Tag: Dogs

George

I lost my puppy last week. He was over 2 years old, but all my dogs are forever puppies in my eyes. The grief and sadness is intense. For better or for worse, I loved my little puppers like he was my own son. I expected him to be a part of my family for over a decade more.

Then, one morning I woke up as usual to exuberant puppy kisses. I stumble downstairs, my two dogs hopping around me in excitement. I fire off a work email as I heat up water for tea and pour my cereal. I take my cereal bowl and herd my dogs outside to the backyard, where I plop on a lawn chair and start to eat my cereal. My dogs are sniffing around per usual.

Suddenly I hear a loud rustle of leafs. At first I thought it was a squirrel, as they also sound like they weigh 100x more than they do. But it registered in my sleepy brain that these leaf rustles were far too loud even for a squirrel. I look up and I see two pit bulls barreling down the hill that leads into our backyard grassy area.

From there, I got complete tunnel vision. I heard my 6 lb. dog Harry give a frightened yelp and I see him hunkered, with a look of surprise and hurt on his sweet face. One of the pitbulls is standing next to him with his tail wagging. I run to him and pick him up, putting him under my right armpit. I look for George, my 15 lb dog. His neck is in the mouth of a big pit bull.

I run over and try to reach him, and manage to kick the black pitbull but he dances away with George in his mouth. I try this at least 2 or 3 times while Harry is crying in fear. I realize I need to get Harry out of the way. I run to my basement door and stick him inside. Then I run back to George.

The black pitbull is having a ball. He is gnawing on George’s neck with absolute relish. Every time I get remotely close he just ran away. George is motionless with his precious tongue sticking out of his mouth. I don’t really know how much noise I was making or what I was saying. I do remember feeling a panicked dread when I realize I couldn’t protect him. At the top of my lungs I scream “ANDREW WAKE UP” hoping my husband would hear from upstairs and help. Then I just kept screaming. At some point I remember seeing my neighbor who owns the pitbulls coming down the road. The black pitbull eventually released George when he heard his owner. I pick up George and run to the gate for the neighbors to get his dogs.

My neighbor looked shocked. “Is he hurt?” I look down at George who is motionless and has streaks of blood in his fur. “He’s bleeding,” I said. He asked me which dog attacked George and I pointed to the black one. “What? He has never..” my neighbor started to say. At some point another neighbor had run up but just backed away when he saw me talking to the pitbull’s owner. I murmured something like “I have to get him to Andrew,” and closed the gate. I went into the basement and I didn’t see Harry. My heart dropped in fear as I called him and he didn’t run up. I ran up the stairs and he was at the basement door leading to our ground floor. He started crying in fear when he saw me. I ran into the downstairs and again screamed for Andrew to wake up. Andrew came running down the stairs, gun drawn. When he saw George he put it away. We confirmed George had a heart beat and was breathing.

From there we had a quick conversation about what to do. We agreed to take him to our local vet first. The vet checked out George and said all his vitals were fine just mostly dehydrated but he needed emergency services. We took him to the ER. On the way he moved a little bit and even stuck his head out the window. I felt a flicker of hope. When we got to the ER, they told us George was lucky. He needed stitches and would be very sore for several days but he should be okay. They would do a quick procedure with George anesthetized and it would take a few hours.

We go home and wait, trying not to freak out Harry with our apprehension. We realize Harry has some blood on his back and a swelling in his abdomen. We decide to go back to the ER and have Harry checked out while we wait for George.

They check Harry out, tell us he has a little puncture but should be okay. Keep an eye on him. They tell us George is done with his stitches. They bring out a completely floppy George in a half body cast who has obviously not woken up from anesthesia yet. At this point I should have questioned. But we were still exhausted and shocked. They give us his discharge information and we leave.

