Calling Deb Casey

Hey! Deb! It’s been a week now. I wanted to call you right away. Yep, I even dialed you a few times before I took you off my speed dial tab. I suppose you know by now that you died. Boy it was a shock to all of us. You too, I imagine. No. You’re right. It wasn’t in the plan but that big heart of yours just gave out. We won’t talk about how being so independent and stubborn worked against you again this time. I guess when your work here is done you get called home.

Seems so strange that you have gone on a grand expedition without having me pack the car and consult about arrangements and time schedules. Just doesn’t seem right not reassuring you a dozen times that everything will fit and that we won’t run out of gas before the next reasonably priced station.

And, if it’s just like our other trips, you’re all unpacked, settled in, remade the bed with your own quilt and pillows, and the tech is charging. Now, a few friends have cautioned you to not make waves; I’m not sure you would enjoy heaven without a few waves. It needs to suit you and you were never one to sit back and expect things to happen without your energy and guidance.

Let’s not cut this conversation short; I think this will be one of our all-day kind of calls. I can hear your voice so clearly. You were not happy to have passed with vacation time coming. Things were just really coming together for you. You had a new home that you loved, Doc Sherry said your house plants were flourishing in the front room, a nice new set of wheels for the longer commute, a job you adored, and so many friends. I really miss being able to call you like this and get your advice or watch a movie together; mostly I miss being able to ask you what we should do next now that you have died and what is your password? If we just had access to that. Yes. I do feel special that my email and texts go directly to your phone; but, golly that makes it so much harder to figure this out. This exceeds my skills but you are the person I call to get help and references on such matters.

Send lots of good juju to your niece Terri. She’s gots her hands full overseeing your estate. She’s doing and awesome job, as you expected.

And, Ellie. She misses you. Says she’s way behind on her shows now. She is living with her pup Geronimo at Red Rock Ranch in Austin. John and Joe treat her like royalty just like they did her mom Butter. I saw a picture of her and Geronimo the other day. She was smiling.

I have so many questions - nothing new for me. You’ve been there for me through everything. My first call in triumph or tragedy. I remember the very first call to you was to scope out the person who sent an ugly cattledog to Alaska thinking it was show quality and demanding an obedience title. I let you talk and slowly my skepticism turned into the realization that I didn’t know very much about Australian Cattle Dogs. You asked questions and told stories without telling me I was clueless. Your confidence in that dopey puppy’s quality was unwavering. I’m every grateful for your support and encouragement. Two weeks later the ugly dog took back to back majors our first show weekend together. He quickly finished his championship and as he matured went on to take Best of Breed over specials and even placed in group. One year he ranked #3 Australian Cattle Dog in the US.

Sneakers, that ‘ugly’ puppy, was the best thing that ever happened to me. Without him I would have not likely met you. The two of you taught me to be a better handler, a more resourceful and successful trainer, and accomplished competitor. Together, Sneakers and I broke boundaries and racked up quite a list of accomplishments, often with the most colorful stories attached. He taught me that I needed to trust my dog and train without fear. He would do anything for me. I attribute a lot of his great foundation to your puppy rearing techniques You were a natural with the puppies. You brought out the best in them and gave them confidence. Each one was an individual to you. Sneakers stayed with you for 9 months, he learned well from his dad Taz and, oh yeah, thanks for teaching him how to howl on cue.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have shown that dog if not for your support and encouragement. But, you didn’t stop there. You became my mentor in the breed. You made my trip to the Australian Cattle Dog Club of America National Specialty in Hillsboro possible. With 4 month old Maybelle in arms, I sat ringside and marked your catalog. You introduced me to everyone, some are now close friends and colleagues.  You made sure I could go to obedience and herding. I met your awesome boy, Reggie. That was just the beginning. You found ways to help me get to nearly every national specialty after that. You called and we would critique breedings, pedigrees, dogs, puppies, and training methods. Sending me to herding camp with Lynn Leach changed my life. Of course you also filled my yard with agility equipments, ducks, geese, and a TV dish.

Through the years you funnelled me projects and sent me dogs. Sneakers became my service dog saving my life more than once. If not for him you would be calling me now.

Remember Sydni? Of course you do. You always believed in the rainbow bridge. I’m sure she’s right there stomping her feet for a treat. She was the #1 ACD in the US for 2 years and a daughter of your precious specialty winner Smoke. It was a privilege to have her in my life. She could make me laugh and charmed the socks off everyone she met. But, Sydni could be very demanding. Actually, it was her insisting, demanding, tenacious nature that saved my entire family one cold November morning. When I finally gave in to her demands, I realized that our house was on fire. Just barely enough time to get everyone out safely. As soon as we were safely out and away, I called you. You calmly walked me through a checklist and had me report what exactly was happening. You knew how to keep me calm and grounded.

For someone who lost her mother at 13, you sure had some wicked mothering skills. You could hold my feet to the fire and turn it around with encouragement and guidance. I know you had no use for dishonesty or the lack of integrity. And, you always said, “You can’t fix stupid!” You expect the best out of everyone. Once you made up your mind though, you would hold your line and give your all for the cause you believed in. If you called someone a friend, you had their back no matter what. Like a cattle dog or Dobie, you sometimes had to grip to make things happen. But, those who knew you could count on you to be there beginning to end.

I remember seeing a picture of you around age 5 give or take standing next to your dog holding the leash like a pro. Your success in the ring and out fueled your desire and success as a breeder of some of the finest dogs. And, with all success comes heartbreak. I know you’ve had more than your share: breedings that don’t take, lost pups, deaf pups, dogs gone too soon, stolen dogs, dishonest co-breeders…. Life prepared you well.

Remember when I called to tell you I was having a baby at 42 and she would be 14 years younger than her sister? I was sure my life was sliding backwards and I was concerned what life would be like for this baby. That’s when you told me what it is like to be the youngest and so much younger than your siblings.  

In the past few days, I have been reminded of when your friend Reb passed. We were together through the 1st few weeks after he died. We talked about what it was like and how life changes when someone passes. You mourned him for a long time. I know exactly how you felt. I’m just not ready to let go; I have so much left to do with you. You said Reb sent you signs. I wondered if you would send me any signs. Oh - you sure did. I’ve never ever seen a LaQuinta (your favorite place to stay on the road) ad in my browser before. Now I see at least 3 or 4 a day. I’ve started getting Outback email again though we don’t have any nearby and I unsubscribed years ago. And, there are other things too. Like my cattle dogs howling for no reason about the time you passed.

I know I won’t ever be able to fully describe the impact you’ve had on my life. You were more than my best friend, you were my big sister, my teacher, my mentor, and at times a mother. I can’t even begin to include all the other people who feel the same way. So, Deb, I’m leaving this line open. Then, when the next Apple tech is released, Dean Koontz publishes another novel, Shonda Rimes has a new series, I see a dive shop (oh you loved to scuba dive), or someone mentions whitewater kayaking, I can tell you about it.

I’m sure you are busy tossing the ball for Smoke, Crystal, Reggie, Sydni, & Butter (probably more than a few others too) But, your knees don’t hurt anymore. Next lifetime, I’ll even shoot the class 4 in a kayak with you.

So keep sending me messages, I’m listening. We’ll do the best we can to carry on some of your work here like the CD project and ACD Spotlight. I never could wear your shoes, so I’ll suffice it to twist that idiom a bit - it’s a big purse to fill!

So, we don’t ever say goodbye. See ya next time. Big hugs!  I’m here on hold.