Tuesday, April 14, 2015

My Good Dog

I didn't even want him....now I don’t know how life will be without him.  Tomorrow a home veterinary service will come to our house.  The veterinarian will anesthetize my beloved Chapi and then give him a large enough dosage of something to stop his heart.  I tell myself I am doing the best for him as I have tried to do for almost 17 years.  I tell myself I am not doing this for my own convenience but because I love him so much that I can let him go.  I sure as hell hope I am right.

Almost 17 years ago, my husband started hinting about getting a dog.  He kept telling me about these cute puppies that he had seen that day at work and I kept ignoring the hints.  We worked, we traveled, how could we care for a dog?  In a moment of weakness I asked him if he wanted to “go look at puppies.”  I learned that day that you don’t just “go look at puppies.”  You see them and one of them somehow worms his way into your heart in a way you never thought possible.  On the ride home, you bond and you never look back.  At least that’s the way it was with our little, white, fluffy and very energetic Chapi.

Now that he is our geriatric Chapi, he doesn’t buzz around the house anymore running around the dining room table, the kitchen, the living room and then back around the dining room table.  In fact, he can’t even stand up long enough to do his business.  So for the past several months I’ve been walking him while holding up his back end with various home-made contraptions and now a store bought harness that isn't nearly as pretty, but much more effective, than what I had designed.

I thought that he would one day actually talk to me.  His fluffy white face and big black eyes were so expressive.  Friends and strangers often remarked that he looked like he was going to say something.  In my dreams, he sometimes talks, but I never remember what he said.  Maybe that is best.

He walked on his back legs and sort of danced whenever we came home and sometimes just to show off.  Surely this has nothing to do with the condition of those same legs today?

Chapi never realized that he was a white dog.  So many times I came in the front door to find him greeting me with his big smile....and barbecue sauce, or coffee grinds, or whatever he had gotten into that day all over his white face.  You can't hide it, I would tell him, but he never changed.  

We were going to be good dog parents and set limits.  We set up a box for him to sleep in and put a ticking clock inside to trick him into thinking he wasn't alone.  That lasted less than 30 minutes and then there he was in the bed with us where he was to stay for the rest of his nights.  I loved when it was time to turn off the lights because he would literally throw himself—all 15 pounds—onto the pillow between us.  This was HIS place until just a few years ago when he slowly started moving to the end of the bed, or to one side of me, but not to the pillow.  I’m not sure why, but that gave me great pain.

He was my alarm clock for most of his life.  If he thought I wasn't awake yet, he would move closer to have a look.  Eventually I could feel his breath on my face as he inched closer and closer to figure out why I wasn't ready to get up and go for our walk.  Sometimes I played tricks on him and would pretend to sleep until his nose was almost touching mine.  When I opened my eyes, or even one eye, he would attack!  Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!

My Velcro baby.  He had to be right by my side.  He had to know where I was at all times even in the bathroom.  If I closed the door, I knew I would hear his sniffing under the door.  He loved running for a toy and bringing it back.  He loved sitting at the living room window and keeping watch on the neighborhood.  When we would return home after his bed time, I’d look up at the window.  Just as he heard the car in the driveway, I’d see his head pop up from the nice nap he was taking and see him jump off the couch.  He would be at the door before we had the key in the lock.

He was a major flirt who would literally throw himself on the lap of anyone nearby.  If there were multiple visitors, he would take turns on each lap.  It didn’t matter if you were a “dog person” or not.  He was a “people person” and determined to win you over.  You WOULD make room for him.  He never questioned that.

He loved being in the picture.  Or maybe he just wanted to be with us, but if anyone brought out a camera there he would be.  I’d like to say he loved the clothes I put on him for the holidays, but at least I don’t think he hated them.  One day he was a beach bum, the next Santa Claus.  My favorite was his Harley Davidson denim vest.  He was my model when I made a Christmas outfit for my Aunt’s shih tzu.  It made me laugh when I said to him, “watch out for the pins,”….the words my mom always said to us when she was sewing….


His life changed a lot when we brought Indy home.  “I’m an only child,” he seemed to say.  What is HE doing here?  There were words, barked very loudly.  There were looks that seemed to convey that he would tolerate this guy, but don’t ask me to be his friend.  I’m not sure how it is going to play out when Chapi is gone.

A friend gave me a book recently, Going Home by Jon Katz.  It helped me in so many ways, but most importantly it assured me that our pets live in the moment and don’t fear death as we do.  But they rely on us to make the hard decision to put them at peace.

Sunday we took Chapi for a “walk” in Old Town, but this time he was in a borrowed baby buggy.
Just like when he was a fluffy puppy, everyone who passed made over him.  I think he enjoyed the time in the sun and being made over once again.

As I sit here, I wish again that Chapi could say something to me.  In my dream he is telling me it is okay and that he loves me for making the decision to let him go.

Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you..
Remember that I did not fear...
It was just leaving you that was so hard to face...
We cannot see Beyond...
But this I know:
I love you so - 'twas heaven here with you!
         By "Isla Paschal Richardson"


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