At home, George is still very drowsy. Every once in a while he opened his eyes and seemed conscious. He finally moved his pale, swollen tongue back inside his mouth. I think his breathing seems labored and weird. I call the ER and ask if I should be concerned. They tell me he’s been through a lot of trauma and just needs to sleep. About 30-60 minutes later, his breathing is still weird and sounds like a whistle. I call again and they ask when he had surgery. They seem concerned he hasn’t recovered from anesthesia yet and tell me to bring him in.

We drive to the ER. George seems more alert and of course his breathing is slow and steady now. A technician comes out and barely looks at him but tells me basically what the first person on the phone said – he has been through a lot of trauma, he seems fine, just let him sleep. Okay then. We go back home. I decide to sleep with George on the floor so he doesn’t wake up and get scared that he’s alone. I hold his paw in my hands. His breathing seems a little funky to me but I remember what the ER told me and try to just let him sleep. Around 2:30 a.m. he chokes up some peanut butter we had tried to give him earlier and starts breathing extremely labored. This did not seem remotely normal by any means. I wake up my husband. He sees that George is struggling to breath and tries to give him mouth-to-mouth. A few seconds later, George stops breathing. I pick him up and start wailing. Andrew runs to the bathroom and vomits. Harry is barking and scared. I make him sniff George so he understands he is gone and doesn’t think he’s just been abandoned. I think I may feel George’s heart beating but I realize it’s just mine racing. I feel an explosion of sorrow and disbelief.

We drive back to the ER with George in my arms for cremation. Andrew picks him up and I call him back to the truck so I can pet George’s soft ears for the last time. Andrew disappears into the ER and I never see my puppy again.

My sweet baby George. He was the epitome if someone who knew me better than I knew myself had hand-designed a dog to fill every place in my heart. He was a cuddle-bunny, was obsessed with playing but not very good about the release part. He had the strongest little front arms that he would wrap tightly around his toy and it was so much effort to get it away from him. He occasionally would just play with himself – find a toy and throw it up in the air and then pounce on it,or bring it to the top of his doggy stairs and let is roll down so he could chase it. He could be a nervous nelly – decided he was very afraid of loud noises, even the sizzling of a pan made him shake with fear. I loved comforting him. i loved snuggling him. I loved playing with him. I loved teaching him.

I can’t believe I had no more chance to help improve his interactions with humans, become a more confident swimmer, learn to overcome his aggression with visitors and aggressive dogs.

George, George. You were taken away way way too soon. You were healthy as a horse, you were extremely happy and loved more than most children around the world. We were ready and able to take care of you for your entire life, which we hoped would be very long.

The pain from losing a dog is so profound. In some ways it is worse than losing a human. It has nothing to do with valuing their life over a human, but it’s for two main reasons I think. One, they are part of almost every hour of your life, especially if you work from home. There was basically no part of my daily life they weren’t a part of except going to the gym and grocery shopping. So their absence is incredibly felt as your entire house and entire day is full of the memory of their sweet presence. Two, they are so so innocent. All George wanted to do was play with toys, sniff things, and love on his pack (me, my husband, and our little dog Harry). He had no evil in him and no understanding of evil. He often slept on his back with his belly exposed, a sign that he felt exceptionally safe and secure.

It is not fair that this precious life was ripped from him by a dog that also wanted to play, but had no bite inhibition. I hope with my entire heart that George was actually conscious a few times after surgery so that his last moments were not of being attacked by a huge monster, but of us loving on him,

Oh George my heart aches for you. I want to hold you so bad. I can’t conceive of never holding you again, never scratching your soft ears, never feeling your exuberant sloppy kisses.

George, George. I hope you are in heaven. Some people think that’s goofy but I think it could be true. The bible talks about Jesus restoring all creation, not just humans. Also the lion will lay down with the lamb.. maybe a metaphor, maybe not? I really really hope there’s not a “dog heaven” but just a heaven, that includes all animal souls not just pets. And I hope I get to see George again, and that all wrongs including his very very wrong death will be made right. I hope he’s now playing with Desi and Lucy (our dogs that passed in 2022), Zorro (2008) and Valentine (2002). I hope he never has fear and nervousness in his heart ever again. I hope to see him jumping crazily up beside me as I enter heaven.

