We all know the story of The Arabian Nights. King Shahrya marries, then executes his cheating first wife. Now a bitter man, he takes a new bride to bed every night and kills her the next morning so he is never betrayed again. A brave woman named Scheherazade marries him, then begins an enthralling story that she refuses to end until the next night. And the next. And the next. After 1,001 nights, the intrigued king finally commits to his clever wife. Scheherazade’s resolve exchanged a death sentence for a Queen’s Crown, and the love and respect of her king.
This story is about another Scheherazade. Her name was Suzy. A white, long-haired miniature dachshund, she lived in a breeder’s pen for four years. Sadly, she only produced two live pups in four litters and was then deemed “substandard.” This breeder does not run a puppy mill. We’ve been there. They are a legitimate kennel--breeding, showing, and selling AKC champion dachshunds. They also cull those judged unfit to continue the bloodlines and are sold at “pet prices.” Suzy was one of them. She was not cruelly abused, but she no longer received special attention or expensive food. However, like Scheherazade, she survived.
My husband and I had previously purchased another “pet” from this breeder. He was a wonderful dog right from the start, but this female was an unknown at first. We named her “Suzy,” who was a nebulous character in a “Seinfeld” TV episode. Suzy seemed tame enough when we brought her home, until she saw two food bowls and scarfed hers, then fought my male mini dachshund Niko for his dinner. Suzy lost the battle, but not before she ate a good third of his kibble.
Score one for Scheherazade!
After a week on a rich high-calorie diet, her energy skyrocketed. It was then that we discovered Suzy was feral. Very feral. We couldn’t touch or lift her. Out of her element, she was a frightened dog who didn’t know how to interact with humans. Four years in a breeding pen can do that. The next day we lost Suzy after letting her in our huge backyard to pee. BIG mistake. She’d never been left free to roam. EVER. After an intensive search, we found her hiding between the small space of our storage shed and the fence wall behind it. She was terrified, but allowed my husband to lift and bring her safely inside. Suzy allowed human touch for the very first time.
Score two for Scheherazade!
We thought Suzy would feel safe in a crate, as she’d been confined in her old home. We did leave the door open, however. But one day when I left her with Niko to shower, she confetti-ed two paperbacks, and pulled out the fabric under my recliner and shredded it. New rule. A human had to be in the room with Suzy, or she was crated with a locked door. For the very first time, our silent little Suzy made her displeasure known. She howled and barked! She didn’t want to be confined anymore. Suzy now wanted freedom and made sure we knew it!
Score three for Scheherazade!
As she’d grown up around multiple dogs, Suzy was very comfortable with Niko. He tolerated her, but Niko was her Velcro touchstone. She copied everything he did as well as she could within her fear limits. She wasn’t housebroken, of course, but Niko used his doggy door. Three days later Suzy followed him. She never had an accident in the house again.
Score four for Scheherazade!
Toys were a new concept for her. We bought new ones so she could learn to play. Niko, our former “only dog” and a bigger, dominant male, stole them all. Suzy’s favorite was a squeaky furry bunny, and we would take it away from Niko and return it to her again. Niko would soon steal it back. This went back and forth and back and forth until one day, Suzy refused to relinquish her precious bunny. She growled at Niko—her very first growl! Niko charged; Suzy ran, but she kept her toy the whole time. Suzy realized she wasn’t helpless anymore! From that day on, the bunny was hers. She happily made it squeak and squeak and squeak. She set aside her life of submission and fought for herself!
We also bought two new balls for Suzy. Niko has his own two. This dog is obsessively ball crazy, and carries one everywhere, even when he pees and poops. We went through the same process with the balls as we did with the bunny until Suzy fought back again. Niko ended up with a total of three balls, but Suzy managed to claim one for herself. She was far too skittish to play with the three of us, but she had fun pushing the ball with her nose, following it, then repeating the process. She now owned a ball and a bunny of her very own.
Score five and six for Scheherazade!
