A year later, that same dog arrived at the farm at 11 o’clock at night. The home she was in hadn’t worked out; the breeder asked if I would take care of her a few days until a good home was found. I said yes. My husband, Patrick, had just informed me that he was leaving me after 17 years together, and in a moment of stunned grief and desperation, I latched onto Lassie as if she was a lift boat.
She came late in the evening, and all that night I kept my hand resting on her soft, creamy fur. As the dim light of dawn began to creep into the room she and I got up together. I let her out of the house to run up the hill behind the other dogs, knowing she’d follow them into the fenced yard. I don’t know why I called her name as she galloped away–what is the chance she’d listen when I had just gotten her? But as I called she spun around in mid-air and ran back to me, sliding to a stop like a quarter horse at my feet. That afternoon I introduced her to sheep. She did a perfect outrun around to the back of the flock, slowly walked them up to me and lay down, as if she’d had months of training. I called the breeder as soon as I got back to the house. “We’ve found Lassie a home, if you’ll let me keep her.” By the end of the first day we were together, she fell in love with her father Luke, and I fell in love with her.
She died of liver cancer fifteen years later. Ex-husband Patrick and I are now both happily married to other people, and are good friends. He lives just a few miles away, with Lassie’s daughter, the sweet and beautiful Tess. Like her mother, she passed away at the age of sixteen. But it was still too soon. It is almost always too soon, isn’t it?
That is why I am writing this now, because we have a chance to support research that will help many of our dogs live a little longer. I would be grateful, more grateful than I can say, if you wwould join me in raising money for one of my favorite causes, the Puppy Up Foundation. It funds research on cancers that affect both people and dogs in hopes that combining expertise and both human and animal medicine will lead to faster cures. Last year the Madison contingent alone (it was then called the 2 Million Dogs campaign), raised a whopping total of $86,000, a national record. Wow. Already some of those funds are supporting research at Princeton University on mammary tumors in people and dogs.
This year the goal for the Madison walk is $100,000 and how sweet that would be if we made it! Jim and I walked as part of the Pet Pals team and I’m blushingly proud to say that because of your support, I was the individual top fund raiser in the city. I’ll go for the same goal for all of us for this year, and am hoping that together, we can again raise over $3,000. If you’re in the Madison area, come join us on the walk on May 3rd. It is a hoot and a half. But here’s where you add your own donation if you can. Either way, we’d all love to read any memorial you’d like to add about your own special dog. Oh how I wish that they lived longer…
MEANWHILE, back on the farm: Sunny, and most importantly, temperatures well above freezing! Actually in the 40’s. Whooo Hooo! Yesterday I felt hot outside with just my spring jacket on. For those of you who don’t live in the frozen north, know that the concept of “hot” has been an unfamiliar one around these parts. And there’s more: Mud! Never have brown and muddy paws looked so good.
Now we hear there’s even warmer weather coming this week. Temps in the high 50’s? I can’t even imagine. Bring out the swimsuits. (Well, maybe not. Let’s just say that brutally cold weather does not facilitate successful weight loss.) It’s still icy and snowy in spots, and we’ll get lots of cold and snow to come in the next six weeks, but we are loving it now. Hard to imagine that there will be bulbs coming up in a month. And lambs! Lady Godiva, Lady Baa Baa, Pepper and Cupcake (also known as “Honey Boo Boo Ewe” — another unsuccessful weight loss program) are scheduled to lamb in mid-April. I have to go to Washington DC for a speech in mid-April, hope Jim doesn’t end up being the one doing all the lambing work. Cross your hooves for us…
Sunday morning 4 BCs and 3 people took a glorious early spring walk on a trail a few miles from the farm. Here are friend Donna, Jim and some of the BC’s tromping up a steep hill and enjoying the warm weather.
And here’s Maggie girl practicing her driving Sunday afternoon under the blue sky and cotton clouds. Luke’s headstone is on the left; it says “That’ll Do, Luke, That’ll Do.” Lassie is buried to his right, beside him. I always envision that their spirits are still there, watching over us all from their favorite place on the farm. Rest in peace my friends, I still love you both more than I can say.
