When we arrived in PNG we inherited her from some other missionaries that had gone home. She very quickly wormed her way into our hearts and home. At first she wasn't allowed into the house but in only a matter of weeks she had managed to soften our hearts and find her place in a corner of the kitchen on a red blanket. She always expected to be part of the family.
She was my constant shadow and companion. No matter where I went or what I did she was right on my heels. If I was in the laundry room she would come and sit by the washing machine as I loaded it. When hanging up the clothes she would sit under the clothesline. If I was weeding the flowerbeds or garden, she would lay beside me as I worked. She would joyfully welcome us home at the end of the day, desperately trying to wag a tail she didn't have, running around to both doors of the car to make sure that both Bill and I had come home.
She loved food and would have eaten non-stop all day if allowed. If we were sitting at the table eating, she would moan and groan loudly, as if in pain, letting us know that she sure would like to share in the meal with us. She loved to eat mulberry's from our mulberry tree and would guilt us into feeding her some.
Being a typical dog, she loved to dig. We had holes all over the yard and it would vex Bill to no end. As fast as we would cover up the holes, she would dig them again. It was a never-ending battle. Wednesday evening I was working in the kitchen fixing dinner and Sheba was lying on her blanket by the front door. She had been fine all day. We had worked in the garden together that morning and she had been her usual self running around barking at birds, sniffing out every corner for the yard, rolling in the grass, etc. Bill came home and Sheba stood up to great him. Then as she lay back down, she sort of just flopped and her head hit a kitchen chair with a loud thunk. Bill laughed and said, "Sheba you silly dog!" He thought she was just being lazy and couldn't lay back down quick enough to go back to sleep. But after a few seconds he said, "Hey, something is wrong. She is breathing funny."
I went over to investigate and sure enough, she was in obvious respiratory distress and appeared to be semi-comatose. After about 15 minutes she sort of came to and seemed to want to go outside so I opened the door for her. She walked to the top of the stairs as if she wanted to go down and then promptly collapsed. Bill carried her back inside to her blanket where she promptly lost all bowel control. I cleaned her up and just sat with her for about an hour, stroking her head, telling her I loved her, and crying my eyes out. We finally went to bed fully expecting to find her dead in the morning.
But to our amazement she was still alive the next morning and seemed much improved! When I opened the door she promptly got up, went down the stairs, relieved her self, came back up, ate some food, drank some water and seemed for the most part to be back to her normal self! She appeared a little bit wobbly on the legs still, but not bad.
I needed to go in to work with Bill on Thursday so we left her alone all day presuming she was doing better. However, when we got home that evening we immediately saw that she had relapsed. While her breathing wasn't as distressed as the evening before she still had very rapid respirations and became extremely short of breath with any movement. Other then taking a few bites of food that morning, she had not touched her food. This is a dog that LIVED for food. I tried to offer her some bread, her favorite treat, and she just turned her head away. While alert, she was extremely lethargic and weak, not moving at all except to struggle to her feet occasionally to get a drink of water and then she would collapse back on to her blanket. It was so sad. While I was fixing dinner Bill lay in the hammock next to her singing her little songs and stroking her head so she would feel loved.
Friday morning it was evident she wasn't going to recover. She still hadn't touched her food and she couldn't make it down the stairs to relieve herself. For the most part she just lay limp and unresponsive, her breathing still stressed. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is watch an animal suffer. It is more then my heart can bear. We had no idea how long she would hang on like this, so we arranged for Dr. Boone, an Adventist Doctor in town, to come and put her down. (We have no Vets in Goroka)
Friday afternoon he came, and she just quietly went to "sleep" with Bill and I stroking her and telling her what a good dog she was and how much we loved her. We buried her in her beloved red blanket right in the middle of our flower garden under the mulberry tree -crying our eyes out.
I believe God created animals for us to love and cherish because He knew they fill a special place in our hearts that nothing else can. Sheba died on Easter Weekend. As I spent Sabbath nursing my wounded heart I reflected on the death and resurrection of Jesus. It struck me as never before that this is a time to celebrate the victory Jesus had over death. Our time on this earth is but short and soon we will never ever again have to experience the pain and sorrow of death! Because of Jesus it will be banished forever. And that is something to truly rejoice about.
