A Tribute to My Best Friend

My best friend is an amazing man. He is loyal to a fault, protective to no end, and always there for me when I need him. He cuddles me while I sleep, and he always offers to go with me when I leave my house. He is a bit messy, and his hygiene habits leave something to be desired, but I still call him "Handsome" every single day. I remember the day he came into my life, and I will be devastated when he leaves me, but I know we will find each other again in Heaven. My best friend is exactly what I dreamed of when I was a little girl and he's everything I could hope for as an adult, and that is why he deserves this tribute. Here's to you, Rebel Lee Donels, you are the best friend, companion, and dog, and I am thankful for you everyday.

Rebel's life didn't start out so easy. He was born in an unknown location in Iowa, and he went to live with a family that had another black Lab, Bear. Bear was three years older than Rebel, but they grew very close over time. Their family didn't have any people kids, but Rebel and Bear loved their owners and that love was reciprocated. As the economy grew weaker, however, Rebel and Bear's parents lost their jobs, and soon their bills became too expensive. As a result, Rebel and Bear were turned over to an animal shelter. They were five and eight years old respectively.

At the shelter, the volunteers and coordinators encouraged people to consider adopting both dogs in order to keep them together, but that proved too much for the interested adoptive families, and Bear soon found a home. After four months, Rebel was transferred to a foster home where he lived for four weeks before I found him.

When Rebel and I first met, he could not have been less interested in me. He had a new field to explore, a tennis ball that was yet to be destructed, and the scent of many dogs who had come before him. His foster mom stayed as long as she could, but she soon told me I would have to take him and leave or she would not be able to give him up. I asked her then if she wanted to keep him, but she assured me she wanted to continue her work as a foster parent and could not have any more permanent dogs in the way. As we walked to my car, Rebel allowed me to take his leash without fuss and then leaped joyfully into my car. I took that as a sure sign of happiness to come, bid his foster mother goodbye, and went on my way with my new/old dog. I just knew we would be instant family. Needless to say, I was wrong.

Rebel chewed through two metal kennels, tore out a towel bar, ripped a door in half, dislodged four electrical outlets, and defecated across two hundred square feet of carpet. That was week one. I took Rebel to the vet to see what I could do differently and found myself returning to my home with my $10 dog and $200 in Prozac and anti-hysteria pills. We worked with Rebel as much as we could and after a while found ourselves settling in with our new family. We soon learned that we settled a little too quickly.

After four weeks of Prozac and other medications, Rebel seemed to find comfort in his new family as well, and he liked to stay close to us as we went about our days. In the evening we all sat together on our three seasons porch and played cards while Rebel and Emma continued their silent battle of who had the best sleeping spot beneath our chairs. As we settled for another rousing hand of Spite and Malice, Rebel began moving across the floor in what can only be described as a water-free doggy crawl. At first we laughed at this humorous new move we didn't know our dog was capable of making, but we soon realized he was moving without complete control of his body. We tried everything we could think of in talking to him, holding him, rubbing his ears to calm him, but nothing made a difference. Within minutes we were on our way to the emergency animal hospital.

It would be impossible for me to recreate the events of that night, but I relived them again the first time I took my daughter to the emergency room. Rebel shook helplessly, panicking when aware and vomiting when he wasn't, but there was nothing we could do. We watched as the vet injected him again and again with medicines designed to overtake the seizure and help him relax, but nothing seemed to work. The doctor explained that Rebel had either a brain tumor or epilepsy, but the only thing that mattered in the moment was gaining control of his seizure. After three hours, the vet reached what he called his last chance shot. If this drug did not put Rebel to sleep and put an end to the seizure, he would have to put Rebel to sleep forever. The drug worked, and we were told to leave and return in the morning. We had known Rebel for four weeks at that point, and we were inconsolable.

Rebel's story and his chances improved dramatically the next day, and since that time Rebel has taken Phenobarbital twice a day everyday with extra pills on the days he has seizures. We will never know if his original family knew about his epilepsy, but we do know the shelter would have had him euthanized if they had known. This is not a sign of cruelty on their part, but rather it is the sad result of too many dogs with too little funding. Rebel's medicine is $15 per month, and that would have been too much for them.

So that was Rebel's beginning, and since then we have only grown closer. Rebel moved to New York with us, and he stayed with me when Tracey and Emma went to start our home in Texas. He continues to stay close to me at night when everyone else has gone to bed, and he barks and growls as necessary when new people arrive. He lays with me on the bed, and he is always ready for the next car ride. He listens to my secrets, and he saves his kisses for when I need them most. Rebel is truly the best friend I'll ever have. But he isn't perfect.

A tribute to Rebel would not be a proper tribute without the full story. Rebel barks. All the time. He has good instincts when it comes to remaining silent while Ellie sleeps, but he considers a phone in my hand as a personal invitation to commence barking again. He also eats a fortune in rawhides every month, and if I fail to supply him with rawhides with proper frequency, he will bark even more. He takes up too much space on the bed, and he finds a way to lay in exactly the right position to make sleep impossible for me. He doesn't jump on strangers, but he jumps on me (whether I want him to or not). He also likes to take himself for walks when an open door or gate presents itself, but he insists this is not the horrible fault I make it out to be because he always comes home. He has Big Black Dog Syndrome, also known as the ability to scare people based entirely on his appearance, but he doesn't care.

He doesn't care about scaring people because Rebel is not a People-Pleaser in the traditional sense of most labs. Most labs are known for wanting little more than making their people happy. They have held the title of the most popular breed in America for twenty years running, and they are the most likely breed to be adopted from shelters and rescue groups. They work as service dogs and as therapy companions, and yet Rebel is not concerned with any of this. He doesn't care about making friends with new people in my house, and he doesn't care about working or cooperating any more than absolutely necessary.

Instead, Rebel has one concern, and he takes it very seriously. Rebel will get up in the middle of the night, stop in the middle of a meal, and give up a great game of tug-of-war in order to take care of his one responsibility, self-designated though it may be. That is, Rebel would do anything for me. I'm his best friend, and he is mine, and that is how it forever will be. So this is my tribute to you, Rebel Lee Donels, best friend and black lab extraordinaire. You are twelve years old now, and I know you can't be with me forever in the physical sense, but you will always be my very best friend.