A Corgi Fit for a Queen

Last night, my childhood dog Hazel had a series of strokes. This morning, my parents brought her to the vet. After some blood work and a quick ultrasound, it was determined that she had some sort of tumor and internal bleeding, and it was clear that she was ready to go. I am so grateful for the incredible team at the vet's office, who have all known and loved Hazel for many years, and who were able to make this difficult time a little easier.

14 years and 20 days, 733 weeks, or 5134 days ago, I was an annoying and bratty just-turned-thirteen year old. I came home from school and started playing a game on the computer – I don't remember what game, but I remember wanting to do nothing but play it. It was probably Zoo Tycoon, and definitely not anything that couldn't be saved/resumed at literally any time. My dad got home from work and said he had to go do something for work, and that I should come with him. My dad runs a local payroll company, and he has some interesting clients, so sometimes he'd bring me with him to drop off checks (some notably fun clients: our local carnival and a fishmonger with live lobster tanks). As previously mentioned, I was a bratty and annoying teenager, so I whined and I didn't want to go, and why did I have to, and please please could I just stay home!

No, my dad insisted, I'd want to come with him, and besides, I was being rude. He was right, I was mad about it. I sulked in the car a little, and off we went. I was never any good at sulking for long periods of time, because I'd forget I was sulking and excitedly point out a cool car, or a horse in a field, or yell to make sure my dad stopped for a turtle crossing the road (he always did, we always moved it in the direction it was headed so it'd be safe). We pulled into a driveway on a back road I'd never been on, and when we stopped, I heard dogs barking. The first thing out of my mouth was "can I play with the dogs while you work???"; Dad said I'd have to ask Cathy, who was walking out of the house. He introduced me, and I asked if I could play with her dogs. She gave me a sort of puzzled look, and said "of course!", then walked us to the backyard. She showed us Mickey (Triple Tac's Monkey Business) and Mini (Rip'N Mini Cooper), and introduced them as the dad and mom, respectively.

I was THRILLED - she said they were the mom and dad, which means THERE MUST BE PUPPIES! Cathy brought two puppies out, both girls, one sable and one tri-colored. She said "these are the two available females," and handed them to me in a small pen. She said "available!" That means I could have one! I thought frantically about how to convince my dad we should get one, since I'd been begging for a puppy for years at this point. He and Cathy went inside, I assumed to do whatever work my dad came here for. I was playing with the puppies - the sable wanted to hang out with me, and I was gently wrestling with her while she nibbled me and tried to leap into my lap. The tri-colored babe was focused on a (relatively) giant stick, and struggling to bring it over to me. She nearly flipped herself over trying to bring it to me, and was failing. I was having a blast; how could I not be? Thank God my dad pushed through my stupid teenager behavior to get me here.

Some pictures of puppies from Cathy's other litters over the years - I mean, for real, how could anything this cute be real?!

He came out with Cathy after 15 or 20 minutes or so, and Cathy asked me which puppy I preferred. I was so honored - this woman breeds Corgis for a living and wants to know what I think of them? I'm so unqualified! I have to try to sound like I know what I'm talking about!

"I think I like the sable better - she seems to be more interested in me, and the tri seems more interested in the stick. They're both so cute and sweet, though, it's hard to say!"

Well, that wasn't anything too clever. She seemed happy enough with the answer, though. I hadn't yet figured out what was happening or why my dad now had papers in his hands. Maybe he was picking up employee documents for this lady's business? Didn't matter, really, I was so focused on the puppies. My dad said "alright, it's time to head home now." I was so disappointed. I didn't even have a chance to pitch why we should bring one of the puppies home. I stood up and got out of the puppy playpen and started to follow him to the car. He turned around and realized I still hadn't figured out what was happening. "What are you doing?" he asked, "you forgot your puppy!"

It must have only been 10 seconds or so, but it felt like hours of connecting the dots and what Dad meant - "MY puppy? I mean I did just 'pick' one but how could it be MINE? is he kidding? that would be a cruel joke - he looks serious! oh my god! we're getting one of these puppies?!??!" and I felt like I was about to burst into tears out of joy and excitement. I scooped my little sable puppy up and almost sprinted into the car.