Tuli Ross says
I really feel this one. As much as we always love our dogs, every once in a while “the one” comes along and totally steals our heart. Indiana Jones was our first GSD and as I watched him deteriorate from DM I cried uncontrolably everyday for months. My husband would ask why I was crying and I would say because Indy is dying. He “lived” to take care of me. Following me wherever I went. “Helping” me with whatever I was doing. If I was digging a hole he would help me. One time I was replacing a light bulb in the ceiling as I was standing on a stepladder. I dropped the small piece that screwed the fixture on and said “Indy take it”. He jumped up from the dog bed and looked at me and I pointed to it and said “take it” He picked up that tiny peice and handed it to me. He weighed over 100lbs. I know, oversized, but still the greatest dog ever. I’m crying writing this. So very sorry for your loss.
P.S. Really enjoying this site. Love seeing you roll on the floor with your dogs which I do frequently. Why do we have them? To love them first and foremost and what unconditional love they give back! I don’t usually comment. More of a listener but this one I just had to respond. Hope it doesn’t seem inappropriate. Tuli
Kathleen Daniel says
Patricia,
I have enjoyed all your books and am just finishing “For The Love of A dog.” It is wonderful to read your words that are just
how I feel about my dogs. Sabrina, was my
heart and I thought I would die when I lost
her. She was an 8 year old Doberman and was
my Lassie. Thank you for all the beautiful books and for helping me feel like it is ok to
carry the memory of our special dogs. I have another female Doberman named Calli. She is the complete polar opposite of Sabrina. A
real handfull with a mind of her own. Please
keep writing and teaching all of us how to love
and train our best friends. Your book “Tales of Two Species” is my favorite. I have recommended it to everyone I know. Thank you for writing books that not only teach, but
warm the heart and nourish the soul!
Kathleen
Christine says
What is the meaning behind the six words said the day Lassie passed?
Marjorie says
Loved reading about your Lassie. So nice to remember our good dogs, the ones that show the best of DOG. We needed this, especially after your last post (not that that was not valuable and well done and necessary).The Lassies of the world are what restores and nourishes our faith in the human canine relationship.
Monika says
What a touching post. I am convinced we can never get over the loss of an especially well-loved pet; there will always be that hole in our hearts where we’re missing them. It’s also the same spot where we fill it with good deeds and make room for others. <3
Cally says
Well…you made me cry again. Thanks for a beautiful post!
Chris Johnson says
I write this with tears spilling down my cheeks. I just passed the 2 year anniversary of the loss of a special soul mate of dog, too young, at 12 years old. He was a Springer, and the smartest dog I’ve ever had. He was the first dog that I did any formal training with because he came with a contract that required that I do at least 2 levels of training with him. His breeder, who was also a trainer & gave me my first clicker, said to me on one of my many visits before Brinkley was old enough to come home with me at almost 9 weeks of age, that I should be working with dogs. I considered it a compliment (she had also moved me to the top of her waiting list for puppies; my previous boy was at the vet dying on the very day that she was there with 3 day old Brinkley), but didn’t think much more about it.
We started our training classes a couple of months later and I was immediately hooked. I had actually started working with him with a clicker and several good books before we ever even started in a class and that boy just loved to train; I almost couldn’t keep up with him! On the first night of the first class, when owners attended without their dogs, I was asked to bring Brinkley as a demo dog. The instructor started to use him to demonstrate how to charge the clicker and he immediately started giving her his paw (“Is this what you want? Will you click that thing now?”). She looked at me, a little baffled, and I told her that I’d already been working with him. He wound up showing off, not really being the starting-from-scratch demo dog that she expected! Beyond all of the basic manners, we worked on trick after trick on our own and started doing agility for fun with the trainer in our small community with whom we continued our training after that initial manners class. Myself and a few other women were the basis of a class that the trainer dubbed her “P” class (“P” standing for perpetual). Soon, I started assisting that trainer in her beginners classes as well as agility and I was reading everything I could get my hands on about dogs.
One day, the trainer got a call from a woman whose dog obsessed daughter was turning 8 and as part of her dog themed party, they wanted a dog who could do tricks. Well, our trainer friend told her she knew just the dog and hence “Party Pupper” was born. We got hired to do tricks at birthday parties (even for one woman’s 50th!), for an entire elementary school, at nursing homes and more. We volunteered at fund raising events for the local Humane Society and Greyhound Rescue. Brinkley travelled with me to visit my father who was in a nursing home 150 miles away and there he did his magic for the other residents, many of whom came to me, some with tears filling their eyes, with stories of their own long lost dogs and the love they shared with them. “I still miss her today and she’s been gone for 20 years” was a constantly repeated theme. They loved seeing him. A favorite trick in the nursing homes was when I would sneeze and he’d retrieve a Kleenex for me.
