In Memory of Tango: 1994 - December 27, 2007
Tango came into my life in January 2005. The husband of a friend of a friend worked at the Georgia Dome (or was it the Georgia World Congress Center?). This sweet, black dog was hanging out at the Dome, mooching off Falcons fans and convention attendees. He and his wife were trying to find a good home for her because they didn't think an unhousebroken dog would stand much of a chance at the pound, no matter how sweet she was. They already had several adopted dogs and couldn't take in another one. They heard that I was looking for a second dog, and talked me in to adopting her. I wasn't sure at first. I was looking for a purebred dog -- maybe a greyhound or a golden retriever -- not a stray. In addition, I already had Kaphinga, a very alpha Basenji, who didn't particularly care for other dogs. Finally, I agreed to try out the dog with the understanding that if the Basenji hated her, then I would take this stray to the pound.
When I drove home with Tango, she spent the whole trip with her head in my lap, looking up at me with pleading eyes. I started to melt. When I brought her into the house, the Basenji immediately grabbed the back of neck and shook her as if to say "I'm in charge here." Tango immediately rolled over as if to say "Okay, that works for me!"
Tango's first few weeks at home were an adventure. Evidently she had never eaten out of a dog dish. When I put food in the dish, she would rush up to the bowl and slam her head into the bowl, sending kibbles flying all over the kitchen. She would cock her head in curiousity at ordinary household appliances -- televisions, toilets, and microwaves were completely new to her. The first time I opened the dishwasher, she tried to crawl inside as if it were a new room in the house. She had no idea about housebreaking. I would take her outside to do her business and she would just roll in the grass, only to come back inside and do her business. Fortunately, she learned quickly from the Basenji what she was supposed to do when she went outside.
I took Tango to the vet for shots and a checkup and to see if they had any idea what kind of dog she was. All I knew was that she was a sweet, black dog. They guessed that she was a Lab/Pit mix. Oh my! What a shock! I never would have picked out a Pittie in a thousand years. I couldn't reconcile my stereotypical image of a pittie with this incredibly sweet, friendly dog. Oh well, she had a seal of approval from the Basenji, who never approved of much of anything, and I had grown attached to her silly grin and her kind disposition. Tango was my forever dog; no doubt about it.
Tango grew and grew. When I got her, she was about 35 or 40 pounds. She quickly grew to 80 pounds. The 20 pound Basenji remained firmly in charge -- neither dog had any idea of the size difference. Tango and Kaphinga were inseparable and completely devoted to one another. Kaphinga made up the rules for all the games, and Tango did whatever Kaphinga told her.
I loved Tango's enthusiasm and her big, wide grin. She always smiled. Tango knew that life was good, and she enjoyed every minute of it.
Tango loved everyone and everything -- people, dogs, food, rides, toys, and belly rubs. It sometimes made me sad that people would cross the street to avoid her when we went out for walks. She was as people social and dog social as any dog I could imagine. The bigger the crowd, the more comfortable she was.
Although Tango never much formal training other than a basic obedience class, she was a joy to live with. She knew which toys were hers, and never chewed up any of my stuff. She never growled or nipped. It almost seemed that she could read my mind. When I was sad she would get a cow hoof, chew it until it was stinky and gelatinous, and then carefully deposit it into my lap and nudge it toward me as if to say: "This makes me happy, and I know it will make you happy, too." The cow hoof routine always cheered me up.
Everything about Tango was solid --- both her temperament and her body. Well, her body was solid until arthritis set in. I suppose it was about six years ago that the vet first diagnosed the arthritis. Maybe it had something to do with her having pit girth riding on lab legs. She did okay for a long time, but it gradually got worse. By the fall of 2007, I had to help her get up in the mornings and I started having to help her get up and down the front steps. I gave her pain medicine and frequent massages, but she continued to deteriorate. Finally, a few days after Christmas, she got to the point where she couldn't stand up anymore, even when I tried to help her.
I took her to the vet, hoping that he could give her a magic shot or something to get her back on her feet but also realizing that there was probably nothing left to do but have her put down. As the veterinary technician carried her into the clinic, she was still wagging her tail and smiling. I discussed the situation with the vet. Tango was on her dog bed, still wagging her tail, grinning, and eating treats. To look at her, you would never have known anything was wrong. As the sad reality set in, I began to cry ... and the vet began to cry. Tango licked the tears away as if to say: "It's all going to be okay, mom." She kept her positive attitude right up to end, and her last moments were full of belly rubs, hugs, and treats.