Front: Spenser, back right: Hazel

I spent the whole car ride trying to decide what we would name her. I believe she was called Dotty when she was at Cathy's - she had a perfect little spot on the top of her head, right in the middle of her white stripe. It was June 2nd - the second day of hurricane season, which I think we must have been learning about in school, because I can't think of any other reason a 13 year old girl in Massachusetts is just so SURE of what day hurricane season starts. I decided we should name her after a hurricane - I knew she was full of spunk and would be a force to be reckoned with, a small-but-mighty storm. She was such a muted color compared to her red and white siblings, with the tips of each hair nearly gray. After pouring over lists of hurricane names, I found it, the perfect name: Hazel.

Hurricane Hazel was the deadliest, costliest, and most intense hurricane of the 1954 Atlantic hurricane season. The storm killed at least 469 people in Haiti before striking the United States near the border between North and South Carolina as a Category 4 hurricane.

- Wikipedia

I knew I had a strong-willed, opinionated puppy - that was clear from the get-go - and she had a bit of a "hazy" coat with her sable coloring, AND she had a perfect little "hazel nut" on the top of her head. Bingo. And Hazel she was.

We got home, and I went out to the backyard with Hazel. Dad went inside to get our older dog, Spenser. He was a fluffy Corgi (a genetic mutation that was seen as a very undesirable trait at the time that my dad got him - in recent years, it's become more popular, but at the time, the woman made my dad sign a contract to neuter the dog as soon as he was old enough, which wasn't super common ~25 years ago), I think he must have been 12 or 13 when Hazel came home.

Spenser came out the screen door, walked down the stairs, and sniffed the air for a bit, then turned to see Hazel. He gave a "are you FUCKING kidding me?" look to my dad, then turned around and went back in the house. He wanted nothing to do with that puppy. He did eventually warm up to Hazel, but he was begrudging about it the whole time. My mom and I used to take both dogs for a walk, and Hazel would grab Spenser's leash and give a few sharp tugs then drop it shortly before he would turn around. Mom would get a dirty look for pulling on his leash for no reason, and you could see the mischievous twinkle in Hazel's eye.

Learning to wear eyeliner - I would say I've gotten better since this photo, but that'd be a lie. Hazel on the left, Spenser on the right.

Over the years, Hazel has been nothing short of amazing. She ran agility with me. She went to the barn, and to horse shows with me. When she got tired of being at the barn, she'd get into the first car that opened the door and try to go home with them. She very quickly became my dad's dog. He's the sort of person that all animals adore, Hazel included. I could literally spend hours regaling stories of Her Majesty, Queen Hazel. I've spent the last 24 hours crying, and I'd much rather dive into the memories of pleasantries (or hilarious unpleasantries, if you count the time we left Hazel in the car for literally three minutes and she managed, with her micro legs, to get up onto the dashboard of a VW Bus and eat an entire 8 ounce brick of Cabot Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese. My parents and I were out of the car to buy a water bottle from a convenience store for them to make the drive back home from visiting me at college...a little over three hours in the car, trapped with Hazel Cheese Farts.)

I'll end with a brief summary of a large block of photos, starting in the top left:

1. Hazel at Westbrook Hunt Club, with a kiddie pool that I bought her because it was 95°F and ~80%+ humidity all week, and I wanted her to be comfortable.

2. Hazel at the barn, watching lessons.

3. Hazel staring adoringly at Dad when they came to visit us in CT.

4. Hazel and Rad supervising a small brush fire.

5. Sitting in her favorite spot, leaning against her favorite person.

6. At Silver Oak Summer Festival, the year I broke my back (2011?), surrounded by barn kids who were feeding her bits of hot dogs and hamburgers.

7. Smuggled into a hotel at a horse show, I think Westbrook, because we never booked dog-friendly hotels, but Hazel never seemed to mind.

8. A picture from my mom, letting us know that my dad ordered dog beds from a Groupon and they were much smaller than expected when they arrived. Hazel figured out she loved tiny beds, and would spend the rest of her life choosing the tiniest bed option, including an actual cat bed that I have at my house.

9. Covered in mud from wading in a bog about 2/3 of the way up Camel's Hump - we both took a nap when we got to the top.

10. My dad bought rubber booties, and we put them on Hazel and Rad. Both dogs were zooming HARD around the house, I think they were stoked to have extra traction for cornering.

11. The most unruly client at my dad's office.

12. The Queen was tired of being at the barn so I put her in the wheelbarrow to prevent her from leaving with random lesson kids' parents.

Hug your pup a little extra for me tonight.