Brinkley also had an amazing love for puppies, so we spent many hours helping people to socialize their pups and even helped rehabilitate a young terrier pup who had been terrorized at a local (horrible) daycare center.
During this time, my long term relationship ended. We sold our house and I moved into an apartment. Brinkley held me together during this awful time in my life. He was with me at work and at home, we hiked many miles together, and continued our training and the constant discovery of new things to learn. At the same time, our trainer kept losing the places she was renting to teach classes in. So, I started on a quest to start a new business (I’d been self employed for about 15 years), a dog centered business and permanent home for training classes and more. At first I looked for a place to rent, but soon realized that I hated renting an apartment after being a home owner for 20 years, and I missed the freedom that my country living have offered to Brinkley (and his predecessors) so my search shifted to finding a home for myself and a home for dog training all wrapped in one. I spent an intensive year and 1/2 of searching, sales contracts contingent on town approvals, zoning/planning board hearings (you’d have thought we were looking to bring in African lions, not dogs!!), disappointments, failures and TONS of hard work. I gave up finally after another failure in the fall of 2005, too worn out to continue, at least for the winter. Through all of it, Brinkley was my constant companion and never fading source of inspiration. He was there snuggling with his head in my lap when I was down, getting me up and out every day, making me laugh, teaching me new things with every new thing I taught him and spurring me on to be in a position to help open up this whole new world of fun and teamwork to others.
Then the perfect place fell right into my lap. My realtor friend called me saying I had to look at this place, she thought it was perfect, and despite my objections that I was done trying, at least for the time being, she convinced me to go look at the property on Oct 24th. I had a signed contingent contract on the 25th and within 2 weeks had town approval after a brief 15 minute planning board meeting! We closed on Dec 9th and I actually opened the doors for business on Jan 16th after weeks of hard work and only sleeping about 4 hours/night. Mind you, this had NOT been a dog business, but it did have a fantastic one acre field that was already fenced, which was directly behind a small barn which had been used as a pottery studio. It was a big job to get started and is a continuous work in progress to this day, more than 9 years later.
Brinkley’s image is on our logo. He was my partner and inspiration and my best friend. At 8 years of age, he wound up with liver disease, finally diagnosed as chronic hepatitis, with no obvious cause. Even then he continued to teach me. I worked with a holistic vet and kept my boy as healthy as possible for 4 more years, learning everything I could along the way. There were a few times that I thought I was losing him, but he always bounced back. In the end, his kidneys gave out, and I had to let this beautiful, smart, loveable boy go. It’s not the first time I’ve faced this kind of ending; it was too familiar after several other dogs and cats, but it was very certainly the hardest. Because of him, and partly because of his predecessor who had IBD, I’ve added a Food Club service to the business offerings in an effort to help people feed their dogs healthier foods at a savings, and try to share whatever I’ve learned along the way to whoever wants to know. I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing today if not for this amazing boy. He lives, and always will, within my heart and soul. I love you Brinkley-boy!!!!
Antonia says
Last winter I lost my beloved Kangal dog to cancer at just 4 years of age. A bolt out of the blue and a loss that was such a tremendous shock that it took many weeks to be able to even process that he was gone. A year later I find myself still listening for him in the night, catch myself turning to look for him lying in his favorite guarding spot. I think we will never consider any amount of time was enough with the dog that captures our heart so completely and in such a deep way that words have a hard time expressing it. Cancer is such a cruel reaper of both our human families and our four footed angels… Will be thinking of you on the walk for this great cause.
Nic1 says
Trisha, that’s the second blog in a row that’s made me cry! Such a fantastic thing to do and hoping I can donate from the UK.
Is Willie related to Luke too?
Trisha says
Nic1: Willie is Luke’s nephew, and I never would have taken him in if he hadn’t been. But, of course, he turned out to be vastly different than Luke. Soooooo different! I loved Luke in part because he protected me, I love Willie in part because he needs my protection. But they both have a love of life that feeds me every day. Lucky me, hey?
