Estrella

Adopted 11 December 1992 in Tulsa – died 7 May 2006 in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia

Returning from work and the inevitable Friday happy hour, I found my neighborhood in a buzz because of a vacant house fire. The Fire Department was still there and most neighbors were watching the action.

While talking to the Gearys I noticed a lose dog following some boys on bikes headed for four-lane Lewis Ave. I told them to mind the dog lest she be hit by a car. “She’s not ours.” I whistled and she came.  No one had seen her before.

Estrella with frisbee (top) and companions
Magnus and Edelsinn (bottom)

Bolstering my “rescue” mode were two generous glasses of Pinot Grigio downed with office friends at Charlie Mitchell’s Pub. My strength too seemed greatly enhanced because, lacking a leash or collar, I picked up the 40+ dog and walked home, nearly a block away, in high heels! Those were the days.

At home, to greet the newcomer were an “excess” of pets, i.e., he iconic canine trio of Jefe , Kissu, and Maximus (Blog bios 25 FEB 17, 22 JAN 17, and 10 NOV 16), and felines Petunia, Mi-Reina, Pomponia, Mimosa, and Pandora (Blog bios 20 MAY 2017,  20 MAY 2017, 15 MAY 2008 and 28 MAR 2016,  30 APR 2017 and 28 MAR 2016, 20 MAY 2017 and 28 MAR 16).

(Lest the Gentle Reader imagines I lived in hoarder’s squalor, the fact is that the house and yard were in pristine condition, ready for unannounced guests anytime.  The Tulsa City Council’s arbitrary decision of allowing three, and only three pets per household, was absurd. Some people cannot manage a gerbil properly, and others can maintain an immaculate multi-pet home.)

Further investigation on how the Australian Heeler mix got to the Woodward Park Addition area revealed that a resident of 17^th St. had found this unknown dog in her backyard, left there by someone as a trade-in for her pure bred Doberman pup, now gone. This was no fluke: the fence was high and the gate was locked. Realizing the switch, the woman opened the gate and let the unfortunate trade-in go, QED people are heartless. Abandoned twice in a day, the dog opted to follow some children on bikes – perhaps they had a heart. They didn’t.

Hopelessly trying to find a permanent solution for “Estrella” (the name came instantly: she had a blue star in her eye and she was supremely self-confident) I kept her. A week didn’t go by before Bob Whiteley, a friend then in charge of the Tulsa Animal Shelter, called me warning that I had been reported as having four dogs.

On very short notice, the only option was unimaginable, unless one happens to know exceptional people, and I did: The Gearys. The letter Estrella “wrote” when she finally came to live with me is telling:

30 June 1995

Dear Sue and Jan:

At the Geary's with Stanley.

     Two and one-half years ago you saved my life (and probably Dolores’) by volunteering your home as a temporary shelter. I was neither cute nor easy to get along. Finding a permanent home for me wasn’t likely. You opened your warm and friendly home to me. In it I had play pals Subway and Hose-Head, and cats to scare. Your daily open house and Friday cocktail hour included some of my favorite people – Beth and Stanley and Allison and Patrick and Annie and other fine friends. I diligently tried to rid the household from those I didn’t like. You are welcome. Thank you for your patience with all my wrong-doings (Dolores has agreed to buy shoes for both of you for the next 10 years), for your tender mercies in treating my exotic allergies, and especially for the gentle pleasure of your company in which I never felt fear or loneliness. Now, under sad circumstances – the death of Jefe – there is an opening for me at Casa Proubasta. Kissu and Maximus need me ... someone’s gotta keep those curs in line. Dolores, too, is woefully indiscriminate in selecting friends and I intend to scare some of them off. A bitch’s job is never done. So I’m moving on to around the corner. Everything Dolores owns is yours, anything you ever want or need, just ask me; I have power of attorney. Love forever. And I’ll check on you every Friday. -- Estrella

Like all dogs of Heeler heritage, Estrella was tenacious, but reasonably so, and superbly versatile. Under her plain appearance beat the heart of a Dingo and I felt safe; every woman living alone should have an Estrella roomie (better yet two) and a Smith & Wesson.

On 15 September 1995 I suffered a major car crash. After two weeks in St. John’s Hospital, I returned home to nurse a broken knee, broken ribs, and lung, liver and kidney lacerations such as Dr. Rocky Morgan had once treated in a rodeo bull rider. This I had to accomplish by myself while also caring for the house, three dogs, and five cats on only one painkiller a day of the four allowed. 

Unable to perform the usual cleaning and flea-prevention regime to the usual standards, flea infestation was inevitable. Lynne Murtha (Blog bio 5 FEB 17) and Malcolm Coldwell took all the pets at once to groomers for medicated baths. The house was fumigated. Then came the call:

One of the groomers called sobbing: Estrella was at large. The staff’s attempts to follow her failed and she was last seen entering the Broken Arrow Expressway on an exit ramp. I couldn’t drive nor walk without a walker – helpless.  My friends leaped into action and radio personality Denver Foxx issued an APB with immediate results.

An unidentified man saw a dog (which he described as a German Shepherd) lying on the shoulder of the road. He stopped and so did an open-bed pickup on which she was transported to the nearby 15^th Street Veterinary Group.  Although the description “German Shepherd” didn’t hold much promise it was the right area and so I was taken there by Patty Sellers in her MG, my plastered leg sticking out of the window.

