On saying good bye to a first love
Life has gone to the dogs
FOOLS NOTE:
Today, was the day.
I wrote this post as a draft on October first of last year.
On Saturday, we made a choice.
In ten minutes the vet is arriving and my first dog will be no more.
It’s so strange. He’s failing quickly now. He’s little more than skin and bones.
Even so, his tail goes up and despite the pain, the little guy just wants to live.
He just wants to please us and to do his job.
He’s a good boy and always will be.
It’s an odd responsibility, knowing when to let go, knowing when keeping an animal alive is more for us than for him.
But?
When he had lepto 8 years ago, Dr. Bev told us we’d be lucky to get five years out of him.
We’ve been lucky.
And so has he.
Farewell Ronin, our bravest little warrior.
Go chase bunnies in the forest just beyond the edge of what we can see.
I always wanted a dog.
As a young boy, I loved them.
When my dad’s mom - big Nanny Too was gifted Alice - a miniature Schnauzer, I fell in love.
My Aunt and Uncle Jane and Ross always had dogs.
Whenever I fell in love with someone, she typically had a dog.
Laura was no different. When we first met, her dog was a great big Great Pyrenees named Hoss. Hoss would follow Laura’s bunnies and eat rabbit turds off the floor as soon as they came out. The bunnies were filled with earthy bounty that was always hot n’ ready.
Given my constant love of and desire to have a dog, it’s difficult to say why it took until I was 41 to finally have a dog of my own.
Even then, I resisted.
Even then I blamed Laura and her friend with a brain tumour.
I’m dying and I want dogs. All he thinks about is the future. Mine is now.
It was a pretty fucking convincing argument eh?
That day I was on Kijiji searching for puppies.
I found one that I fell in love with instantly.
He was white and fluffy.
A mix of poodle, jack russell, Pomeranian and shitz you with all of the worst qualities of each.
His name?
Ronin.
He’s an odd beast.
Long noodle legs and a skinny, skinny body.
He just turned eleven.
He will not make it to be twelve.
In fact, I’m looking at my calendar for a day off - or even a half day to drive down to the cottage to dig a hole.
Work is busy.
That’s great. I love the work.
And?
It’s so busy now that I won’t be able to take the day to be around when Ronin goes.
Eight years ago he had Lepto.
We spent a LOT of money keeping him alive.
But over the last eighteen months, he hasn’t really been pooping.
More just bleeding from his asshole.
That and we can feel a mass in his belly.
I walked him last night. It was late and he was struggling.
His time is almost up.
As we got home I told him that he was a good boy and that his job was done.
He kept each of us alive with his love in some way shape or form.
He’s fierce in his love for us.
But this Ronin, this warrior puppy?
His strides are getting short, his curly tail is hanging low.
All I ever wanted was a dog to love.
And he was my first.
Now?
Now I know why I put of having a dog so long.
The little fucker.
That little fucker who puked on the bed and has shat on the floor and caused every calamity that his nine pounds could cause?
That little fucker stole my heart.
And now?
Now he’s going to break it.
It might not be today.
It might not be tomorrow.
But time runs out for all of us.
And Ronin?
He’s going soon.
Not likely tomorrow but his time here is short.
I’m grateful that I had the chance to share time here with him.
I was looking into his eyes tonight, crying and I can’t help but wonder if he knows or if he’s afraid.
It was thirty five years ago today that my granddad left us, my nanny’s husband.
Did he know?
Was he afraid?
(edit - now that Nanny’s past, was she afraid?)
As much as dogs are here to teach us about love and loss and grief, there’s one thing they can’t teach us - it’s how to die.
But I guess that’s asking a lot from a little white ball of fluff.
Git boy! Git! Go chase those rabbits in the sky!