Here is the post about Lassie with the “six word” exercise begun by Hemingway in his quest to find the world’s shortest story. https://www.patriciamcconnell.com/theotherendoftheleash/six-words
Andy says
I adopted Duchess back in 2007. I had just purchased a home, and figured hey, it’s time to get a dog, right? I went to the local Humane Society and met a soft GSD-hound mix who, while shy, seemed to like me. She was obese, middle-aged and HW+, and I was committed to helping her with these issues.
I was also a total neophyte who worked full-time and really didn’t know much of anything about dog behavior. Predictably, Duchess quickly developed severe separation anxiety and started to destroy my house. I learned the very basics of drywall repair and behavior modification, and we both got to work on the long, slow slog to teaching her to be alone.
On one of our many walks back then, she flopped over and rolled contentedly in the grass. She’d been so miserable while I was away that I decided that this would be her trump card. Anytime she wanted to goof off and relax on our walks, I would stop and give her a moment.
She played that card nearly every day for the rest of her life. She so loved that game that any vocal cue I gave her was generally met with a delicious roll in the grass. I’d nearly reverse-trained every useful command in the Ian Dunbar playbook.
Duchess passed away two days after this past Christmas. The last year of her life was one of her best – I’d enrolled her in basic agility to ensure she got enough attention as I cared for a high-maintenance foster dog, and she absolutely adored it. Her trainers were kind and respectful, and every Sunday she danced with delight when she knew it was time to go play at school.
There are a lot of things I feel terrible about when I think about her separation anxiety and the mistakes I made early on. I also wish I’d helped her out of this world a week or so earlier, and the memories of that last day will stay with me forever. But I’m so glad I let her be naughty. Nearly every day I’d practically shout how naughty she was, and how much I loved her, and she’d just waddle that fluffy behind around the room, knowing all was as it should be. Duchess, I love you and miss you every single day. Thank you, sweet baby.
Andy says
I adopted Duchess, a soft GSD-hound mix of some kind, back in 2007. I had just purchased a home, and figured hey, it’s time to get a dog, right? I went to the local Humane Society and we totally hit it off. She was not especially healthy, and I was committed to helping her get better.
I was also a total neophyte who worked full-time and really didn’t know much of anything about dog behavior. Predictably, Duchess quickly developed severe separation anxiety and started to destroy my house. I learned the very basics of drywall repair and behavior modification, and we both got to work on the long, slow slog to teaching her to be alone.
On one of our many walks back then, she flopped over and rolled contentedly in the grass. She’d been so miserable while I was away that I decided that this would be her trump card. Anytime she wanted to goof off and relax on our walks, I would stop and give her a moment.
She played that card nearly every day for the rest of her life. She so loved that game so much that any vocal cue I gave her was generally met with a delicious roll in the grass. I’d nearly reverse-trained every useful command in the Ian Dunbar playbook.
Duchess passed away two days after this past Christmas. The last year of her life was one of her best – I’d enrolled us in basic agility to ensure she didn’t miss out on my affections as I cared for a high-maintenance foster dog, and she absolutely adored it. Her trainers were kind and respectful, and every Sunday she danced with delight when she knew it was time to go play at school.
There are a lot of things I feel terrible about when I think about her separation anxiety and the mistakes I made early on. I wish I’d helped her out of this world a week or so earlier, and the memories of that last day will stay with me forever. But I’m so glad I let her be naughty. Nearly everyday I’d practically shout how naughty she was, and how much I loved her, and she’d just waddle that fluffy behind around the room, knowing all was as it should be. Duchess, I love you and miss you every single day. Thank you, sweet baby.
LaDonna King says
Since moving to a mountain property a year and a half ago I have been limited on my internet use and have not been able to check in on this blog. Oh how I have missed it. I was touched by this post. I have had dogs for many years and have loved them all but until 9 years ago I didn’t quite get the term heart dog. I have a male that is nine years old now that is a part of my very being and already dread the day that he will no longer be with me. Thanks so much Trish for sharing so much of yourself.
patrick says
My Tess had Lassie for a mom and was exactly like her in so many ways. She’s been gone a month now after 16 inseperable years and this story brought her back…..if even for a short moment. RIP my Tess Tess!
Virginia says
RIP beloved companions all. I remember being struck by Barbaro’s owners comment that “grief is the price we pay for love”. In my mind every great relationship with a companion animal makes it possible for us to form the next one.
