All together, I've had four dogs and a cat. When I was born, my mother had this beautiful, calm, very Nana from Peter Pan sort of dog. Her name was Rainbow... I regret how little I remember of her, but I know my mom has Rainbow's lifetime stored in her memory. I've seen pictures of me running around in a diaper outside and hugging her around the pretty rose-gold fur at her neck. I'm pretty sure she was an outdoor dog and took shelter in the garage (now it's been converted to a den, bathroom, laundry area, and bedroom).
I do remember that she died when I was about 7 years old... I remember this because in school I had drawn a picture that sort of symbolized my feelings on the matter. In the same year, my paternal grandmother died (this was a traumatic experience for me... I won't go into the whole story, but I'm the one, accompanied by my little sister, who found her after she had died in her sleep). I drew a picture of a girl with long stringy hair... I think she held one thing in one hand and something else in the other. I can only remember the sign she held in her right hand... it had the number 7 on it as if to remind me what I lost in my seventh year. The girl had a big head and several tears falling from her eyes.
I also remember one afternoon. I think I had come home from school or whatever and Rainbow was inside. Obviously, since she was an outdoor dog, I was surprised to see her. I was even more shocked at the way she was walking. It really was so pitiful. She died of bone disease, so she was limping and then collapsing to the floor. I still feel the floor slightly shift under the weight of a helpless fall under my feet...
I remember even less about Sam. He was Daddy's beagle that he had adopted before we moved in. From what I've been told, Sam had been treated poorly by other children before Daddy came along, so he was a little temperamental. Mom always kept an eye on me when I would interact with Sam in fear that, one of these days, he might snap at me. This could have caused some long term fear of animals and she definitely didn't want that. I'm happy to announce that Sam never tried biting me that I can recall and, in the footsteps of my vet tech mom, I am very comfortable with animals. I can't remember anything about how Sammy died, but I'm sure he took his curmudgeon-y, grumpy self to Doggie Heaven with some relief.
The dog that probably burns the deepest hole in my family's heart is Luke. I still can't really think about it without tearing up. It's so strange that way... Luke has been gone for... 3 or 4 years now, but it doesn't get any easier at all to accept.
We rescued Luke as a family from the SPCA (before the rules got stricter and weirder... We were able to take him home that day). It was love at first sight. There was no way I was letting my folks walk out without this beautiful, quiet, long black-haired puppy. He had the best personality... my brothers were about 8 or 9 I think when we picked up our new puppy and Mom paid close attention to how he interacted with my still hyper little brothers. Luke just gazed with interest until something that cured the impending boredom came along. He never seemed agitated by people one way or the other. That's one of the major things I've tried to learn from him... to accept people around you like a rock in the stream...
...unless you fear there's danger for your loved ones. Despite his calm nature, Luke did not take threats to his family lightly. There was this pesky "bully" kid in the neighborhood. He never did anything truly terrible, but he picked on my brothers a little. Luke would always stand at the storm door and growl at the sight of this kid... til one day, Luke decided enough was enough. He waited for a moment when we wouldn't expect him to run through the slightly open door, but as someone came into the house, Luke sprung out the door and bit that kid on the ear. I'm sure that was just a warning, since he was capable of much more damage than that. While there was some smoothing over to do with the neighbors, I distinctly remember my parents smiling with approval when interacting with Luke that evening.
None of us can put our finger on it, but Luke was a major part of our family during the peak of its development. It was that snapshot of our family's history when we were all still growing, developing, and bonding together as people. Luke, like most dogs, made it worth it for us all to come home. He was always very excited that you finally came home and then just went back to his spot... on a vent, at the door waiting for the rest of the family, under Daddy's seat at the table, or against the hutch along the hallway. We all have clear memories of his place in our lives.
So watching him die was... one of the worst experiences of my life. He had gone into the vet because he was acting weird and they found a needle in his stomach. During the operation to remove it, they discovered a tumor on his spleen that ruptured. They were able to clean it up a bit while they were with him... and told us that if they hadn't been there, and if that tumor had ruptured while he was at home, it would have killed him. That needle gave us one more month with Luke. We proceeded to chemo and whatnot, but Luke was so weaked from the experience that it was obvious that he would be leaving us.
The day we decided we needed to take him out of his misery (he had begun to seriously hemorrhage) was such a nightmare. I still remember I came home, went to my room, and put things down or away... like you do. I heard a small thump. I went out into the hallway and Luke was sitting there, as though he couldn't go any further, but wanted to see me. Trying to keep my tears to myself, I grabbed hold of him gently and stroked his head and ears. He licked me once on the mouth... something he hadn't done since he was a puppy. It was a terrible day. When we left the vet, everyone, Daddy included, was sobbing... completely losing it. While I know we're all very happy that we were present as an entire family to be there with Luke (I was holding him, Daddy was smiling straight into his eyes, John and Clif gently rubbed his belly, and Mom stroked his back), I don't think any of us have been more devastated altogether.