Suzy began to hold her own around Niko, but she was still feral with us. If we came too close, she immediately ran under the dining room table, dodging us by weaving between the six chairs. I began putting her food bowl at one end of the kitchen while I stood at the other. Suzy had to walk by me to get to the bowl. She hated it, but after several false starts, she did. Day by day I slowly moved the bowl closer and closer to me. She advanced and retreated with frustration, but I was patient, and she wanted her food! After two weeks, the bowl rested between my feet. Suzy skittered back and forth, her nails clicking on the tile floor. I waited in suspense and almost gave up, but then she bravely advanced and ate. I continued keeping the bowl between my feet for every single meal from then on. Suzy stopped fearing closeness.
Score seven for Scheherazade!
We were making slow progress. We could get close to Suzy now, but couldn’t handle her. Not lifting, no holding, no cuddling. This went on for months. But we could “love on her” if we left Suzy on the floor. We petted and stroked and talked baby talk to her. Soon she would come to our two recliners and paw at the sides, wanting gentle hands to reach down and pet her. Soon it became a pleasure for Suzy. She came to us at least ten times a day for attention. After a few months, my husband—who she trusted more than me—lifted her into his lap. She lasted five minutes before struggling to get down. Then ten. Three times he and Suzy made it up to twenty. Once even forty-five! The average holding time became a firm fifteen minutes with my husband. It wasn’t a long amount, but she now trusted us enough to be handled.
Score eight for Scheherazade!
We decided Suzy was ready for a professional groomer. Her nails were too long, and her long coat was so neglected that the mats, especially the painful armpit ones, interfered with her walking. If you’re not a dog show champion or a future ribbon winner, you don’t get prettied up for the public. (Not fond of the breeder for that!)
We called around, asking veterinarians if they would sedate and groom Suzy. All said no, save for one who named such an outrageous price that even our two canine health insurance plans wouldn’t cover it. My husband went on Facebook, desperately looking for local help, and jackpot! A kindhearted business owner arranged gratis grooming for various rescues to “give back to the community.” We were nervous, but Suzy’s mats hurt, so we reluctantly turned her over. Ten minutes with the clippers, then a break so she could calm down. Or five minutes of clipping, then another rest period. Whatever it took. Suzy’s transformation took FOUR HOURS. Laura the groomer was so compassionate and so patient. All the owner wanted in return was a before-and-after photo of Suzy to post on his website. I mailed them a thank-you card with our heartfelt message of gratitude. Suzy was now properly groomed
Score nine for Scheherazade!
Then, disaster! Scheherazade faltered, and the king was out for vengeance. Suzy wasn’t spayed, and we thought she was ready for the ordeal. She’d made it through the grooming process. We told ourselves she’d be unconscious most of the time and we’d nurse her at home. What could go wrong? We soon found out. Suzy wouldn’t take a pain pill from us, not in a pill pocket or wrapped in cheese or meat. We couldn’t pop the pills into her throat and stroke them down, either. Trying to do so, or to squirt liquid antibiotics into her mouth with a syringe, was even worse, resulting in savage bites that drew blood.
She struggled so hard that she hurt her poor stitched belly even more. We took her back to the vet for pain shots. Among strangers. Who muzzled and carried and immobilized her for injections. Repeat the next day for an I.V. Find powdered medication alternatives to put in her food. Try to get her to eat that food. Go back to the vet again for monitoring.
It was the spay from hell. Finally, the vet said Suzy was stable, no more appointments were needed, and she could recover at home.
Once there, we saw all her progress slip away.
Suzy went into her crate and curled into a tight ball. Despite the open door, she didn’t come out. Coaxing, treats, toys- nothing worked. I put her beloved bunny, ball, and food and water bowl into the crate. We talked to her. I prayed for her. Nothing. Suzy aroused Niko’s protective instincts, and he stayed close, trying to comfort her. It didn’t help.
Outside during one quick potty break, she disappeared. I found Suzy sitting in our greenhouse. Frozen. Staring into space with vacant eyes. She didn’t even see me. Suzy had totally shut down. I gently picked her up and carried her back inside to lower her onto the crate’s soft bed. Then I cried for Suzy and her suffering and the shitty cards life had dealt her. And I felt so guilty. Niko is neutered. I wished I’d left Suzy intact and bought diapers for her heats. I would have if I’d known. But I didn’t. I cried for that, too.
