Pepper The Wonder Dog

I know what you're thinking, "Oh, another dog story." Well, yes, this is another dog story. But this dog was not just any another dog, she truly was Pepper the Wonder Dog. This story is about one Black Lab with an enormous heart; a heart so loving and dedicated that it would take three bouts with cancer before it stopped beating.  Even after death, she inspires so many of us to always 'fight on' no matter what life throws at us.


Our daughter was about to enter her senior year of high school, and she and some of her friends had planned to have our dog in their senior pictures.  So more people than just our family were devastated when our girl Jeannie, a Yellow (mostly) Lab, at age twelve, unexpectedly suffered a massive stroke and died. I have had dogs almost my entire life. It wasn't very long before I felt that familiar tugging on my heart for another canine companion. So, after some careful searching I located a breeder who had three Black Lab puppies. He was holding "Sam" for his daughter because this little female was, according to him, "quite a handful". But, he felt certain either her sister or brother would be perfect for our family.


My husband, daughter and I made the trip to a small town near Columbus to check out the remaining
pups from a large litter.  The owner had told me to blow the horn when we arrived and for us to go on into the barn where they were in a pen. When we entered the barn, the puppies looked out at us from their pen. They seemed subdued compared to most lab puppies I have seen. Most of the others had been rowdy, playful and well, downright goofy! Once we let them out to get to know us they were more alert, but still something was missing. I picked up the male and held him for a while. He was the total opposite of Jeannie with his dark hair and extremely quiet manner. Maybe he was too different? I switched puppies with my daughter to check out the little female. She was sweet and had soft brown eyes. Then I realized what was missing from these two little Labs...spirit. While they were cute and sweet, they were just not spirited.


I left the barn to go find the breeder who was coming around the corner of his house. Bounding ahead of him was this ambitious black bundle of energy who was teetering trying to balance half of a deer leg in her strong jaws. Sam was indeed a handful! When she saw me, she dropped the deer bone and instead of retreating to her master, she bounded straight to me. And with her ears flapping and her healthy pink tongue flopping around, Sam jumped right into my waiting arms. I held her out so I could get a better look at her. She was a squirming bundle of excitement. Her eyes were keen, her coat was jet black and as slick as a seal's. This was one healthy and beautiful Lab! I put Sam down and we all went to the barn to see which puppy had been picked as our new pet.


This part of the story could go on and on, but I'll cut to the chase.  Although the other two pups weren't a 'fit' for our family, my daughter, my husband and I instantly hit it off with Sam. After observing our interaction, the owner agreed that the chemistry between his already promised pup and the three of us  was undeniable; so Sam came home with us.  It was on the ride home when Sam had her name changed to Pepper.  My daughter wanted her named after a Beatles' song, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. There is an area of Great Britain named Lynley, which is also my daughter's name . So, our new pup's AKC name was "Sgt. Pepper of Lynley". After a few attempts to make "Sarge" fit the puppy, it was obvious that we had painted ourselves into a corner with the dog's name. So she simply became Pepper. A black dog named Pepper; how original. But, it was the perfect name for her. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she certainly put a lot of spice in our family's lives!


In late 1996, I became seriously ill. I was so ill, in fact, that I had to leave my career to undergo many tests, studies and procedures.  Three months after I was retired, my Mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And, it was during this time that I found a small lump in Pepper's chest. It felt like a Milk Dud. Shortly thereafter, she was also diagnosed with cancer. Even without treatment, Pepper's cancer just seemed to disappear.


On our last visit to Mom's Oncologist, her doctor found a nodule on my Mom's clavicle. Turning to me, she asked in her soft Philippine accent, "Did you try to palpitate this?" "No." I admitted, a bit embarrassed because she had expected me to be more observant. "Come here and feel this, please. What does it feel like?" I felt the lump and I said that it felt like a Milk Dud. Even as weak and emotionally exhausted as Mom was, she shot me The Look. You know the one where words need not be spoken? She had heard me describe Pepper's tumor with the exact same words. Sadly, less than two weeks later Mom lost her battle with cancer.


