Preparing for the hardest day.

(From the New Zealand Listener.)

?

It’s a statistical fact that the average dog is nicer than the average person. At least that’s what Andy Rooney said, and you’ll find no argument from me. I grew up with both dogs and cats but always preferred the dogs, which means that half of you will now stop reading. Dogs are always pleased to see you, appreciative of whatever food you serve, and to make them blissfully happy all you need do is take them for a walk. If only people were that simple.

?

So why didn’t I get a dog myself? The truth was that I didn’t dare expose myself again to the pain I would eventually face of losing it. A family pet had been hit by a car and it was a horrible time.

?

Eventually, after many years, I relented. My then girlfriend loved dogs too and we collected a seven-week-old Staffy puppy called George. Once we got him home we agreed that whatever happened he would never be allowed to sleep on the bed. He never slept anywhere else.

?

George grew up to be infuriating, stubborn, grumpy and undoubtedly one of the finest dogs that ever lived. No doubt you think I’m biased, but I checked, and this is actually a very accurate assessment.

?

After twelve wonderful years it was time for this Prince of Dogs to leave this world. I was reminded of this last week when some friends were facing a similar challenge and asked for advice. Maybe if you’re ever in the same situation these thoughts might help.

?

When?

I was both lucky and unlucky. George went downhill fast. He went from walking unsteadily to dragging his increasingly reluctant back legs. I had to carry him up and down stairs. The diagnosis was aggressive bone cancer, and the prognosis was that he could be completely immobilised at any moment. This meant that ending his life humanly was a matter of some urgency rather than debate. I was grateful that this decision was taken out of my hands.

?

How?

The thing I had dreaded more than anything was the final car journey to the vets. I was incredibly relieved when I found that the vet would come to my house to take care of what needed to be taken care of.

?

The angel of death came on a beautifully sunny afternoon and George died peacefully in my arms with a belly full of fillet steak, chocolate, and parmesan. When his lion-sized heart had beaten its last, I kissed him on the head, went outside and lay in the grass. I cried for a while. Then I cried a bit more. Then I was Ok.

?

Tell their story

The next day I sat down at the computer and wrote about George’s life and what he meant to me. I didn’t need to share it with anyone, it was just between the two of us. This private funeral helped immensely.

?

Pass the baton

When George was eleven years old and I could sense he didn’t have that long left, I had found a Staffy puppy to join him. After a week or so of disconcertment at this new presence, George acknowledged Monty as a slightly annoying nephew. He put up with being slept on, taught the newcomer how to behave, and begrudgingly accepted it when he was soon being beaten to sticks.

?

Monty’s presence meant that a year later when George died the house was never empty, I still had the routine of caring for a dog, and no, he never asked where his old friend had gone.

?

This was three years ago and now Monty is in his prime and George’s ashes sit on the bookcase. Although losing him was still very upsetting, it was nowhere near as bad as I'd been dreading.?

?Dogs are the best. It’s a statistical fact.