Saturday, July 25, 2015

My Bestest Boy




“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish - consciously or unconsciously - that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown." ~ Dean Koontz, A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog

















































After Nick was diagnosed with diabetes in April, we started a daily ritual of taking two short walks up and down the street.  One in the early morning and the second after dinner.  My street is short and the walks never took more than 15 or 20 minutes.  Occasionally when I was running late or rushed for time, I would consider skipping the walk.  But Nick loved them and I knew the day would come when I would wish we could take just one more.  This morning we took our last walk.

I said goodbye to Nick today and my heart is broken.  Those of you who have ushered old dogs to the other side know that once their health starts to go south it's difficult if not impossible to turn things around.  Sometimes everything you can do is not enough.  It's hard not to feel discouraged and it's hard not to wonder if you should have given it another day or another week.  Despite these feelings I have no regrets.  No regrets because I did everything I possibly could and at fifteen, Nick lived a good long life.

I've read that there are two days in a dog's life you will always remember-the day you bring them home for the first time and the day you say goodbye for the last time.  In my experience this is true.  Although I remember countless details from all my dog's lives, I remember very specific details about those first and last days.  Rather than use this space to rehash Nick's last day, I'm going to share a story about his first day.  For those who never knew him, I hope that the pictures I've chosen will help fill in some of the rest.

Nick was born on Mother's Day 2000.  Less than a month before, I had lost Zak, my first mini schnauzer, at age eight to chronic renal failure.  I desperately wanted another puppy to fill the void left by Zak.  My breeder was expecting a litter and promised the first male puppy would be mine.  As it turned out, Nick was the only male out of his litter of five.  Obviously Nick was meant for me.  On July 28th, at just over ten weeks old and after multiple visits with him at his breeder's, he came home. 

For many years I had been involved in online miniature schnauzer groups beginning with AOL (yes I'm aware I'm dating myself).  At the time of Nick's arrival I was active on an e-mail group called the Hoflin List.  Every so often the moderators of the Hoflin list would create sub groups of members who needed guidance and had something in common.  So while I was waiting for Nick to come home I joined the Hoflin Puppy Group.  Even though I had already transitioned two of these mischievous creatures from puppy hood to adulthood, I figured there was always something to learn, right?

One of the first topics we covered was how to create a safe, comforting environment for your puppy at bedtime.  Perfect!  Based on the advice, I was to place the open crate in a gated "safe" room like a bathroom and provide water and newspaper.  In the past I had always placed the crate on the floor of my room next to my bed with the door closed.  Granted this method usually resulted in a few minutes of pathetic whining punctuated by a pathetic bark or two before things got quiet.  Perhaps this new way was better.

So on Nick's first night I busied myself getting the bathroom ready.  Throw rugs were replaced with newspaper, the crate was placed and up went the gate.  A bowl of water was provided.  Bedtime arrived and I confidently placed Nick in the gated bathroom and hopped into bed for a good night sleep.  As expected, Nick started whining.  Quickly the whining became interspersed with yipping.  No problem I thought...ten minutes and he'll be fast asleep.

Soon mournful howling was added to the mix.  Of course I couldn't give in because then he'd win and dogs aren't supposed to win.  As the decibels rose, I covered my head with a pillow and listened for the loud rap on the front door signaling the arrival of the police investigating complaints by neighbors that dogs were possibly being tortured in my house.  After two hours I couldn't take it anymore.  I gave in.  Less than a half day in my house and it was Nick-1 Sue-0.  I got up, went to the bathroom and picked up little Nick.  Immediately he quieted down and relaxed against my chest.  After a quick trip outside to pee (for him not me), I put the crate next to my bed, placed him inside and closed the door.  From that point on I never heard another peep out of him at night ever again.

What I learned about Nick that first night didn't become immediately apparent but it should have.  Nick was stubborn.  Very stubborn.  He didn't give up easily and he knew how to wage campaigns of harassment to his advantage.  I will miss that about him.  I will miss everything about him.   

