A Tribute to Pepper

I recently had to say goodbye to my 16-1/2 year old blue heeler/Italian greyhound mix. It was just eight days shy of her Gotcha Day 16 years ago on August 21, 2010. The little bundle of fear that I brought home from the shelter that day changed my life and changed me. My first dog. We had to sign special papers saying that we understood she had a bite history. She also had mange. She was on death row. No one wanted her. But, I did. I wanted her. 

I know the exact spot in the backyard where I stood in front of her trying to figure out her new name. She came with the name Secant. You know, sine, cosine, tangent, secant. Obviously she needed a new name. The shelter named her after she was picked up outside Durango, Colorado and shipped to Boulder. She was a feral six month old puppy. Some of her litter mates didn’t make it. A shy and shut down dog, she didn’t make any eye contact with me until, after rattling off a bunch of dog names, I said, “Pepper.” At that moment she looked up at me! I clicked the clicker and gave her a treat. 

Pepper. There are so many stories. When I broke my leg and had to navigate the stairs in the house with crutches, she blocked the other dog and even the cat from using the stairs when I was on them. After I could start walking her again she would go real slow, never pulling, but sniffing the ground and acting like that was the pace she wanted to go.

Pepper. She enjoyed vacations and was a great traveler. She thought hotels were fun and especially loved the free breakfasts when I brought eggs and sausage back to the room for her.

Pepper. She was extremely agile, smart and loved to please. She could do anything. Agility. Tricks. Swim. Hike. I’m sure she could have done more if I had taught her. A natural expert in wilderness agility, she climbed mountains and she climbed trees. Yes, trees.

Pepper. She adjusted to a world with people in it, but always demanded appropriate behavior. She was a spicy Pepper. We called her Miss Manners. She was slow to warm up to humans, but if you respected her communication signals and approached her right she’d let you in. Not everyone got to be part of her inner circle. You had to earn your place in her pack. As it should be. However, once you were in you were never out. She was loyal and loved fiercely.

Pepper was excited for her walks, of course. However, she was her happiest and most confident when she was jumping boulders, fording a stream or scaling a mountain peak. Pepper was most at home when we were together on trails in the woods, on slickrock in the desert, above tree line on a mountain top. She was the finest of hiking partners. I must have hiked well over 3000 miles before Pepper came into my life. But, I have never had a better hiking partner. It is one of the things I miss the most. Hiking with my Pepper Girl. 

Pepper and I never stopped hiking together. Not until seizures seized her life in the end. I try not to focus too much on that final day. “You can free me now. I am ready to let go,” she said. But, I wasn’t ready to let go. I would never be ready. Somehow the body takes over and you do what needs to be done while your heart inside is being stabbed a million times over. You die inside so one of the greatest loves of your life doesn’t have to suffer.

Pepper taught me so much about training and interacting with dogs. I learned more than I ever thought I wanted to know. I had to learn if she was to thrive in a human world. She lived a life of gratitude, but I am the one who is forever grateful. I’m good with dogs because of her. I’m more skilled in my work because of her. More importantly, because of her I am a much better person.

Pepper taught people how to be better human beings.