Gabe's Older Sister

The story of a rescued dog.

She was 15. At least that’s what we think. Gabe’s older sister. That’s what we called her. When asked how many children we had, we said 2: one with four legs, one with two.

We saw her picture online and fell in love. The small, often blurry animal adoption pictures have a way of melting hearts. The Sarah McLachlan ASPCA song still fills my head every time I look at dog adoption pages. Advertised as a Shepherd-Lab mix, we drove hours to adopt her back in 2012. We pulled into the ghost-town of a strip mall near Temecula, full of concern that we may be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was mid-morning. Only the Dollar Tree store still had a sign above its door. The parking lot was eerily empty. But we’d already bought the collar, a bed, a leash, and a multi-pack of poop bags. So we waited, with cash in hand and deep love for a dog we hadn’t even met yet.

The white windowless conversion van, the one I had been trained to run from as kids growing up just outside St. Louis, pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later. A couple got out and began unloading crate after crate of forlorn animals. It was clear the minute her crate hit the ground that she wasn’t a lab and was a puppy. She had a Shepherd colored snout and was too small to tell what else. A classic mutt. They called her Tonya. Her mannerisms resembled the runt of the family who’d experience abuse. Her stench, like an irritant, brought tears to my eyes.

Finally safe and more comfortable than ever, she fell asleep on my lap shortly after we merged onto the highway, heading home. Her previous life behind us. From that point on, she never left our side.

June 10, 2012. A day after we’d adopted Maven.

Years before we adopted her, I used to travel to Burlington, Vermont, for work. During early mornings, I often ran by Lake Champlain and around the quiet city streets. I can still remember the morning I ran past Maven Skateshop. The name stuck with me. She definitely was not a Tonya.

From day one, it was clear she had a lot of energy. From running up Shelf in Ojai to chasing our mountain bikes up and down the 14-mile round-trip trail to the TopaTopa ridgeline, she loved to run. We took her on countless adventures all over the Ventura River Preserve, Sulphur Mountain, Sisar Canyon, and the beach. And those were just a few of the local playgrounds. Maven remained a steadfast playmate until the very end. Like her parents, being outside and by our side was her happy place.

Always up for a road trip. We explored much of the West together. Every river, an opportunity for a dip in between our rides, runs, climbs, and hikes.

Patiently waiting at the door, gifts in mouth. We often let her carry our shoes far longer than she may have liked, but it kept her calm and quiet. A loyal shadow at home. A convicted guard dog, with a reliable bark after dinner for extra treats, and when Gabe’s friends become more animated in the house. Maven was often a pain in the ass, but meant well, and we loved her.

The night before she passed, Kris made her a steak dinner, and we watched the sunset at Moon + Oaks Farm. The next morning, after her breakfast of bacon and eggs, we slowly walked in the river. Later that day, she fell into her long sleep, tongue in the Häagen-Dazs chocolate ice-cream bowl. We had rescued her from an awful situation, gave her the best life we could, and she passed peacefully, surrounded by love and treats. May we all transition the way Maven did.