But Scheherazade wasn’t ready to give up yet. Suzy slowly began to respond to my husband and Niko again. Then me. When she finally emerged from her crate, bunny in mouth, we rejoiced. She was weak, but she was back. In truth, Suzy was never a strong dog. Four years in a breeding box left her with mildly atrophied muscles. After she healed from being spayed, it was time for more serious action--exercise. We needed to familiarize Suzy with a harness and leash and get her walking. Niko knows what to do when I say, “Get your leash and harness.” He brings them to me. And just like the dog door, Suzy copied and did the same. She even brought me TWO dog harnesses once! Amazingly, she didn’t struggle when we put on her new one that first time. In the park, she ignored the leash and sniffed and watched and walked, her warm brown eyes brightly shining. As long as Niko stayed close, she was happy. We made “walkies” a regular thing for our dachshunds. With our huge backyard and his zoomies and playtime with us, fireball Niko never needed them. But Suzy did. She didn’t cringe once in the park. She really enjoyed this new experience.
Score ten for Scheherazade!
Suzy was ready to learn a few basic commands. We always challenge Niko for his treats. He never gets freebies. “Sit, stay, down, paw, roll over,” and various combinations in different places with varying distances are used to emphasize the STAY command. Untrained, frisky low-to-the ground dachshunds can be “trip and fall” hazards. We knew Suzy was a smart dog, and again she copied Niko. Or tried. Her attempts made us smile. She would respond to Paw or Sit, but sometimes both, sometimes none, sometimes one, sometimes the other. She made us smile. Suzy was so proud of herself that we gave her a reward for any response. She even learned to sit exactly below the treat jar on the counter, hoping for a tasty snack. Life was good again.
Score eleven for Scheherazade!
As the year progressed, Suzy grew even braver. She would stay and play at doggy day care as long as Niko was there. I work from home, but I can’t be there around the clock. Suzy learned that the women at doggy day care could be trusted, too. She was no longer a feral creature with terrible emotional baggage. Suzy could interact with other humans!
Score twelve for Scheherazade!
But then the Arabian prince raised his fearful sword. In Suzy’s case, it was an easy hop over the two-inch bottom of the doggy door frame. A lifetime of weak muscles couldn’t fully support her long back, and the curse of all dachshunds, the dreaded IVDD, struck HARD. Intervertebral disk disease lurked in Suzy’s body. Bone grinds against spinal cords. She went into the doggy door a healthy girl and came out with two paralyzed back legs. Back to the vet.
The steel sword swung, and Scheherazade was no more.
The real Scheherazade had 1,001 nights and a happy ending. Suzy only had 365 days. Scheherazade’s family rejoiced in her good fortune. Suzy’s family tried to understand the cruel twists of Fate.
People keep saying, “You gave her one good year.”
I know. And I’m grateful we had her. I hope Suzy was, too. If she had stayed in her breeding box birthing healthy litters, she wouldn’t have been so frightened. It was all she knew. Her kennel crate caused no trauma. Coming home with us did. I remember her short time with us--and pray the good outweighed the bad.
Suzy rolling the ball with her nose. Suzy squeaking her bunny and proudly parading it in front of Niko. Suzy lifting her paw when she wanted a treat, trusting she’d get one. Suzy scratching the sides of our recliners to be petted. And those precious times when she let me hold her for five whole minutes—such a pearl of great price. Surely those were good times, but then I think of her in the greenhouse staring blindly into space, and I wonder…
Did we do enough for Suzy? We tried so hard.
Well. We didn’t get those 1,001 Arabian nights, but I’m not counting nights anymore. I count something else. We have 1,001 memories of our beautiful Scheherazade in our hearts. Those will never be forgotten.
Ma’a as-salamah, Suzy. Go in peace.
Suzy and her bunny. Both photos by Anne Marie Duquette