Mom has this picture of him in the hallway (the same one I have on my desk)... it's taken her years to put it up and I still can't quite look at it without crying. It's one of the last pictures taken of him... I'm pretty sure I took the picture... the matting has wording on the side... Something along the lines of, "If I could, I walk right up to heaven and bring you home again..."
My apologies... I'm seeing now how sad this entry is. We moved on, but not out from the home we built in our hearts with Luke.
A little while later, we found another dog. Wendy. She's a sweet and totally neurotic golden retreiver. I trained her the first few months before I went to France and I haven't lived at home since then. But, she seems to have a special place in her heart for me. I won't explain how I know this... but I can see my Mom sighing and pulling out the Resolve for the carpet as I enter the house...
As everyone knows, the animal that's truly my own, and my pride and joy, is my cat Minerva. She is also a rescued animal... my ex-roommate and I found her and another cat at the Heritage Humane Society here in Williamsburg. I chose Minerva because when I saw her, she was demonstrating a perfect downward dog pose in her cage. She clearly was spiritually advanced and deserved to be free. We have a bond that I can't quite explain... we're really very close for a human and an animal. She's more like a dog than a cat. She follows me everywhere, no matter what I'm doing, to be close to me. She prefers to sit with me than on her own... and when she does sit on her own, she prefers to at least be in the same room as me.
She and I have the sort of bond I think Daddy had with Luke. Everyday without fail, Daddy would take Luke for a walk. It was their time together. We suspect Daddy told Luke all the things he didn't feel like he could tell us. All the work woes, worries, feelings... and Luke took them all with him. Minerva hears all my concerns, complaints, outbursts, secrets... and she keeps them all to herself while purring, rubbing against me, or licking my face.
That might seem like an uneven exchange. Do we think of our pets as perfect friends just because they listen to our problems and say nothing to bother us in return? I'd like to think, when you care enough about your animal, what makes it unique, and then respect those qualities, you give something back to your perfect confidante. You know what food she likes, what time he likes to play, what toys are their favorite, where they like to be scratched, when they want to be alone, etc.
To all our furry friends who inspire us to be better friends, loving caregivers, and more humbled to the cycles of life...
(Anya's pets Belle and Penny)
(In memory of Johanna's dog, Skelaki)Feel free to share your stories and pictures with me...
I discovered later today that my boss just lost her dog of sixteen years very early this morning... to our wordless friends, rest in blissful, squirrel chasing peace...
4 comments:
Skelaki Apo Hampton (Little Dog from Hampton) “Ske”
April 3, 1996- April 19, 2009
Ske came into my life when I was ten years old. My brother and I had been begging Mom to let us have a dog for years, so we were all surprised when my Dad brought home a pet carrier and set it down in front of my mother on Mother’s Day that bright spring morning in 1996. Inside was a tiny fur ball curled up in a Tupperware bowl with lamb’s wool. As a teacup poodle puppy, Ske would hang out in our pockets, scamper about the yard and sleep peacefully in the centre of my pillow at night. He was always a happy explorer and loved to be our “guard dog”, letting us know when any intruder over the size of squirrel was headed our way and protecting us from cardboard tube “snakes”. Even though he was my family’s first dog, Ske and I had a special bond and we became inseparable. Even when I went off to college, he would keep vigil on my pillow in my old bedroom until I came home on holidays. My last semester in college, Ske had an accident at his groomers that left his back right leg paralyzed and gave him severe back problems. My parents felt they couldn’t care for him anymore after his accident but I gladly took him into my home and my husband and I got him back to his spunky self and lovingly cared for him until his heart disease, common to his breed, became terminal. Skelaki loved to go for rides– it didn’t matter if it was down to the post office, on a road trip to North Carolina or even overseas to Ukraine - and he was the best travelling buddy I ever had. He also loved bones, especially Greenies (the little green toothbrush looking bone). One Christmas, my husband and I gave him a Greenie meant for big dogs (Ske was only 4 pounds) and Ske feasted on it all day long – his stomach grew huge and he slept for two days afterward! His favorite game was to “bait” you with his bone by placing it a few feet from his bed and pretending to be asleep – but if you tried to take it – he’d pounce on you! Skelaki was a friendly dog and much loved by friends and family. He lived a long full life and our little “snake” fighter will be dearly missed. We love you Ske.
Yes, we do. He was a sweet dog to all who came in contact with him. A gentle old man towards the end who only had eyes for you, dear... Let's think that he and Luke are telling embarrassing stories about us to one another... ;)
Well, you managed to make me cry...AGAIN!!! A beautiful tribute to our faithful friends. Thanks for the memories.... Love, Mom
Thanks, Mom... for reading and for raising a family that included animals. They've provided some of the best relationships, and the greatest loves, that I may ever know.
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