For over 23 years, my home has been graced by the pitter patter sound of schnauzer feet.  First there was Zak, then Zoe and finally Nick.  This afternoon was the third time in just over fifteen years that I've had to take that dreaded final trip to the vet, but this is the first time I've had to come home to an empty house.  As I embrace the quiet and struggle to find a new normal in my routine, I hope to find solace in my garden and on the trails.  Despite my feelings of sadness and devastation however, I feel a sense of peace and relief I haven't felt in a long time.   

I want to thank Dr. Andrea Autorino and her wonderful staff at Double A Veterinary Hospital as well as Dr. Amy Matthews and her team at Frontier Wellness Center.  Nick lived as well as he did because of the support I received throughout his life from these caring and dedicated professionals.  I also want to give a shout out to the moderators and members of the Canine Diabetes Support and Info group on Facebook.  I never could have managed the past few months as well as I did without them.  If you ever find yourself in the unenviable position of caring for a diabetic dog, by all means seek these folks out.

Trix An's Christmas In July
"Nick"
May 14, 2000-July 25, 2015

"It's been a long day without you my friend.  And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again."

22 comments:

  1. Oh, I'm so sorry, Sue. What a dog he was.

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    1. Thank you William. He was a special boy.

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  2. So sorry Sue. What wonderful stories and pictures you've shared. Take care...

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  3. I am so sorry Sue. That sentence "This morning we took our last walk" sent me looking for tissue and I had to take a break before I could come back and read more. I've read so many blog posts from gardening friends as they loose their furry friends. They all hurt. There's the knowledge I'll be writing my own post like this someday, there's the feeling of my heart breaking for the person who's going through it. Still, I wouldn't give up a moment with Lila to avoid the hurt. Loosing them is hell, not ever having had them around would be worse.

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    1. Thank you Loree. It's been a long, sad week here. I feel an strange sense of relief tonight. Probably because I don't have to worry about him day and night anymore.

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  4. I'm so terribly sorry and sad. He definitely was the "Bestest Boy" I'll miss him too. This was a beautifully written memorial to your dear friend.

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    1. Thank you Deanne. I'm looking forward to seeing you and everybody else tomorrow.

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  5. I'm very, very sorry, Sue. Your love for Nick was clear to me from the first time I read a post on your blog and you couldn't have expressed that love any more eloquently than you have with this post. I know the feeling of letting go of a furry companion after a long, difficult illness - it's a complex mixture of relief, dismay and sadness. There is comfort in knowing that you provided the best home possible and the best care available. My deepest condolences.

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    1. Thank you Kris. You are right about the relief and sadness. The relief part took me by surprise but I guess it shouldn't have. Nick is free from pain tonight and in a way, so am I.

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  6. I am so very sorry, Sue. Out pets are our faithful friends and part of our family. It's never easy losing one.Thinking of you...

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  7. What a lovely tribute to your Nick Sue..I had never heard the story of his first day- sounds like he had your number from the get-go. Best wishes for you during this time of heartache..

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  8. I know all too well what you are going through, and I am truly sorry for you. I am at a point now that I measure the stages of my own life in which dogs shared it with me. I hope as they pass the days will get a little better than the one before.

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    1. Thank you Les. My house seems very quiet but that seems right for now.

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  9. It is so hard to lose a beloved pet and family member. My deepest sympathies. I loved the pictures-some made me chuckle and some made me say awe- and the story of Nick's arrival in your home. I am sure he will be deeply missed.

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    1. Thank you Jennifer. He is missed and will be for quite some time.

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  10. I'm so sorry for your loss. I experienced the same thing last year with my own bestest boy. It's such a difficult time but I'm glad that you are also embracing peace.

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  11. Thank you Kathryn. They just don't hang around long enough, do they?

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  12. So sorry for your loss. Nothing can replace such a cherished presence in your life.

    There is a poem by Ben Hur Lampman, "Where to Bury a Good Dog", that helps me during times such as these, perhaps it can bring you some solace as well.

    "There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.

    For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost—if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.

    If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call—come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.

    People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.

    The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master."

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  13. Of my four dogs one is diabetic, blind, and has thyroid disease. My life revolves around his twice daily insulin shots. But I don't mind. He's so full of love. I know his time is short so I know how hard this has been for you. We do love them so much, don't we?

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