind, rain, high and low tide, at sunrise and sunset. 

It was a great year for Xenie Weenie (our cutesy nickname for her) because she loved the beach with complete tongue-lolling abandon. She also loved going to her favourite black-sand beach with surrogate "auntie" Callie, our treasured friend and house-sitter.

Photo: Callie Boyle

The last time I walked with Xena on Back Beach a few weeks back, her hind legs kept giving way. In the end she plodded slowly – a far woof from her days of running at me, full speed, ears back, tongue out and swerving at the last second.

Often, depression is described as the “black dog”. It couldn’t be more opposite in our house – Ella was a black lab-cross too.

For me, Xena was many things, but never a symbol of the blues. I work from home, so she was always with me. She was my shadow, following me from room to room, even when I just popped down to the bedroom to get something.

She nuzzled me, licked me, greeted me with joy and was my every-day, all-day harbour of peace.

When Warren went away, I stole her from Nelson and she used to sleep next to me on top of the bed, head on the pillow.

In the days I got super fit by walking, cycling and swimming, Xena came with me on the first leg. She was great to walk, except when she saw a cat and lunged. Not great for shoulders.

At home though, she was a comfortable companion with our two cats, Izzy and Scoop. Izzy used to rub herself against Xena and lie close to her on the mat before the heater in the lounge.

We now have Draco, a grey kitten who, in the past few weeks, constantly attacked our ever-patient dog. She didn’t react – our girl became even more placid with age.

Watching her get old filled us with a slow-growing sadness. First she couldn’t run with Warren anymore, then she couldn’t jump on the bed, or in the back of the stationwagon.

Our next-door neighbour has a Harley Davidson and when he revved it up before a ride, Xena would go nuts, racing up and down our adjoining fence barking ferociously.

Then one day she didn’t. We realised her hearing had gone.

Her eyes, started to go too.

But never her appetite.

Yesterday, I kept pieces of hot cross bun to feed her and she willingly scoffed them down while lying in the bean chair in my office. That was her last supper.

When the vet came, we lay our girl on her bed in the sun on the deck and all held her as she faded away. It was so quick, so peaceful. Then we buried her next to Ella.

I woke this morning with a deep ache in my chest and a feeling like something is missing. On this cloudy day, I know what it is – my shadow.

And a loving, brown-eyed, soft-eared friend to eat my crusts.