When Pepper was seven, I noticed another lump in her chest. I leaned down and ran my fingers over it. It felt like a Milk Dud. As our vet examined her and did a quick biopsy for cancer cells, I held her head close to mine and prayed, "Please, God, give her six more months, just six, please!" I wasn't ready to let her go. She was only seven, just entering older in the canine world! The vet reentered the room with his head down. He walked over to Pepper and gently massaged her big Labrador head. Then he looked up at me and just shook his head sadly. "Please God, please?" I was begging. "How long?" I asked. "She has a month, maybe two." "NO!!!" I just held her close and sobbed. I was still begging God..."six months, please?!"


I took her to a local eatery for an ice cream cone. Why not? She should enjoy the rest of her life! So began our tradition of' Pepper's 'ice cream chemo'.  Weekly, at first, then more often as she continued to fight her cancer. As people would meet Pepper and hear her story, they would wish her good luck, offer to pray for her, and offer us encouragement. When strangers would experience Pepper devour an entire ice cream cone in one bite, they would laugh and soon become friends. And, more often than not, Pepper was gifted with an extra ice cream cone, or two. This went on for the entire season the restaurant was open.


We visited the restaurant the day before it's seasonal November to February closing. Since it was cold and there was no line, Pepper was gifted her extra cones by the owners. We all celebrated that Pepper had already passed the six months that I had begged God for her. We all hugged and cried, and I promised to let them know about Pepper. None of us used the word death because we just couldn't imagine life without this special dog. She looked and acted quite healthy, but she had gained a little weight while she had undergone her 'ice cream chemo'. But then, so had I.


When the ice cream eatery reopened in February, I was their first customer. Well, not exactly. As soon as Sue opened the sliding glass window, Pepper jumped up and looked her right in the face. I heard two shrieks of joy and out the door ran Sue and Gail. Pepper practically knocked them down as she jumped back and forth between them showering them with sloppy dog kisses! "How?" Sue asked. The only response I could make was, "Prayers and 'ice cream chemo". It was definitely time for more 'chemo'!


It had been eleven months since Pepper had been diagnosed with cancer. If she could survive this long, why not longer? As the months flew by, Pepper continued to do well. My health, however, began to decline. Pepper never left my side. And, she never missed her 'chemo', although it sometimes took place at home. As another winter arrived, we bid our friends at the ice cream eatery another teary farewell. None of us expected Pepper to make it until their February reopening. But she did. She showed us all about faith and perseverance.


As that year progressed, I began to notice some changes in Pepper. The Milk Dud sized growth on her chest had rapidly grown to the size of a fist. She also had begun to slow down. But, she never missed her 'chemo'! All that season old friends and new friends gifted Pepper with ice cream and love. And, she returned the love, although not quite as enthusiastically as she had the summers before. When  November came, there we were for Pepper's end of the season 'chemo' and very sad farewells because although it wasn't spoken, we all knew that this was Pepper's final good-bye to her wonderful and loving friends Sue and Gail. 

On December eighteenth Pepper celebrated her tenth birthday with her traditional Twinkie and ice cream. She ate the Twinkie a bit at a time, and she didn't finish her ice cream. She had gained a lot of weight over the past weeks, and she had really slowed down. Still, she kept going. She was in her glory on Christmas when everyone was able to make it home at the same time for the first time in a while. Slowly she moved from one cherished family member to another as they lavished love and attention upon 'the family dog'. When all had said their good-byes and gone home, Pepper laid down on the floor next to my feet with a sigh. "When you are ready to let go," I said softly as I stroked her shiny black head, "just let me know. It's OK; you have fought the good fight and have earned your rest." Two days later Pepper came over to my chair where I was relaxing. She put her head on my knee and she looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes, and I knew. In that instant I knew that the time had come to allow Pepper to leave this life with dignity. As our veterinarian administered the medication that would allow Pepper to cross over to that place beyond pain, I held her head in my hands, looked into her soulful eyes and told her that she was the best pet and friend ever, that I loved her with all my heart and that I would never, ever forget her. Her ashes are scattered among the Japanese irises under a pretty Japanes maple tree in our backyard, and her soul runs free forevermore.