Saying Goodbye

“Oh, these sweet, sweet creatures who love us and bring us so much joy and depend on us to make this difficult decision.” That’s what my friend Carmen wrote to my wife and me a year and a half ago when we had to make the painful decision to put Gloria’s beloved dog, Buddy, to sleep. He had a brain tumor covering fully one-third of his right lobe and there was nothing at all to be done.

Now, we find ourselves needing to make the same decision about Max, a dog who has been at my side for thirteen years. I haven’t had a relationship (outside of family) that has lasted thirteen years!

Two years ago, Max had surgery on his left rear leg to replace a tendon that had worn away somehow. The doctor opened his leg up, drilled through the bone and essentially tied in a new tendon to keep the bones operating properly. The recovery was long and painful. But it eventually worked. For a time Max was able to walk on both legs, run even, with little or no sign of pain or discomfort. Last summer, I noticed that he seemed to be having the same sort of trouble with his right rear leg that he’d had with his left rear leg that led us to approve the surgery of two years ago – something, by the way, that I would never have imagined I would do for a dog, but I’m glad I did… I fretted and worried and took him to the veterinarian. She put him on anti-inflammatory medication and gave us some pain medication as well, for when it was really acting up. He’s been on the anti-inflammatory meds ever since and we’ve generally given him a pain pill once a week or whenever it seems necessary.

Last week, he injured his right rear leg running in response to some neighborhood dog barking or something and it’s been downhill ever since. He can no longer put any weight on his right rear leg. He cannot ascend stairs on his own. I have a sling that I put under his mid-section to help carry the bulk of his weight as he lumbers up the stairs, hopping his front feet up a step and then hoisting his weak back legs up a step with the help of the sling.

Max is fourteen years old, nearly fifteen. He’s had a great life. He’s traveled to more places than many humans I know. He has been swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, the Pacific Ocean, and Big Gull Lake in Ontario, Canada, and, of course, Lake Michigan. He explored deserts and mountains and dunes and woods.

Tomorrow we have to say goodbye. He’s suffering and it’s time. I’m sad, of course, but I’m also beyond words grateful for the years of joy that he’s given me, the years of companionship and love that he’s provided. I know he knows that I’ve always loved him. I know he knows that I’ve always thought that he was/is a “good dog.” That helps, a little.

In this holiday season many of us try to take a moment to count our blessings, our joys, things for which (or for whom) we should be (are) grateful. Max has been a blessing, a joy, a treasure. Tomorrow I will execute the final act of my responsibility for Max, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I will say goodbye and Godspeed and thank you and I love you and always will.

When I adopted Max from the Animal Shelter on Grand Avenue in downtown Chicago, they told me he was called “Maru.” but I didn’t think that name fit at all. So as he lay curled up on the floorboard in the front of my Subaru Justy as I was driving him home I tried out different names. When I called “Max” he lifted his head up to me and raised his ears. That’s how I knew that was his name.

Tomorrow I’ll say goodbye to Max. I’ll remember him forever.

Taking Things Personally, Part 2 (Or, Dead Dog Walking)

For a few days there, Beau, our five and a half year old Sheltie was a dead dog walking. He’d done the unthinkable and bitten me in the face, my upper lip to be precise. Whether he would be literally dead or not was not completely decided, but it was certainly considered. My wife Gloria and I discussed whether we should try to return him to PAWS (Pets Are Worth Saving) here in Chicago, or simply have him put down by our vet. After all, if he’d bitten a child on the street, that is precisely what the Chicago Police Department would order – put the dog down, no ifs, and, or buts.

Fortunately, we decided to go talk to someone at PAWS. We wanted to talk to someone who knew something about dogs, who would be empathetic to our cares and concerns, and who might be able to offer some valuable advice. That was last Saturday afternoon. Can I tell you how glad I am that we did that?

At PAWS, we met Melissa Dragovan, one of the adoption program coordinator’s there. She was empathetic, non-judgmental, and very reassuring. She told us that PAWS would absolutely take Beau back if that’s what we decided we wanted to do. She also recommended that we consider meeting with a dog trainer – a “dog whisperer” named Curtis Scott – who has had a lot of experience dealing with negative dog behavior.

We called Curtis that late afternoon/early evening and spoke with him for 15 or 20 minutes. He could hear the nervousness in our voices and agreed to come to our home Sunday evening at 5:30, following an entire day of giving a seminar in Indiana. He quickly diagnosed the problem – a lack of clear leadership on the humans’ parts, and gave us a ton of specific and very helpful advice.

Even though it’s only been five days since his visit, some pretty extraordinary transformations have already taken place. And, not only has the change in our behavior not been difficult, it’s been enjoyable!

Old dogs, like this Chicago writer, can learn new tricks, it seems!

Namaste

Taking Things Personally

We all do it from time to time, I suppose. Or, at least many of us do. We take things personally in ways or at times that are not technically appropriate. What do I mean? Well, some of us (I plead guilty to having done this in the past) can, at times, even take something as manifestly not personal as the weather personally. Arrgghh, that wind, that cold, that rain. And, what?? More snow today? It’s the end of March for crying out loud! Like Lear, we rail against the bitter winds that care not a whit about us.

Another example: Our Sheltie, Beau, bit me on the lip the other night. It hurt (still does a little), it was scary, and it is certainly neither acceptable nor appropriate behavior from a dog. But what it wasn’t is: personal. A dog doesn’t distinguish between a nip on the hand or the leg or the face. My wife Gloria and I had a good conversation with a highly experienced dog trainer a short time ago. The gentleman’s name is Curtis Scott and he will be coming by tomorrow evening to get to know Beau and to try to properly diagnose the situation and create a plan to move forward. I don’t know that we’ve completely committed to keeping Beau, but it seems at least worth making this effort to see if we can get control of the problem, reset the roles, and (hopefully) be able to enjoy Beau in a healthier environment again. If we can’t, we’ll do what we need to do.

But I have certainly learned one very important lesson already. Taking this incident personally is not going to lead to a productive way forward. Taking the bite personally leads only to fear and misgivings – and, you know what? I’m kind of over that.

Namaste.