Pure Joy (11 page)

There are endings and beginnings in life, new chapters, and old ones we remember fondly, with great tenderness. We don’t “replace” those we love, whether dogs or people—they remain part of our history. But new people and dogs come into our lives and add excitement and joy and help us live new chapters.

For those who have loved a pet for many years, or even a shorter time, losing that pet can be incredibly sad. They fill a big space in our hearts, and leave a huge hole when they leave. And it’s not uncommon to see some brave, strong man cry over his lost dog. We all do.

Dogs don’t live as long as people, so it is inevitable that no matter how much we love them, or how well we care for them, we will lose them one day. Some breeds are longer-lived than others (notably dachshunds and Chihuahuas, and
some terriers), which is something to consider. Small dogs almost always outlive big ones. Few big dogs live longer than ten or twelve years, while small dogs can make it to fifteen or sixteen, or even nineteen or twenty. And a few breeds are “heartbreak dogs,” notoriously English bulldogs and Great Danes, who frequently die young.

I lost my first two black miniature Brussels griffons, Greta and Cookie, at thirteen. They were littermates and died within a few short months of each other. And their third sister died within weeks of them. They just ran out of gas and died peacefully, Greta of a heart attack in her sleep, and Cookie also in her sleep after a short illness. Both were fine until shortly before they died, and then they went straight downhill. There was no decision for us to make. Nature decided it for us—they were gone, and much missed. Cookie put on a good show till the end, but once she got sick, she declined rapidly. At times she seemed just too sick to hold on to any longer. We had to give her water and hand-feed her, and she could barely move, after a stroke. The vet had told us to get ready and bring her in whenever we felt the time was right. I finally decided that it wasn’t fair to keep her going any longer, so I made the three-block drive to the vet with a heavy heart, planning to end her misery. She perked up the minute we got there, looked around with suspicion, and practically jumped out of my arms when
the vet walked in. She hopped all over the place and danced around and would have tap-danced if she could, with a look that said, “Me? I’m fine! Don’t be ridiculous! Just kidding!” The vet said she appeared to be doing great and sent us home, and I felt like an idiot. She pulled the same stunt two more times. She had no intention of going out under anyone’s steam but her own and died quietly one night in her sleep. But she had no desire to let us make the decision for her!

We also lost my mother-in-law’s dog, Trixie, who lived with us for seven years after my mother-in-law passed away. As I’ve said, she was a big brown standard dachshund and a particularly uncharming dog. And lived forever, until she died peacefully at twenty-one. We didn’t realize at the time how our youngest daughter perceived that event. She was in nursery school, and at show and tell that day, she announced to her class that her daddy had put the dog in a box, buried it, and then it died. When I picked her up at school that afternoon, the teacher told me that I might want to straighten her out on the order of how things had happened, that the dog died and John buried her, not that she died as a result of being buried. It’s interesting how kids view things!

My oldest daughter’s Norwich terrier, Jack, was also very long-lived (the one who loved bubble gum and candy). He lived to be about nineteen and finally just wore out. He spent
his last few days with me, sleeping in my bed, so I could watch him closely, while my daughter went to work. He was so frail by then that she didn’t want to leave him alone, so I kept him with me. Jack and I had had a civil relationship for his nineteen years, but he was an independent sort, mostly attached to her, and he and I never really got closely connected. And as he lay in bed dozing on his last days, I saw him look up at me and panic. He looked like he was saying, “Oh sh--, this must be
really
bad if I’m with
her
!” Sadly, he lingered, and the vet finally said that it would be kinder to euthanize him. It’s a decision my daughter had to make with her next dog as well, and I ached for her over the agonizing choice she was faced with. We’ve never had to make that decision with any of our other dogs, and it was a very, very hard one to make. But sometimes it’s the right one. There are different ways to handle the process. There are vets who will come to your house now, to do it at home, if you prefer it. But any way or place you do it, it’s a tough decision. And I’ve just learned that there is hospice for dogs now too. I hope it never comes to that for any of your dogs, or mine.

And even in sad moments, our family seems to create comic situations inadvertently. John and I promised to bury Jack in our garden, so my daughter didn’t have to deal with that sad task. John dug a hole, only to discover when we went
to bury Jack in a wooden box that our very old houseman had filled the hole with water from the hose (nearly creating a mudslide into our neighbors’ garden), and there was no way to bury the dog, as the box floated on the water. John frantically bailed water before my daughter got home. We just got the job done when she appeared, while John stood there soaked, trying to look casual, and told her he’d been repairing a broken sprinkler. She never knew what had happened, but I still remember the hole filled with water and John frantically bailing, while we tried to bury her dog before she got home.

Even when we lose our pets in the appropriate span of time, it is never easy and always seems too soon.

My daughter Sam lost her childhood dog, a black miniature dachshund, Mia, who reached the end of her life at fourteen. As dachshunds are prone to, in the last few months of her life, she developed severe back trouble and lost the use of her back legs. We lovingly drove her home from L.A. to San Francisco to help nurse her, and she had everything from steroids to acupuncture and improved remarkably. She could walk again! And she finally seemed well enough to go back to Sam. I was planning to drive Mia back to L.A. after well over a month with me, and Sam was jubilant at having Mia come home and at how well she was doing. And then Mia played a final trick on me. All the plans were set for the drive to L.A.
the next day, with the vet’s approval, and that night, hours before her triumphant return to L.A. (which seemed miraculous given the shape she’d been in two months before), Mia died quietly in her sleep. I couldn’t believe it and was bereft for Sam. I drove to L.A. the next day anyway, and instead of handing Mia over to Sam, I had the unhappy task of telling Sam the bad news. But I wanted to tell her face to face, so I could put my arms around her and hold her when I told her. It was a terrible loss to Sam, but fortunately she still had Chiquita, the sixteen-year-old Chihuahua who had moved from New York to live with her. But we will always miss, love, and remember Mia.

