A Rough Week

Sixteen years ago, on my birthday, we were on vacation in Idaho when my kids came running up and asked “Can we get a dog for your birthday?” That was a funny thought, why should they get a dog for my birthday? It hadn’t been such a long time before that when I was tasked on taking our previous dog to get put down for health reasons. My reaction was an immediate “no” but the begging proceeded. Finally, in a instant of noodley spine weakening, I agreed – but there were stipulations. I wouldn’t be responsible to train, feed, take to the vet, clean-up dog-doo or any of that stuff. If they (including their mother) wanted a dog it was to be their burden. They agreed to my conditions.

He was a high-spirited scamp of a dog. We know for sure his mother was a Border Collie but we could only guess as to what kind of dog was his sire. We think he was a Golden Retriever or a Lab but it’s hard to tell. He was almost all black with a just a white diamond on his chest. The folks giving him away had been calling him Rebel – from his disposition – and the kids seemed to think it was fitting so it stuck.

Well, the grand deal I struck to keep myself from pet husbandry was quickly abandoned. But it wasn’t so bad. Rebel was the smartest dog I’ve ever known and I’ve had many over the years. He literally didn’t need to be trained. Immediately he got it. He would come unconditionally when called. If we were outside and I wanted him in the house I just had to point at the door while looking at him and he would head off, begrudgingly I’ll admit, but he went. The Border Collie in him required him to know where everyone was. He marshaled the house at night making sure the kids were in their places. When we went camping he would wear himself out running from one group to another making sure he knew where the kids were at all times. Instinctively he took it on himself to “protect the heard.” He was a born protector and watch-dog. At night he always slept on the floor next to my side of the bed no matter where we slept and which side of the bed I happened to be on. I often would step or trip on him in the dark. I don’t why he chose me. I was and am glad he did however.

About a year and a half ago he was diagnosed with Cushing’s Disease. Cushing’s is a condition that caused an overproduction of cortisol, the “fight or flight” horemone response. Too much coritsol causes several unwelcome symptoms including weakness, incontinence, hair loss, distended belly and others. We just about put him to sleep at that time but, after a bit of research, we discovered the condition could be treated. So we began a regimen of various chemo-like drugs and slowly he improved. We afforded him a bit more than an additional year of a fairly good quality of life. But, as in all living things, he eventually began to deteriorate. It became bad again about two months ago.

In that time we attempted to tweak his meds. Some days we had reason for hope. Others we did not. Eventually he could no longer negotiate the stairs and he began having “accidents” in the house. He began to fall frequently and it would take him several minutes to get back up. I could see the humiliation in his eyes when that happened. I also know that he thought he was letting us down in his ability to take care of us. For that, he just wouldn’t give up. He tried to marshal and it was painful watching him stumble and fall while he attempted to discharge his duties.

On Monday we decided we needed to release him from that charge and let him rest in peace. It was important to me that all of the kids had a chance to say their goodbyes so we actually didn’t set the appointment with the vet until Wednesday. The intervening time was difficult and the rush of tears in this largely female home was startling and entrapping for me. I felt, at times, it was a mistake to wait. It felt as if we were sitting for an execution and perhaps we would all be better off if I just took him and hastened the eventuality. But I’m glad I didn’t. He deserved to know for one last time that each of us loved him so dearly – as each of my children would spend time embracing him and whispering loving words to assuage his pain.

My wife and I brought him to the Vet at 3:00 Wednesday. I took him in a laid him on the table. We decided we owed him that we stay by his side as the vet administered the poison. For what he had done for us we couldn’t let him lie in a strange place with unfamiliar people. We owed him the security of our presence. The vet took a few minutes and compassionately explained what would happen to him as the drug moved into his system. We held and petted him as she made the injection. He flinched at the pain of the shot. Then, a few moments later, he made three great breaths, his limbs relaxed and my wife whispered “It’s OK sweetheart, you can go now. You don’t have to take care of us anymore” as we watched and felt the life leave him while he drifted off into his last sleep and his last heartbeat.

I remained as stoic as I could for some time. But there are times when my emotions get the better of me. I woke up in the middle of the night last night at the call of nature. Unthinking I looked down to make sure I wouldn’t step on him only to realize that I will never step on him again. I will miss him for some time. There is an empty spot both in the house and in my heart where my good friend made his home. And somehow I’ll have to learn how to pick up those duties he filled in taking care of us. I’m sure I can. I wish I didn’t have to.

Sleep well, sweet prince.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 3rd, 2008 at 2:49 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.