What I saw in Saylor was something special. She was unique. She had a gift that was so rare it would be a crime if she died. She was the most sought-after dog tender, whisperer, or whatever you might call someone who had an obvious rapport with dogs of all breeds and sizes. Her reputation was broad-reaching. Even people from out of state would drop their dog off at her compound and then jet off to Bali or someplace equally exotic. And all the while, they had little to no reason to worry. Their beloved four-legged friend was in good hands. Saylor was that accomplished as well as renowned. That was as much a part of why I cared about her as well as her overall character.
I saw a post on Facebook that “The strongest sailors are those that have survived the strongest storms.” That description fit Saylor perfectly. Despite her current condition, her will to survive was stronger than her disease. From what I could tell, she received much of her strength from fighting against abuse of any sort. That especially applied to dogs. She had mentioned several times how she had taken in abused dogs and fostered them for a time or until they regained trust in human beings. I guess she saw something of herself in the outcast, the mistreated, or the destitute.
Again, it would be tragic if she passed before someone learned what she knew. But for now, the most I could hope for was another day. If she was there in the morning ready to fight on, I had reason for hope. We would both have hope. It was as if an incremental effort was required to regain a firm grip on life. To do anything less would almost guarantee her passing—something I knew deep inside me.