The same thing occurred when my son Maxx lost his Boston bull Annabelle, also of his childhood. She was in perfect health and never showed her age, at fourteen. She acted like a puppy, and two days before he was to leave town and join me in France, Annabelle fell gravely ill in a matter of minutes. There was no warning, no slow winding down to prepare him. She went from fine to critical condition within five minutes, with seizures. He literally flew down the hill with her in his arms, the few blocks to the vet, shocked and panicked. He spent twenty-four hours at the pet hospital with her, never leaving her side, as I got hourly reports from him in France. And much to our relief, she improved enough for him to feel
comfortable leaving. There was no explanation for the seizures, except possibly her age. She appeared to be on the road to recovery. He spent a few more hours with her before he left, fed her, and held her, and he had made me promise that I would check on her through the night by phone from Paris, while he was on the plane, so I could report to him when he arrived. And once again Nature made the decision for us. Literally, as his plane took off from San Francisco, Annabelle went to sleep peacefully and never woke up. He called as soon as the plane touched down on the runway. The vet called to tell me immediately, but I lied to Maxx when he landed and called me. I couldn’t bear telling him news like that over the phone, and it nearly broke my heart to tell him when he got home to the apartment. The loss was devastating. Annabelle had been his shadow and beloved friend for fourteen years. There is no replacing the companions of our childhood.

Sam’s dog Mia (the chocolate eater) at thirteen
Cassio Alves

I think too, like losing a person we have loved, that losses bring up other losses in our lives, and remind us of them, and hit us hard. I will never forget how sad Maxx was to lose his boyhood dog. (And Sam when she lost first Mia, and later Chiquita.) Annabelle and Chiquita were probably our sweetest, most loving dogs.

Maxx grieved Annabelle terribly for the next many months, and finally I gave him the Boston bull puppy that
put balm on his heart and whom he loves dearly. Annabelle will always be the boyhood dog he adored, but I’m happy to see that there is room in his heart for Nancy too.

Losing a pet can happen peacefully or in a more traumatic way. Some animals (and people) wind down over time, and you see them show all the signs of their age, and where things are headed. And sometimes they seem to be doing so well that they take you by surprise when things take a sudden turn for the worse. If they seem to be deteriorating slowly, you have the benefit of time to prepare you. And sometimes how well they appear can be deceptive. Twice now we have been fooled by unusually spunky old dogs who literally fell apart within hours, which is much harder to adjust to, and traumatic for their owners, who just didn’t see it coming. (Again as can happen with people. My incredibly lively grandmother died almost instantly, while running between appointments and very busy with the joys of life. Although she died at an appropriate age, nearly eighty, her energy level, and how full of life she was, led us to believe she would live forever, and we were stunned by her sudden passing. The same happened with my ex-husband’s grandfather, who lived to be 103 and still had all his faculties, was very sharp, and went to the office every day. He was a remarkable person, and I think we also came to believe he was eternal. But mortality catches up with
all of us eventually. Old people and dogs can fool you if they still have a lot of energy and are in good health.)

Chiquita at fifteen, still smiling!
Samantha Traina

We experienced that with my daughter Sam’s second dog, Chiquita, two years after she lost Mia. Chiquita was sixteen by then, and full of bounce and energy. I loved watching her trot down the hall when she came to visit me. A vet we took her to guessed her age at eleven or twelve, when she was actually sixteen. Chihuahuas are notoriously long-lived, sometimes until twenty, and often until eighteen or nineteen. She was in perfect health, except for cataracts that became a problem two weeks before she died, and didn’t bother her until then.

On a Sunday, she was fine, running up and down the hall, visiting everyone, and having fun. She and Sam were staying at my home, and we always enjoyed visits from Chiquita, she had no other health problems other than her eyes, and that was very recent. And on Monday morning she woke up and seemed ill, didn’t eat, and was confused and a little dazed. She’d had a full checkup only days before and had a clean bill of health, appropriate to a dog half her age. We took her to the vet that Monday morning, assuming it was something minor, but being careful because of her age.

By lunchtime they called and said she was not doing well. She was having symptoms of a neurological problem, and her
kidneys were not functioning well. And for the next thirty hours, she slid downhill so fast we didn’t know what hit us. Mercifully her kidneys failing put her in a dazed state, so she wasn’t suffering. And all our vets were hopeful that the situation would turn around. There was no warning of this sudden failure of her bodily systems, and by the next day she was in extremis, and thirty-two hours after the first sign of the problem, she was gone. We were all in shock, and poor Sam was devastated. The good news was that she didn’t suffer, and I suppose it’s better when people and dogs die quickly, don’t linger in poor health for a long time, but when it happens like that, there is no time for those of us who love them to prepare. One minute they’re fine, and the next minute they’re gone, and we are bereft. It was a hard blow for Sam, who loved her so much and assumed she had a few good years left in her, given how healthy she was.