This appeared originally on AL.com and much on Facebook, But I’m posting here for those who missed. Coming soon: a How-Am- I column and Top 10 (20?) of my blog post AND more music. Gotta keep the countdown going.
My dog is getting old.
You know what I am going to say next, right?
I’m getting old too.
And you know what I don’t want to say, don’t you?
That I’m sad he is going to die.
My worried thought came after my wife Catherine said it sounded like our dog’s’ breathing was becoming more labored. And he wasn’t running the stairs with the same wild abandon.
Gus is his name. He’s a small, rust-colored, curly mop of a dog, a poodle mix of unknown origin. I call him a psychodoodle. He’s about 12 or 13 agewise best we can guess. We rescued him from a shelter in California. He loves to be rubbed behind the ears.
I love him.
I know most pet owners can relate to that. Still sounds silly that a grown man can care for and love a dog that has complicated life with added expense for vet bills, food, poodle haircuts and just plain worry.
At great physiological expense to us, Gus likes to play a game we call ‘shootig the gap, or doorway.’
Any space he sees at the front door when it is opened he tries to sprint through. If he makes it before a foot holds him back, he is off to a wild, run-through-the-neighborhood spree, oblivious to the speeding two-ton cars.
Before I was diagnosed with Lewy body dementia at 56, our other dog died. Well, we, my wife, Catherine and I, had to take Molly in to be ‘put down.’ How else do you say it. Put to sleep?
Molly, a yellow Lab who was as kind as she was dumb, had a nice friendship with Gus. Gus would bark at and relentlessly attack, in a playful way, Molly. And Molly would just let him.
We knew when Molly was dying. The breathing became labored, overtime, suggesting the onset of heart failure. She increasingly didn’t like stairs and quit sleeping in our upstairs bedroom. Given the age and symptoms, I knew as the son of a veterinarian, she needed to be euthanized. But we just couldn’t do it, we made up excuses. “She sounds better today, I think,” we’d tell each other.
Molly’s last night with us, I slept beside her on the floor.
By some amazing strength she stayed alive through the night. She looked in our eyes.
At the veterinary hospital we carried Molly, in a blanket because she could no longer walk.
With tears flowing freely we watch the doctor inject Molly.
I’ll never forget the sight of Molly’s eyes. One minute I was looking into her soul, and then the pupils became fixed. She wasn’t there.
Our children, now all grown, learned about death through these experiences with their pets. And they learned about love.
Gus is lying on a rug right now in front of me.
I bend down and rub behind his ears.
Maybe Gus, you have some good time left.
Maybe I do too.
Read more about Oliver and his push to raise awareness of Lewy body dementia at his blog, www.myvinylcountdown.com
I have a young (1 year old) female toy poodle named Bella. She loves to be rubbed most anywhere, but especially her tummy. We got her at age 8 weeks or so.
She and I go walking together most days. One day a passerby stopped and shared some words of wisdom I’ve never forgotten. He said, “Poodles very affectionate, very intelligent, and very demanding.” So true.