Tammy Barslund says
Oh my, where do I start… My George, an Akita/ACD mix, I adopted him when he was just over a year old. It was love at first sight, I will never forget, it is etched in my memory forever. I was working part time at PetsMart as a lead cashier and it was a grand opening, the humane society was having an adoptathon. A few feet from my register they had a large pen set up with about 4 or 5 black labs and this red and white large mixed dog. The labs were all bouncing around and playing and this big guy just sat calmly and watched me check people out. I talked to him when the action was slow and he seemed to hang on my every word. When I had a break, I took him for a walk, no one had even looked at him and most of the labs had already been adopted. When they got ready to pack up for the day and they were about to load him up, I called STOP! I’m taking him home! I couldn’t bear to see him leave. He became the love of my life and my constant companion. About a year later, he started having seizures and something in his little brain snapped. He became other dog aggressive, most likely due to the seizures. He was fine with his fur-sister, Gracie, and he was great with people, but not other dogs. He began taking potassium bromide to help control the seizures and I worked on training him to ignore other dogs, which was mildly successful, but still kind of scary. He also went through many rounds of acupuncture treatments which seemed to help for a while. Ultimately, George lived out his days at home without the possible stressful situation of being around other dogs. One day he collapsed and I rushed him to the vet, an ultrasound revealed that he was bleeding internally, apparently from his spleen. The vet didn’t think he would live through the night. Miraculously, he did! She determined he had hemangiosarcoma (blood vessel cancer) and they removed a tumor from his spleen. He lived another 4 months, a month past his 13th birthday. Every day for the next 6 months I bawled uncontrollably at least once a day. On top of losing George, his fur sister Gracie was diagnosed with diabetes and bone cancer in her mouth. So I was consumed with caring for her, knowing her days were short as well. I gave her all I could for another year and half before she succumbed to the cancer at the age of 15.
Although all of this has been terribly heartbreaking and the hardest thing I have ever gone through, I have been blessed beyond my wildest imagination. Praise God.
A month after I lost Gracie (she was an English Setter), a friend called and said, hey there’s an English Setter in a shelter a couple hours from your house. So I went out and got Titus.
For the second time in my life, he looked into my eyes and he bored into my very soul. Titus is the second love of my life. There will never be another George or Gracie. However, I have found love times four with Titus, Tessa, Lucy and Levi!
Something I want people to know, even though losing your best friend is sooo sooo hard, please don’t let that detour you from adopting another, there are so many that need homes and they joy they bring to your life far outweighs the sorrow of losing them.
Wanda Jacobsen says
My husband and I “inherited” our younger son’s dog when he ended a relationship and had to change housing. Shadow was a mix of goodness knows what, but we guessed he had a lot of terrier somewhere in his gene pool. He was my husband’s little buddy. When my husband “worked” out in the detached garage on one thing or another, Shadow had to be up on the work bench and would often put his paw on my husband’s arm and then look directly in his eyes as if to say, “Yes, that’s how to do it.” Before Shadow, no dogs were allowed on carpeted areas of the house. (My husband’s idea, not mine.) I no longer recall how long we had had Shadow, but soon, Shadow was allowed on the carpet, then I found him on the furniture, cuddling next to my husband and then even on our bed!!! Did I tell you Shadow was my husband’s little buddy? So 3 years ago when he became sick and died on Valentine’s Day within 3 weeks of a cancer diagnosis, needless to say we were heartbroken. He was only 10 years old and we really thought we would have him around much longer to chase the squirrels. Because he left such an empty space, my husband began a search for another dog. We now have a 3 year old Irish terrier, Quinn. (What a wonderful breed, by the way.) My husband has another buddy and the squirrels learned very quickly to scatter when the back door unlatched. Someone was very wise when dubbing dogs “a man’s best friend”.
Beth says
I lost my beloved Alice the Cat to cancer at nearly 17. I found her under a hedge when she was perhaps 6 weeks old. Unsocialized, she kept away from people and it took me over a week to catch her. I never really wanted a cat, certainly not while I was a young adult still living with my parents and knowing I would need to find my own place soon. She promptly went under the bed when I brought her in and it took another week or so til I could touch her. I called the shelter, thinking I’d leave her there, and they said at her tender age she’d probably get sick in a shelter environment and moreover, if she was as shy as I said, she’d be virtually unadoptable. So if I could possibly find a home for her myself….
Needless to say, trying to find a home for a kitten is hard enough, but one that is afraid of everyone and hides all day, only coming out at night? I had myself a cat.
