June 1 1986 —- April 25 2001
Doberman Pincher
The evening sky revealed a sliver of moon dropped upon a
star-scattered platter of black while on the western horizon the
sun flared one last time and blinked off.
The “old bean” my Velcro like companion of fifteen years has died.
She didn’t go unexpectedly.
However she still leaves behind a great sadness.
If you’ve never been possessed by a companion animal you
need read no further. If you have you will understand.
For those of you living life without wagging tails or mews or
various other animations I prefer my grief to your sterile hair-free
mud-less paw-printed existence.
I’ve thought about writing this essay for several months now.
I’ve considered writing this eulogy in advance of her death.
I have tossed aside numerous opening lines and heart-wrenching words.
I have to write this just as I know that tomorrow I have to powder my nose
and try to hide my swollen eyes from the workaday world.
But today I can sit in bed and mourn.
Shay was fifteen old for a Doberman Pincher.
I started worrying about her death when she neared twelve.
I’d practiced mourning several times a week until I realized she showed
me the remaining days should be a celebration of her life.
I left my impending sadness behind for eighteen months.
Coming home from work one day she didn’t greet me at door.
I found her lying with splayed legs in the middle of the floor unable to stand.
The sadness returned.
My husband and I drove her to the vet expecting the worst but a
round of cortisone and aspirin with rest soon had her back on her legs.
She would never be able to stand straight again she wobbled when she
walked but walk she did. Two more strokes followed in the next
six months and although moderately weakened she was in no pain.
She continued to bring us our daily dose of unconditional unquestioning love.
She owned us literally heart and soul.
While we accepted that Shay had more proverbial lives than a cat
Don’s little church group knowingly included her in their prayers.
She even joined his Bible-study group on the couch each Thursday evening.
And when Don gave grace before evening’s dinner Shay always put her
head between our hands to complete the circle.
Last December the old girl tried to sneak a loaf of bread from the
kitchen range. She accidentally turned on the burner and
had I not decided to run back into the house for a bathroom break
we would have lost the entire house to the flames.
While Don and I lived in a motel for two months with the cat Shay
stayed with the local kennel.
Those two months became the beginning of the end.
She’d lost thirty pounds before we brought the bone-racked
old love-bucket home to our remodeled house.
During the boarded weeks Shay’s constant smile had disappeared
into the realm of our “do you remember when” conversations.
We worried over her we fretted. But our house grew full of energy
and commitment and laughter again. We made accommodations to our
schedules that allowed for the extra care of the old girl.
We groaned over time constrictions. Moving slowly we became adept at
stepping over her in the middle of night.
The sofa became her cocoon and the area beside the bed her nest.
Our sleep became dreamless because her restless nighttime
stirrings awakened us.
While hoping for one more loving day from her we planned for her last.
We knew she would always be near us that she would eternally
rest in the backyard. Unless she was in pain we would stay with her and
let her go naturally without the tear-filled drive into town to find a
veterinarian to euthanize her.
Mostly we worried over the weather.
Winter had been our hardest longest and coldest on record.
We prayed she would hold on until everything thawed.
She was holding on herself. Monday she smiled for the first time in
four months. Tuesday she began experiencing intermittent
difficulty breathing. And Wednesday evening for the
last time she tried to get up.
I think she wanted to make her last romp on four paws.
A moment later she was gone. She will always be gone.
My husband tells me all dogs go to heaven.
I tell him I hope so because without them I certainly don’t
care if I do.
Goodnight old bean…
thank you for being part and soul of my life for fifteen years.
When life looked its bleakest you taught me to keep going.
And God does answer prayers even for doubters and their old dogs.
It was unseasonably warm at 11pm last night as we put
Shay to rest beneath the blue-green boughs of
the spruce tree.
Charly
| Shay |