I hobbled to the back of the clinic with Dr. Mark Shackelford and there she was laying in a run. She smelled me and her head went up. The vet, tears welling up, said “She’ll be ok; I thought her back was broken.” We both cried.

(Lesson learned: NEVER trust another person’s description of your lost pet. Check it out personally. Red can be black; large is small ... People see the same animal differently.)

Estrella was sent home with a broken pelvis which required rest and sling support for walking.  Where is a video camera when you need it – several times a day we exited/entered the narrow door to the backyard, me leaning on and scooting a walker with my left arm while with my right hand I grabbed a towel supporting Estrella’s chest as a sling to help her stand.  Nothing was easy but we both prevailed.

Like most dogs, Estrella avoided children. In the park one day a four-year old boy suddenly came running toward Estrella, arms open ready to hug. Yelling “don’t come near!” “stop!” in English and Spanish failed to dissuade him until Estrella leaped to the end of her leash with bad intentions. The boy stopped on a dime and ran back to his parents as fast as he came. The parents would have been (but not held) responsible for a mauling as they sat on a park bench ignorantly letting their child do all the things that send one-million people to the hospital every year. One can only hope that the  boy will continue to pursue his passion for other animals after his parents learn about bite avoidance.

Estrella’s profile would be incomplete without mention of her prodigious fresbee-catching ability. All toys had to be blue or she ignored them.

Like the Dingo in her DNA and Aussies in general she was tough and durable. She survived Jefe, Kissu, Maximus, and Edelsinn (Blog bio 5 FEB 17). In December 2005, at the age of 13 or 14 she moved with Chris, Magnus (Blog bio 18 May 10) and me to Saudi Arabia. There, a condition that had first manifested itself in Tulsa, nystagmus, which causes uncontrolled eye movements and loss of balance, reoccurred with greater frequency.

In Memphis airport headed for Saudi Arabia.
Chris, Magnus and Estrella.

A particularly severe episode took place after a short walk –albeit in 100^oF weather-- around Falcon Court, in Dhahran. She fell on our front lawn; her eyes, rotating wildly, affixed in my direction, expressed great anguish. I knew my Estrella was telling me “Not again!” Given her age, unknown cause of nystagmus but most likely a brain tumor, and lack of treatment, the vet assured me the prognosis was poor. Under the shadow of a palm tree growing on Arab soil, a veterinarian from New Zealand and a mother from Spain mourned an extraordinary American dog.

Estrella was not through making history, however.  I would not leave her body in a land where the overwhelming majority (see footnote) considers dogs impure and having one is “haraam” – sort’a sacrilege. Norma, a British woman residing in Bahrain, was the only alternative. She procured pet cremation for expatriates like Chris and me and agreed to meet us at the Saudi-Bahraini border on the King Fahd Causeway. Traffic was heavy that day and Estrella, who had been frozen at the Arabian Kennel Club Clinic (run by a Keewee and a Scott), was beginning to thaw inside the Toyota Cruiser.

I was in the car with her, not minding but actually thankful for the aroma marking her last individual presence on earth, while Chris took care of official business at customs. Suddenly, the hatchback opened and two uniformed men grabbed the plastic bag and began pulling.  Screaming like a harpy “NOOOO, you won’t!”  I too reached for the bag headed for unceremonious disposal, I thought. Chris ran out of the office and assured me that all they were going to do was X-ray the body. What better way to smuggle guns in the Middle East than inside a putrifying dog.

Just as the body was being returned by disgusted customs officers, Norma appeared and saved us from further inquiries. A couple of weeks later we returned to Bahrain where drinking alcohol was permitted in expat enclaves, so we toasted Estrella and picked up her ashes, which with others await mine.

Estrella’s passing was not in vain: She opened the door for a desperately needed rescue in Khobar, the nearby town. Farhaan (Blog bio 31 JAN 11, 11 Jan 13) was her worthy successor.

Estrella: My star forever.

Footnote: 

On arrival at King Fahd International Airport outside Dammam, on 31 December 2005 approaching midnight, we expected conflict at Customs with our dogs. That’s why we had previously obtained the name of a popular former Customs officer, Abdul Qahtani, whose mere mention spared us all the formalities. We and the dogs were in! Outside the terminal we became a freak show of sorts while awaiting our ride to Dhahran with John Eigelhart. Soon we were surrounded by men in thobes and cell phones snapping pictures of the infidels and their demon pets. I didn’t care; still gripped by the figure of the woman huddled under her burkah by the exit door of “Arrivals” with two toddlers leaning against her while she held out one black gloved hand silently hoping for alms. We were surrounded and gawked at when out of the crowd emerged a portly, tall, handsome young man who in clear English asked us “May I pet your dogs?” Disbelief. Chris told him to pet Estrella only, because shy old Magnus was at the limit of his endurance after a 24-hour flight. The young man squatted and started petting Estrella as a person with sincere appreciation of and long acquaintance with dogs does. He lingered while his correligionaries forgot about us and started flashing pix at him in the utterly haraam act of “loving” a dog. We smiled at him when our ride arrived, loaded the dogs and luggage, and silently wished that iconoclastic dog lover the best life a person like him can possibly have in Saudi Arabia.