It took me a little while to realize what a blessing she was. She came to adore me and no one else, and we were part of an exclusive mutual admiration society. She spent most of her live as primarily a bedroom cat, spooked by anything new and happiest in a warm place that she associated with me. She saw me through every one of the normal adult “firsts” and a few unexpected blows as well. She saved me as much as I saved her.
The older she got, the more I kept looking up stories of cats who lived to be 18….21…. I couldn’t bear to think about the inevitable til one day I found a solid mass, just about 2 weeks before Christmas. Within a month she was gone. I held on too long, hoping against hope that treatment would help but she responded badly to the chemo drug and got ataxia and refused to eat. When she jumped off the bed and fell over and just lay there for a few moments, I knew in my heart it was time but managed to convince myself that maybe I’d get better news at her next-day vet appointment.
I took Jack out to potty that last night and it was a clear, cold night. A wisp of cloud passed by a full moon in such a way that it seemed the impossible had happened– it looked for all the world like the cloud went behind the moon. I’m neither religious nor new-agey, but I felt it was her spirit telling me good-bye.
I took her to the vet on a Saturday and the vet said she believed she’d gone blind in the two weeks since the last time they saw her. That convinced me in a way the other symptoms did not that it was time to let her go. My husband and I stroked her and told her we loved her while she passed. I cried nearly non-stop for a week, it seemed, and for a month or more every night at bedtime. I cry again now as I write this, some 5 years later.
Those that we love never die, but live on in our hearts forever.
My Jackpot, of course, will live to be 75. He just has to.
Julie Yost says
This blog brought tears to my eyes, like it did for so many others. As I read this, my mind wandered to the date. Twelve years ago, I got the dreadful news that my beloved Chow mix, Chester, had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
I met Chester on a July day seven years earlier, at the vet’s office that doubled as the local dog shelter. My dad had met him earlier, and thought he was a retriever mix, but I knew there was regal Chow in that thin, matted dog. As I bathed him, to get rid of the kennel smell, I realized all the possible names I had picked out for him did not fit. As his coat glowed red-gold in the light, I thought how much he looked like a chestnut colored horse, and Chester became his name.
He had been a stray for 4 weeks before being caught. And even though he had been at the shelter for 3 weeks, he was still painfully thin. The first night when I let him outside for “last call”, he dug a depression and curled up under the pine tree in the yard. It took 20 minutes of coaxing to get him back in the house. For the first six months, he would not go out in the morning until I fed him breakfast, in case I did not let him back in. He was a clean dog, who did not like to be dirty or smelly, and he came house broken.
I spent every free moment with him that first month. I wanted him to bond with me, and to know he was safe. We went to a training class to help his confidence. The trainer remarked that Chester never took his eyes off me, not even for a moment.
Chester came into my life when I felt very alone. I had divorced my husband 4 years earlier, and was not dating anyone seriously. My beloved grandmother passed away a few months after bringing Chester home. The grief of her loss let loose a torrent of emotions that had been bottled up due to the emotional abuse from my ex. To this day, I credit Chester and my 3 cats with getting me through the maelstrom. I truly do not know if I would be here today if it were not for them.
As time passed, Chester became more relaxed and knew he was safe. Our bond deepened, and I knew with great certainty, that dog would have died protecting me. And I, him.
The ALL diagnosis devastated me. I again spent every spare moment with him. He panted a lot, I think as a means of meeting the oxygen needs his diminished red blood cell count could not meet. I started sleeping with the window cracked open as the cold air seemed easier for him to breathe. I even made up a bed on the floor with him, as he could no longer jump on the bed with me.
The fateful day came just 10 days after the diagnosis. He was outside laying in the shade on a warm spring day, as he enjoyed doing, and when he stood, he collapsed and began seizing. I rushed to his side and called his name so he knew I was there. When the seizure stopped, and he became more alert, I called the vet – 15 minutes before the end of Saturday office hours.
As Chester and I sat on the floor in the exam room talking to the vet, I thought, very briefly, of postponing the inevitable. But I knew that would not be fair to him, as his quality of life was diminishing, as he did not enjoy even a simple car ride, which had always been exciting. That day, I held my sweet Chester in my arms as he took his last breath, and felt my heart shatter.
