Sylvia: A Dog Story

By Ken Laue

That day thirty-nine years ago found Bonnie and me, as a young married couple of about four years, at the Humane Society looking at dogs.
   We had bought our first house in what turned out to be a tough neighborhood, and decided what we needed was a good watch dog.

Many dogs wagged their tails at us as we passed their cages while others ignored us. Some barked excitedly. How could we decide?

There she lay, panting in the heat, head down, looking very tired. She perked up and smiled at us each time we passed. She wagged her tail.

The placard said she was Sylvia, a Newfoundland-Labrador mix who was not good with children. She was a very big dog. But, what did we care? We were a young, childless couple with no real ambition to bring children into this messed up world.

In the end, we didn’t pick a dog. Sylvia picked us.

We brought her home, and soon found ourselves nursing a sick dog back to health. That explained why she was so droopy in her cage. She seemed grateful for our tender care, and became very jealous and protective of us.

We used to take her for walks at Tucson’s Mansfield Park, which was only about thirty percent developed back then.

The rest was a big patch of desert, and we let Sylvia off the leash so she could chase rabbits. She loved to range and romp, coming back at our call.

But when local drug dealers set up at nearby picnic tables, Sylvia refused to play. Instead she stuck close, with her lip quavering and a light growl in her throat – especially if Bonnie had come to the park without me.

Sylvia was also jealous and protective of us in regard to other dogs. She would attack any dog that got near us – which was a pain when we tried to go camping with friends who brought dogs. Sylvia was constantly fighting them off.

Pit bulls are the famed invincible fighters of the dog world, but Sylvia got into a conflict with a neighbor’s pit bull one day and beat up the pit. One thing that Sylvia definitely did not like was a stranger approaching either of us.

Until she ascertained that the person was okay with us, she was on guard, ready to defend.

As it turns out, Sylvia’s demeanor played into us getting saved back in 1979.

It was the first day in July, and we were hiking the Butterfly Trail on Mt. Lemmon outside Tucson: Bonnie, me, and my work buddy, Larry Priest.

The first monsoon of summer began to drizzle rain on us and we had sat down on some rocks at a switchback to rest before turning back, when down the trail, from the opposite direction, came a lone guy hiking toward us. I grabbed for Sylvia’s leash because I knew what was next.

She was going to get defensive, aggressive, and snarly towards this stranger. I’d seen the scenario play out with her so many times before.

But much to my surprise, she greeted the hiker with her open mouth, tongue hanging out, panting doggie-style greeting reserved for a beloved human.

She was all tail-wagging-happy as the stranger approached. She even accepted some petting.

I knew there was something different about this guy, if Sylvia accepted him right off the bat.

So when the hiker began to witness to us about Jesus Christ, he had instant credibility with me.

Hey, my dog liked him!

The guy’s name was Tom Trebisky, and he is still a pillar in our church.

Bonnie and I got saved the next week. I’ll never forget, because it was at the service where Jose and Maria Urbina got married, July 8, 1979, that we gave our lives to Jesus. My friend Larry – also still a pillar in our church – got saved a few weeks later.

As for Sylvia, I loved that dog. There was a deep bond between us. So if you’re a dog lover, you know how hard it was for me when we had to put her to sleep.

When our first child, Melissa, was born, the dog became real jealous without us realizing it.

Melissa was playing in our pumpkin patch as a toddler when I encountered Sylvia standing on her chest, snarling.

I tried to shrug it off, but when it happened again a few days later, I got the message.

Since Sylvia was dangerous to other dogs and potentially dangerous to humans (in fact she had bitten my sister-in-law’s nephew once), we could not in good conscience give her away. We knew the only choice was to euthanize her. 

Fortunately, Bonnie’s dad, a retired Nebraska rancher, was also a dog lover, and understood the situation. He took Sylvia to the vet for us, as he knew I would have a tough time if I had to watch her be put down.

We had Sylvia for four or five years. She went everywhere with us.

When we lived in Globe, Arizona, during Bonnie’s first teaching job, Sylvia would run the jeep trails with us as Bonnie and I crawled along in my rusty 1961 Chevy 4 x 4 pickup.

She was our hiking companion, and I believe she was also the reason we didn’t get burglarized while the houses around us did.

But most significant of all, her uncharacteristic acceptance of a stranger, Tom Trebisky, was a major factor in me listening to his witness.

So Sylvia is a major part of the reason I got saved and serve God even to this day.