My Little Dog Sisi Died

​

She was such a free spirit! When let out the door, she would leap for joy. She looked like a young gazelle. It was amazing to watch. And it was joyful!

Sisi was a miniature, short-haired, red female dachshund. She was a mature dog when I got her, and she had already had three litters. She was wise and completely at ease with people of all sorts. She never minded strangers touching her and holding her. She seemed to enjoy everyone she met; they all loved her.

When I was living with and taking care of my mother, Sisi helped me have something of my own to love. She was my solace when I was overwhelmed by my mother’s lifestyle. All of Mother’s friends liked her. One of Mother’s friends asked me, as she sat holding Sisi in her lap, “When you die, will you leave Sisi to me in your will?” Of course, we all laughed aloud because the speaker was well into her 90s when she said this, while I was a young thing in my  mid-70s. But it is an example of how popular Sisi was with everyone.



Maria, who cooked for my mother for 42 years, adored Sisi. In fact, it was Maria who named her . She came to me with an entirely different name. Maria said it should be “Sisi” after the Austrian empress of the same nickname. And so, she was. Sisi was an exceptionally good jumper. She would often jump onto a chair in the breakfast room, where we ate most of our meals. She would sit at the side of the room, watching us eat. She was patient, she was calm, and after dinner she would jump onto one of the dining chairs and from there right onto the table. She was looking for scraps. She was smart and consistent and often rewarded with something tasty.

Sisi was a hunter by nature and a killer when she caught her prize. One time, she discovered a nest of baby bunnies. She relentlessly stole one after another, until she had decimated the whole bunch. We tried to intervene, but she remained focused and beat the bunnies despite our best efforts to save them. Sisi was bred to hunt. She was bred to kill. We could not change her nature. We did not try.  When we visited in the country, Sisi would hunt for hours. One day, she went out in the late afternoon and didn’t come back until 1 or 2 a.m. I felt such relief because I was afraid she had been eaten by something herself.

She loved children, and she loved old people. She had a winning personality that attracted all who knew her. There was something very peaceful about her when she was at rest. She was quiet, gentle, and always nearby. But she never got under anyone’s feet. She seemed acutely aware of where people were, so as not to trip them. 


She was my own little girl, and she wormed her way into my heart with her winning personality. Watching her leap with joy and high spirits when let out of the house to enjoy the outdoors was like watching a circus act. She ran a few steps, then launched her slender body into the air as if she were going to “take off” like a plane. She did this repeatedly, especially in high grass where her short stature kept her from having a long view. In the snow, she did the same. She leaped above it so that she knew what direction she was going and what to expect further on. It was fun to watch her, and it always amazed visitors. They exclaimed, took photos, and asked if she always did that. Of course, the answer was “Yes,” she did.

In these later years, she gained a lot of weight and could no longer leap.  She only rarely got up on the dining table after a meal to vacuum up any bits left from someone’s plate. But we all remembered how she used to do it.   Sisi, dear, may you leap your way to the feet of God in Heaven!

She just died with no fuss or noticeable distress. She was sleeping on my chest when I took a nap after lunch on Monday. I slept for over an hour with Sisi on my breast and two other dogs lying next to my legs. When we woke up, I helped her safely down the three steps next to the chair. I was resting in the rather ugly-looking, but amazingly useful and comfortable recliner that my son-in-law, David, brought for me after my surgery. I went into my office, and the dogs all went the other way, and I thought nothing about it. It was normal for them to go off on their own for a little while. Because of my broken hip, my maid came to check on me around 4 pm. Then she called out, “Sisi is dead!!” I could not believe what I heard, and I said, “What did you say?” I was hoping it was a mix-up due to poor English. But she repeated it. Of course, I could not move fast, but I got myself to my dining area of the big living room, and there she was, dead on the rug. There were no marks on her, and she had not made any sounds loud enough for me to hear as I sat in my office, not 20 feet away. I assume it was a heart attack or a stroke. It was so sudden.

I am deeply sad. I miss her every hour. I just cannot help but grieve. She was 14 and a half. I knew she was not herself. I had taken her to the vet before I broke my hip. We were debating how many thousand dollars I was willing to spend on various diagnostic tests. Sigh. She spared me that. But it is still a huge gap in my life. Lucky for me, I have a young male dachshund who is about 3. His name is Hercules Poirot, after the Agatha Christie detective. Hercules comforts me and is warm and loving. But dear as he is, he is NOT Sisi. Some dogs are simply unforgettable and irreplaceable.

If you have a dog you love, give him or her a hug for me. They are so dear, so wonderful, and indispensable. Cherish yours!

Copyright©. 2026 Bonnie B. Matheson