On the Death of Dogs

The saddest events in my life have been the death of my dogs. I share that because it is important for those of us who have lost a companion animal to realize that others have grieved with the same feeling. The emotions can be strong or perhaps more so than upon the passing of a human being. People who have not experienced the same might react dismissively or negatively, objecting to any comparison of an animal to a member of our own species.

Buster made it to 15, Ding Ding to 16.

The death of Buster and Ding Ding was difficult because they were morally innocent, unconditionally loving, and wholly dependent on my wife and me. At the end, we carried them around quite a bit. Their demise was all the more upsetting, because they followed directly from decisions we made. We had them put down.

We had Ding Ding before Buster. I found her when I was on vacation in Asia. She was a stray where they had a problem with packs of virtually feral dogs, running around on the beach, eating insects for sustenance. I had her vaccinated and obtained a doggie passport. She grew into an elegant black and tan hound, about twenty-five pounds, lean and all legs, with prick ears, and an exotic look that prompted passersby to stop and inquire about her breeding. She barked, but otherwise she resembled an exceptionally tall basenji.

We adopted the big guy later. He came from a shelter where his prior owners had given him up as a puppy. Probably they weren't able to housebreak him, because it turned out he had a gastrointestinal bug that a treatment regimen took care of. He became a one hundred pound bruiser, the sort of shepherd-mastiff-pit bull mutt that intimidated people. At home, he was generally needy and exceptionally frightened of noises such as thunderstorms and fireworks — he would try to climb into the bathtub.

They enjoyed everything dogs enjoy: walking, running, exploring the woods, chasing balls, tug-of-war, our return, their meals, snuggling. I have never doubted that dogs can smile and that it communicates every bit what a person does with the same display of happiness. I have always thought it was hilarious that dogs coughed, sneezed, farted, vomited, and otherwise did what any of us does reflexively. They have personalities — even souls.

At the end, we recognized that giving Buster and Ding Ding relief from pain and suffering was the right choice. We knew they would have to depart this earth eventually. We tried every extraordinary measure to prevent the inevitable: therapy, surgery, medical experts, and pills.

It was not easy to acknowledge. Their time had come.

We called a vet who made house calls. He had a routine, in his white lab coat, with a boom box to play soothing music, and a stretcher for the body.

Buster was the first. He was excited to see a guest arrive. He couldn't move much anymore. But he was alert and friendly. Here was someone to see me, he seemed to be saying.

Ding Ding made it another few weeks. She was deaf and hardly left her comfortable bed. When she saw the same man who had carried away Buster, she understood. Without any fuss, she came over to him and laid down. I am sure she was ready, aware of what was at stake.

After mourning for three years, we adopted a new dog. Although she is not a substitute for the other canines whom we have loved, Bebe has become the joy of our lives. The cycle of life continues.

Photo: Lynden Steele