First of all, companionship. And then you also have funny pictures to take. And you also have a warm dog on a cold night, nestled up against your feet.But, the thing I have been realizing these last few weeks, is that they are not there forever.
***
I kissed his graying snout. I snuffled his ears. I said, "Louie, please...be immortal." I don't want to be the one to tell him that, yes, his time is up. (He is still well-healthy; just graying. But, still....)
***
I had a childhood dog named Merlyn. My mom named him and he became a central part of the family's formative years. Through junior high and high school and then--for the older siblings--the moves-out, Merlyn was always there. Being the youngest of three, I was there for the dog's--the beloved dog's--transition into the Otherworld. It was tough, no kidding, to see one's Constant Companion go through the rigors of old age.
He was the dog I used to tackle in the living room, right? Doggie Team of Kansas, I used to call him as I swept him up in a bear-hug and lay him on the floor. Doggie Team of Kansas...who thinks of that shit?! I did.
Merlyn, a big-ole-snouted Lab-mix, got older and creakier. My sisters were off, out of the house, doing the things they needed to be doing. I was--and am--the baby of the litter. I was still at home and I witnessed Merlyn's fall from dignity. "Look at Merlyn," my mom used to say, "he is so regal." And? He was.
But carbon-based lifeforms get older. They eventually die.
Merlyn lost control of his bladder. He lost control of his bowels. He lost control of his hind legs. He got skinny; he got fragile. At the end, I'd sooner drive a hot knife through my eye than treat Merlyn with anything less than kid-gloves.
The last day of Mer-Burr's life, Mom and I drove him to the North Main Animal Hospital. There is a Burger King right next door and we pulled through the drive-through and ordered a chocolate shake. "Here, Mer," my mom said, tears tugging at her cheek, "have some of this." She proffered the lid-off chocolate shake and Merlyn lapped eagerly. (At that point I thought to myself that he looked pretty healthy; were we not, perhaps, jumping the gun? No. We were not.)
Merlyn had his Last Dinner and, yes, I feel guilty about that.
But what is a pet-owner to do?! There comes a--horrible--time in which one must make the correct decision for the benefit of all involved. It is a pros and cons game. It is a balancing act. How much pain should either side endure before it is time to call a halt to the action? It. Is. Heartbreaking.
If you've had a pet, you know what I mean.
Woooooossssssssssssssh....
Back to Louie. I have known the kid since he was born--I saw him birthed. December 23rd, 2003. So, in a couple of months, he'll be six years old. Six in Dog, with his breed, is like 52. Yikes. Was he not just that little puppy, all ears, looking up at me with unbesmirched eyes? Wasn't he just that agile teenager dodging the raindrops?
Was he the life-preserver when I lit the fireworks in my bedroom when I was 13 or was Merlyn?
Sometimes, I get them mixed up.
And there is a reason for that. Both were big dogs, dogs you could get your arms around--and both had deep wells of permanent optimism and loyalty. And--of course--both had deep brown eyes that spoke of intelligence and pride-pack and love.
They're both much-loved.
Fuck.
But it makes me think. I know Mer--er, Louie--has a few or six years left. But, the graying muzzle? The graying face? That makes me uncomfortable.
Listen: Lou has been with me for coming on six years. He has been with me in three different homes and with six-or-so women. He is Constant Companion. He is my buddy.
But--God damn--I do not want to have to put him in his grave.
***
flowers, colors bloom
we humans do love our dogs
flowers bloom Dog-love
***
This--that--is for you both, MerBurr and Lou. Dig on it.
Peace.
8 comments:
Doggie Team of Kansas, how could I have forgotten that? He was a great dog, and I'm so glad he joined our family.
There are years and years before we have to say goodbye, but I admit seeing the grey advance makes me wince a little. We will treat them kindly, give them love and keep them healthy, and let the years take care of themselves.
I do agree, dear Missy. "Let the years take care of themselves." But you know what I mean. We have SUCH love for the doggies, the kids. Your two have been in yours and Matt's lives just about as long as Lou has been in mine. There is attachment and there is unbreakable bonding.
I once read something, somewhere, that sums it up perfectly. It read something like this: The dog's only fault is that he or she goes too soon.
"Too soon," in this case, means before I do, nigh upon 40 years from now.
I will tell you this, though: Lou, throughout his near-six years, has supplied me with more love and devotion and loyalty than I could have ever hoped or expected to have. To me, he is Mer-Burr reickinated. And that is good.
And that is blessed, God-sent.
I've never owned a dog, but I want one. For most of my life I was a cat person, and we had a cat named Kitty (I didn't name her) when I was growing up. My mom got Kitty a few years before I was born, and that cat followed me everywhere for most of my childhood. We had her put down when I was in 4th grade...one of the saddest days of my childhood.
gray muzzles ... that how it starts for us old guys too ... seems distinguished at first then just kinda scruffy ... women seem to "skirt" that until really wizened ... then I think it's kinda cute on them (really) ...but my dog Ellie has got the frost and she sleeps WAY too much now ... I dread the day
What a great story about Mer. I've had Gus almost 8 years now. I so feel your agony over Louie getting older.
I think saying goodbye to our sweet pets is how we prepare to say goodbye to our human loved ones. It's awful.
I read this with my own baby dog on my lap and carefully checked her for gray hairs as I finished reading. She's only 3, but I still tell her, "You DO realize that you will have to live forever?"
And that was for me, A.
I just lost my last furbaby, Mufasa, on October 19th. The SAME exact day his older brother, Bee, died four years ago. They both got diabetes. They both died at 9 years of age; far too young for a small breed. They both died after the inlaws came to visit. Only, with Mufasa, other than the diabetes (which was under good control), he was perfectly healthy. He got into the trash (the trash that I left out) and subsequently had an obstruction that required surgery. He didn't make it; aspiration pneumonia and stupid incompetent veterinary advice,imo, stole him from my life.
I am in a dark place right now, and it comforts me somewhat to know that you have the same love for your boys that I have/had for mine. I miss your words.
Nanette: I'm so sorry, hon. I hope that you are finding peace, girl.
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