Please Jesus I beg you – please let me see my loved ones again. Even if it’s different from what I expect, please please.

I know that compared to you I am a dumb flea, and there’s this massive gap in my understanding and ability to understand. I’m sorry I don’t trust you more, but heaven seems creepy and cold without the people I love. And not in a generic ethereal unembodied sense but actually there. If not, what is the point of human relationship, invidivual identities here on earth? Why? Scripture seems to point to individuals keeping their individuality in Heaven. Jesus please let it be so. Please let me see, feel, know that you love me. Please let me rest in your embrace. Please don’t let me be deceived.

Girlfriend of 18 months “honored” that she finally shares equal status with boyfriend’s dog

-ATLANTA

Sydney Glascow and boyfriend Allen Platano recently celebrated their 18 month anniversary. Sydney knew the celebration was going to be special, but she never would have let herself hope for what unfolded. At a dazzling dinner in the city, Allen cleared his throat shared something so deep and special that tears sprang to Sydney’s eyes.

“Babe, you know I’m not a sappy man but I have to tell you – I think.. I’m beginning to care about you as much as I care about Buddy.”

Sydney could barely believe her ears. She knew what a special connection they shared, and her heart nearly exploded to think that her connection with Allen was equally as special.

“Does this mean I can sit with both of you on the sofa now?” She asked breathily. Allen paused. “I never thought about the implications but.. maybe. Wait, hold on…” he mused for a tormenting 15 seconds. “Yes!”

Sydney sprang up from her seat and began to dance energetically, just like Allen liked. “Dreams really do come true!”

couplewithdog

Nap, Interrupted

There is a ritual in my home. It is constant as the tides, intricate as the shifting of winds, as majestic and mysterious as Chris Hemsworth’s hair. It is the process of my dog Bear getting on the couch.

 

 

It begins with the The Look. Sarah McLachan would weep to see Bear in the throes of cushion depravation. He rests his chin on the sofa and casts the Gaze of Supplication towards me. I respond, “C’mon up, buddy.” He considers, then turns to my husband, seated next to me. Bear’s body language suggests he will need written authorization from all parties currently occupying the couch.

It is important to stop here and note that Bear is – and has always been – allowed on the sofa. At no point in his life has he gotten in trouble for getting onto our furniture. Regardless, he watches my husband anxiously for a sign of acceptance. Once that is attained, he lifts his chin, hesitates, then puts it back down. Thus begins The Encouraging.

The Encouraging starts with one of us slapping the sofa cushion and saying, “Up!” Bear is unconvinced. We tuck our feet, move cushions, and clear off any item that Bear may see as obstructing his way up. His eyes accuse our callous indifference to his plight. He remains on the floor. Then comes the freestyle phase. We pat the cushion while chanting “BEAR BEAR BEAR BEAR” in unison, mixing in an occasional “Up!” and slap to Bear’s rump. The key here is enthusiasm. When perfectly executed, the chanting and pounding of cushions steadily increases in volume and tempo until at the crescendo Bear’s ears prick forward, he sweeps his tail in the Wag of Acceptance, and leaps up to his rightful place.

However, Bear also enjoys a variation of our ritual called the False Start. When The Encouraging has reached fever pitch and the sofa is quaking from the fury of our blows, his ears prick forward. He shifts his weight forward. His muscles tense. And he walks off, sits down and scratches his ear. This constitutes a reset, and the ritual begins anew.

With or without the variation, it all ends with Bear sprawled across the couch, taking up more space than me and my husband combined, cheeks puffing and making little puppy woofs while he dreams of apprehending squirrels.

 

 

Routines and rituals fill our lives. Some are mindless. Some are harmful. Some are holy. Some are necessary structure, like brushing your teeth. And some are just there to make you smile every day. It’s helpful to occasionally think about our patterns, so we can strengthen the good, change the bad, and appreciate the absurdities that bring us joy.