On a chilly night in late December 2013, a homeless mother of eight found herself on the doorstep of a kindly place. She sought refuge for her newborns. The rescue shelter was at capacity, but it was obvious the starving family wouldn’t last much longer out in the cold. A wily bitch, the new mother widened her gorgeous, soulful brown eyes, a trait she proudly passed along to her young ones, and staring up unblinking at her would-be rescuers, she pleaded for their lives in the only way she could: by beguiling them. It worked. She always was a gorgeous girl, after all.

I never met my Silla’s mother; an unknown shelter rescued her and her eight pups that cold December night.

But none of this—my life with Silla—would have occurred if that first animal rescue hadn’t granted her mother a safe haven. A caring volunteer never would have fostered those puppies, fall ill and need help with their upkeep, allowing Phoenix Rising Rescue to step in and offer aid. Four of eight pups wouldn’t have ended up with Phoenix Rising in January 2014, just in time for a sad-sack 20-year-old newly moved back home to adopt the one with a heart-shaped nose in February.

Some people might call this chain of events providence, but I see it as a testament to the choices humans make, the small acts of care and intention that shape our world, leaving meaning not to the whims of fate but to the hands of those who choose to create it. My decision to adopt Silla was insignificant, but it made a difference for one sweet little dog, who I still love to this day. People like Paula from Phoenix Rising Rescue and the unnamed foster mom from the other shelter make the actual difference.

Why does any of this matter, and what does it have to do with my memoir journey?

A few months ago, my precious girl was diagnosed with diabetes. I was devastated but determined to get her through it. We first noticed something was “off” when Silla started having accidents again, which she hadn’t done since she was a bitty-baby learning how to dog. Her water intake increased, which is saying a lot, as she’s always been a water guzzler, like her furless-momma. The vet ran some tests and let us know what was going on, cue doggy diabetes, so we started giving her a shot of insulin twice daily. (Well, Brody gives her the shots. I can’t handle it.) Instead of quickly improving, like we’d hoped, she started to go blind.

At first, my fiancé didn’t believe me. When I loudly lamented her soulful, humanlike brown eyes, obsessively watching them slowly fade, he brushed me off. It’s just a trick of the light, he’d say. I think he was more in denial than actively trying to lie to me, as he’s grown to love my Silla just as much as I do. He didn’t want to believe it, but it still made me feel like I was going crazy. Eventually, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Silla’s completely blind now.

In the pictures above and below, Silla sleeps in nearly the exact same position—just a decade apart.

I work on the memoir as much as I did before, but with half my brain fixed on the bundle of pink and white breathing softly beside me. I spend twice as much time with her these days, especially in the mornings, which she used to hate but now tolerates and even seems to enjoy. My morning routine revolves around my pets, especially my Silla. I must always kiss her two front pawsies and rub her nozzle just the way she likes it before I can start my day. It may take her longer to do her business outside, and Silla needs help to get back to the door, but her tail never stops wagging.

Silla has been with me through some of the hardest years of my life, which, granted, weren’t half bad compared to many people’s lives.

For any Spanish-speaking readers wondering, no, she’s not named after a specific “seat” or “chair,” which is what her nickname means in that beautiful language. The name “Silla” is actually short for “Drusilla,” but I’ve never called her by her proper name. I wanted to call a character in one of my books Drusilla/Silla after falling in love with the name in someone else’s story; instead I repurposed it for my new puppy. (I pronounce it sill-uh.)

I’m striving to get back on track with my memoir, to let my worries over Silla fall aside, as I know there isn’t much I can do for her at this point except keep her happy and comfortable for as long as I have her with me. Control your emotions. Discipline your mind, as Professor Snape would say. Alas, my emotions control my thoughts, making it hard to avoid falling into the alluring darkness when it all gets to be too much.

Phoenix Rising Rescue, the charity that facilitated my adoption of Silla all those years ago, has struggled to make ends meet with rising vet and food costs. They recently announced on their Facebook that they’ll be forced to close their doors in the coming months. As of this post, September 2024, they are still accepting donations, which you can make on their website or by following this link. They also have several dogs and puppies available for adoption, which you can find listed on their site, which I’ll link below. This is a great organization deserving of our community’s support.

Over ten years ago, they helped a naïve Kinsey and a sweet baby Silla find a home together, keeping it as affordable as possible, which meant a lot to a 20-year-old with a big heart but not a lot of money. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

Phoenix Rising Rescue’s official website: https://www.phoenixrisingrescue.com/

PRR’s Facebook account: https://www.facebook.com/PhoenixRisingRescue/

Kinsey Keys

aspiring memoirist rummaging through my noggin, stubbornly clutching the past to my chest like it’s a newborn babe starved for mother's milk.

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