For the next month, the cats and I tried to find a new routine without our fuzzy dog. I left his collar hanging on a handle on the buffet cabinet and many times found it on the floor, after one of the cats had knocked it off to lie on. I worried about one cat in particular, who stopped eating, after Chester was gone. He was grieving too.
Thankfully, the weekend before I said good-bye, my friend took some amazing photos of Chester and I that are in a scrapbook as well as his three kitty buddies. I believe that the 4 of them are together again.
My mom told me afterwards that she was very worried that this loss would rock me to the core. She was pretty close to right. I thought it would be a long time before I adopted another dog. But I missed being a dog owner, and being owned by a dog. Two months to the day, I applied to adopt a puppy from a rescue group.
Murphy, as he is now known, was born about the same time as I got the news about Chester. Murphy is so completely different but no less loved than Chester. As I type this, I also know that my time with Murphy is drawing near the end.
I have been honored to have owned, and been owned, by two wonderful, loving dogs. And I know, no matter how painful the ending, that I will do it again.
HFR says
Trish, it’s so cool that you do this walk every year and congrats on raising so much for such a good cause. If you love dogs, you know cancer. Just made my own donation. Good luck and have fun!
Laura says
Wow, what great posts. I can’t cry at work, but it hasn’t stopped me from blinking back tears several times. It just dawned on me yesterday, that next Friday, March 20th, will be 6 years since I let Marlin go. Cancer is just not fair and it was time. I still miss my goofy, calm, steady boy. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I would give Marlin to any first-time service dog handler. He took all the work out of work. As much as I miss him though, and I’m being honest here, he wasn’t my heart-dog. I know… right? That distinction goes to the dog lying asleep, belly-up at my feet. I just, I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go. Sunshine, joy, calm, steady, alive and funny are my 6 words for him. I’ll have many more dogs after and I’ll love them all, but Seamus is one-of-a-kind and I’m so glad he’s still going strong, with, hopefully, many more working and living years ahead. Love you Fluffy-butt!
LisaW says
I have admired that six-word story attributed to Hemingway for a long time. Almost five years ago now, our Grace died at 15. She wasn’t our first dog, but she was our first dog that would not take biscuits from strangers or people she knew but didn’t care for much. She was our first dog that was as fast and as wily as a coyote. She was our first dog from a shelter. We memorialized her in a carved lintel we made and inset in the trim over our front door.
I also wrote this for her when she died: Instantly game, rarely resting, reluctantly gone.
Mireille Wulf says
Last year I wrote about Janouk, who died of cancer of the duodenum just one week shy of his eleventh birthday. My “softy” went too soon & too sudden, now three years ago.
Then last summer a friend of mine started writing about how her 10 year old dog wasn’t eating well. Hewas getting picky. Lost some weight. Vomited a little. I wrote encouraging emails to her all the while thinking “No, this can’t be, he is too young” and sending silent prayers upwards that it would be just a viral infection or a side effect of the pain meds he was getting after elbow surgery or… My friend got het dog Gorby, a Riesenschnauzer, as a five year old rescue. Abused, with severe ear and giardia infections. More dead than alive. Dangerous to humans. Untrainable. Yet when she saw him, there was a “click”. He looked up at her, silently asking her “take me out of her, I will trust you”. They had a long, long struggle, first to get him healthy, then to get him ‘safe”. He was a very self reliant dog, making his own decisions but that brought him into trouble. They worked very hard to connect with him, find a way to guide him. A real breakthrough occurred when they started working with him a detection dog and doing mantrailing. At ten years old he started to limp, was operated on his elbow for LPC, recovered from that but then he had these ‘ vague symptoms” . When they did an echo, to the vets surprise there was a huge kidney tumor. They operated on him for three hours and removed a tumour that almost weighed a kilo. He recovered from the operation but shortly afterwards the cancer came back, this time in his lungs and they had to let the big guy go. My friend was devastated, it seemed so unfair that they only got to make up with 5 good years for the first five miserable years.
I only met Gorby once, I was impressed by his presence. And Spot – my young Siberian – was totally enamoured with this big calm black guy. We had a wonderful day at the beach, planning for more walks and outing together but it was not to be.
