| He taught us that love makes you brave. |
[Apr. 9th, 2009·.¸¸.¤* *¤. ¸¸.·12:46 pm] |
Some of the sweetest memories I have of him were from the early days of park walks, and camping trips, and disastrous attempts to get him to love the water as much as I did. He went with me to Kerville, and all the springtime festivals where even in crowds or in the presence of squirrels and birds he would walk next to me, without a leash. He didn't need one. He knew where his pack was.
He loved rubbing his back in the clover, running with his leash off, and car rides with the window down. He was a mix of lab and german shepherd, and the need to be in service to someone was part of his internal architecture. He only ever wanted to be a Good Dog.
I knew him first as a puppy, gangly and overgrown. He'd been abused by his previous owner, then rescued by Natalie, who offered him to me. He was sweet and dopey. Life had been brutal so far, but he was still reachable. He cautiously reserved his judgement, but learned to trust me fairly soon. He was good to Marley. I saw him grow into a bright-eyed young man, lithe and intimidating to the eye, but gentle to me. He grew into a strong, abiding little man. He followed me everywhere: to the kitchen and back, out to the car, back inside and around again.
The consensus from past roommates is that when I wasn't home, he was content to lay on the couch or in the yard all day, and would jump up when he could hear my car, several minutes before I was driving around the corner. I remember the first day he didn't greet me at the door, about three years ago. At first it was surreal, but soon became expected.
He was so quiet. He never barked for fun or to get attention for himself. He sighed when he was disappointed. He was stoic like that. He only barked when he heard strangers coming near the house, but then, when he did he sounded so vicious. I felt safe with him around. He was brave for me. Due to his prior owner, he had a serious problem with most men, but he learned to love Patrick. I think they sensed a kinship.
He became increasingly grumpy. He really enjoyed his peace, like any old man, but I could always summon him into the front room, or persuade him with the sound of the leash clicking.
He was soulful, and righteous, protective and loyal. That the entirety of his life span should fit into just a decade of mine is so unjust.
I always knew it would end someday. I knew his bones couldn't carry the weight of his greatness forever.
First, long walks became less appealing, then car rides were not as fun. It was such a long, slow decline that I couldn't even face how much he had declined. I always knew it was coming, but I imagined that a future version of me would be the one equipped to deal with the elephant in the room. The last time I took him out to the park I drove, so he wouldn't have to go far. I found a patch of clover nearby the car, and half lifted him out of the backseat to bring him to it. He sat down in front of it. I could see that he was turning the logistics over in his head. He wanted to feel the scrape of the grass on his back so badly, but he didn't have the stamina to make it happen.
We knew we had to face this. I felt dark and sad, but I knew when he got on Marley's bed and refused the leash and treats and finally food and water, that he was making his choice to go. Somewhere in his soul, in the place where dogs know math, he knew that he didn't want to experience this anymore.
By the time we got to the veterinarian's office, he was unable to get on the scale without assistance. Turns out his heart and lungs were sturdy, but his bones were just too old to carry him around anymore. So we laid on the floor, all of us. We rubbed his ears and looked him in the eye. We told him what he needed to know for true. "You are loved. You did your job. You were brave. All of this is natural. None of this is your fault. You were a good dog, Max."
I knew when the first shot of anesthetic hit his veins that we had done the right thing. His eyes softened for the first time in days, and for a minute, just before he passed, he felt no pain.
|
|
|
