Our family at Art Farm lost a great dog this week. Hilda, our gentle and ever vigilant guardian of children, died from a sudden onset of seizures which led to a heart attack. Despite the best efforts of the ER vet who attended to her, she did not make it. Hilda was just six years old. Why this happened in an otherwise healthy dog is unknown, other than the fact that certain breeds of dog are known to be at risk for seizure disorders at Hilda's age.
Hilda was an intelligent dog of great dignity. Even here, dressed in a tutu and feathered purple headband by our daughter Emerson, left, and her cousin, Bey, she manages to maintain her noble bearing.
At Art Farm, Hilda was beloved by the many students who came for summer camp and classes. Even children who came here with a fear of dogs (and Hilda was a large dog at more than 80 pounds) couldn't resist her charms, and through her overcame their fear. Just last Saturday night, she was featured in a Girl Scout skit during a campfire. The scouts, our daughter's troop, was here for a camp-out. As always, Hilda was game for whatever young people had in store for her.
From earliest puppyhood, Hilda was a self-appointed guardian of children. As a puppy, we took her to our daughter's nursery school every day so the children could pet her and thus condition her to be gentle with them. Hilda took her puppy classes and then obedience training classes at the excellent Hidden Valley Obedience Club in Escondido. The club is a cooperative of experienced dog enthusiasts who work with owners and their pets at a nominal cost. It was a bit of a drive for us from Carlsbad, but well worth it because a well trained dog is both a responsible and joyful approach to dog ownership.
Art Farm, which is also our personal home, is dog heaven. Our dogs have free run of the 10-acres, and there are always people here to play with them. Hilda and our miniature mule, Picasso, who is also free to wander about our property, made endearing, if unlikely, companions. Mules very often don't like dogs, but this pair played together as if they were the same species.
Hilda was a very special dog, and her leaving us so suddenly and so relatively young has left a hole in our hearts. Many tears have been shed. Our daughter has lost a special friend, one that has been with her since kindergarten. A dog that guarded her at sleep and at play. A dog that always knew when we would be coming home across the bridge after school and waited for us. When it was time to retrieve Hilda's body from the vet and bring her home for burial under an old oak tree, Emerson, who is just 11, insisted on coming with me. She is brave that way. As we turned into an otherwise empty parking lot, we saw a brand new, slobber-free, bright green tennis ball just sitting there as if waiting for us. Hilda LOVED green tennis balls. It made us smile to see that tennis ball. I told Emerson that perhaps it was a sign. Perhaps, when dogs die and go to that great dog park in the sky, they drop tennis balls to earth to let their owners know they have their wings, and that they are OK.
Rest in peace dear Hilda.