For Gorby, my friends “forever dog” http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aOYkBtgAo1w/VCx06b8sXoI/AAAAAAAACVY/CN_KFCBWngM/s1600/Gorby-sepia.jpg
Gordy with Spot:
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8f-Mo1d80Z4/UydmGDa7szI/AAAAAAAACBM/cNxWcRl-Z5s/s1600/IMG_8005.jpg
Hazel says
Hey Patricia – have you heard of a similiar thing in Europe?
http://www.humanimaltrust.org.uk
It really is the way forward 🙂
Kaye Wickenberg says
Patricia
I was so touched by your story about Lassie and Luke. I remember them both, having purchased our first border collie ,Lucy,from you about 20 years ago. She was intensely wonderful…..the smartest of all our dogs. Well, last month we lost our # 1 boy border collie, Tucker. He was almost 14 and he too died of liver cancer. I still weep a little when passing his usual spots around the farm. Cats are still looking, the two old horses don’t know exactly how to go in and out of the barn politely without a border collie to tell them. And the returning geese are rudely populating the pasture with no collie to chase them off. Even the coyotes are emboldened without a dog to bark them back into the woods.
What’s a farm without a good dog?
So we are looking for an older dog who needs a farm.
Any leads would be appreciated.
Kaye and John Wickenberg
Christine says
My first “my own dog” came to me in my early twenties. She was my friend. We traveled together and eventually she was like a nanny to my baby. When she died after 17 years, I was sadder than I can say. I didn’t get a dog for four years. When I mentioned to my vet after four years that I still missed her, he said, “Don’t you know, she was a dog in a million. We all remember her. Some people don’t get one of those, and you may never have another.” Lassie was your dog in a million.
Robbie says
Hi. I bred and raised 3 pups with their Dad, a thorough bred Rottweiler the mom is a thorough bred American Pit Bull. I managed to keep 2 female and one male pup. Him being my son as he too believes im his father. Well Their father had passed away after having to separate and split the entire liter as the two girls could no longer tolerate one another, the son and father had to be split as the son who was only 1 year old decided to take on hos father, well this was one of the worst blood battles I’ve ever seen, there was no stopping this as water had no effect a stun gun and even tear gas had no effect. My dog,the male who is now 3 years old has bitten me 4 times since he was 18months old. He cannot tolerate any other dog in public or on our small holding where I have 6 other big dog of various breeds. He is kept away from them but once in a while manages to get out due to someone being neglegent or him finding a weak area to break out. He has taken on my large male pig and almost killed it. He has taken on two donkeys with a cart and literly destroyed the entire set up chasing them through the field, the cart overturned and this gave him the opportunity he wanted, he then went fot the donkeys neck to kill it. This took three of us to try and stop him, I eventually managed to get a rope around him to pin him down so the owners could escape with their injured donkeys and damaged cart
Another incident: I took him for a drive and we stoped to have a break in a small park ,someone taking his dog for a stroll was about 500 meter from us when he broke away at the speed of light snapped his leash and attacked the dog, a staffie he bit the owner and literly tore the staffies penis from his body as the owner held him up. I honestly love my dog to bits but canmot do this any longer. As I’m writting this he is as sick as a “Dog ” (excuse the pun) I rushed off the the vet to get him medication as no one can administer it to him besides me. This was my belief until I tried to give him a dose with the syringe. He has once again attacked me and bitten me under the arm as I flew back with my arms up to avoid my face being bitten he came at me with full force. Please give me some advise. What do I do? I cannot give him his medication, he cannot go to the vet. Ive tried to muzzle him and this just makes him more mad. He is very strong, as i said he is ill but this has not made him weak at all. I love him too bits but I’m weary of him and never know when his going to turn on me for no reason at all,he never gives any indication,
like a low growl or agressive gesture. He attacks with great speed and always goes for my face and throat area. He has absolutely no fear of anything or anyone. ( his a thorough bred pitweiler )
Trisha says
Dear Robbie: First, I am so sorry about what you are going through. Secondly, please call your veterinarian and
ask for a sedative to put into your dog’s food, so that you can safely transport him to the vet clinic to be
euthanized. (Please be 100% sure that your dog is completed sedated.) Any other choice is, frankly, unthinkable. I can count on one hand the number of times in 30 years I have said, point blank, that I advise someone to euthanize a dog, but this is one of those times. Anything else is dangerous and abusive to you and other creatures. His behavior may indeed be caused by some type of physical/medical problem, but given what you describe it is simply too dangerous to do any experimenting. Please think of yourself, your neighbors and your loved ones and talk to your vet.