Saying Goodbye to a Furry Friend

Friday, July 25, 2008

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Saying Goodbye to a Furry Friend

By J’AMY PACHECO

Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made.

—Roger Caras

As I’ve mentioned here multiple times, I’m not exactly a dog person. It’s not that I don’t like them – I do. I just don’t want the responsibility that comes with owning something that can’t flush away its own messes.

I had a dog once. Almost 20 years ago, my husband and I adopted a Shih Tzu whose owner passed away. We had adored his elderly “mommy,” and were horrified when we learned nobody wanted “Scotty” and he was in danger of being euthanized.

So we brought him home, and loved him dearly until the night in 1996 I got a call from the animal hospital saying he’d passed away. I was devastated, but days later, gave birth to a human “pup” that has filled my calendar every moment since.

In 2000, my mother bought a puppy. He was also a Shih Tzu, and as he grew, I became convinced he was Scotty reincarnated. “Tink” – named by my then-four-year-old daughter, had Scotty’s looks, personality and mannerisms. It was unbelievable.

Like Scotty, Tink was partial to women, but he spent most of his days parked on the couch next to my stepfather sharing snacks, watching TV and just hanging around. When my stepfather passed away suddenly last Christmas Eve, Tink became my mother’s constant companion and greatest source of comfort.

We were, therefore, stunned when Tink was diagnosed with cancer. My mother had repeatedly sought medical attention for the dog, who had lost interest in eating, and had been dismissed by vets who told her the dog was “just spoiled.”

After the diagnosis, Tink went downhill quickly. Knowing he was suffering, my mother asked if I could drive them to the vet for the last time. We made plans to go this week.

Sunday, however, she called and asked if I could come immediately. I hurried the 100 miles to her house, and was greeted at the door by a little dog I no longer recognized.

Greetings from Tink normally involved a lot of running around, tail wagging, crazy-happy barking, and showing off with his chewy toy, followed by lots of tummy rubbing and ear scratching. On this day, he politely wagged his tail in greeting, then went back to his rug. His coat was stained front and back, evidence of his inability to control his bodily functions. It broke my heart.

My mother was unable to bear what she knew had to happen. Although I’m the most squeamish member of our family, I couldn’t bear the idea of Tink dying with strangers. So I made the difficult decision to go in with him, and to hold him while he was euthanized. The doctor inserted a line, taped it to Tink’s leg, then left us alone for a bit.

I could feel his bones as I petted his tiny body. I told him how much we all loved him, and what a good dog he’d been. He nestled his little head against my stomach, every now and then glancing up as if to let me know he was listening.

As the vet administered the shots that would end Tink’s life, I scratched behind his ears, and told him that “Grandpa” was waiting to welcome him. I stroked his disease-ravaged little body, no longer noticing the stains or smells. For the first time in my life, I observed death first-hand as the life drained quickly from the dog who had given us all so much love. It nearly broke my heart.

When we returned to my mother’s house, an uncharacteristic silence greeted us. It was painfully different, with no little dog racing around letting us know how much we’d been missed.

We scattered my stepfather’s ashes in the Sequoias just last month, so we brought his empty urn to the vet for Tink’s cremation. My mother suggested we take his ashes up there so he can join his beloved couch companion. It’s a request I’m happy to fulfill.

Tink’s last moments passed quickly and seemingly pain-free. I will forever be haunted by the way he looked when the last spark of life left him, but I will never regret having stayed with him until the end.

I suppose all a canine can aspire to be is a “good dog.” Tink gave us love, and asked for little more than something to eat, fresh water and the occasional tummy rub in return.

It was, as they say, a good deal – made with a good dog.