The Zoo - Part One

When I met Gil thirty years ago, he didn't like animals in the house. His folks had dogs in the yard, and that's what he thought about pets. And cats? Don't get me started -- he didn't like them. Fast forward to this year, our 25th wedding anniversary and we are surrounded by dogs & cats. At one point we had WAY too many -- we have a bit of a 'collector's' mindset, and once we got started we kept finding animals that needed us and that we needed.

Right now we have six dogs and seven cats -- I know it sounds like a lot to most people, but to us it's a small group. They've changed us -- in ways I can't even explain. We've been touched by the love of some great furkids -- part of my heart remains with the ones we've lost.

Over the years I've written journal entries about our dogs. I found writing about them helped me make that final decision at the right time. The first time we had to put a dog down was among the top three WORST moments in my life. I'm going to copy & paste the blog I wrote for FlashDancer many years ago. I read it every so often -- warms my heart to remember him, and I still miss him.





So, here's Flash's story, from 2002:

Flashdancer came to us at 2-1/2 years, a stud put out to pasture. He's a giant of an aussie, very large and handsome tri-color male. However, he's the gentlest dog I've ever met -- wimpy actually. Very shy, very easy to intimidate, very ready for me to love. Over the last eight years he has shared my home office. He sits at my feet, sleeping -- usually with his cat, Tasha. He moves when I move, follows me wherever I go. I've always felt that I've taken him for granted -- that he was just always there, and I didn't always pay enough special attention to him. I always felt that he would be underfoot. At night he sleeps next to my bed. Again, just there -- keeping me company.

Six weeks ago I wrote that first paragraph about FlashDancer. Right after I got home from the vet's appointment where she told me that Flash had nasal cancer. The six weeks since that previous paragraph have been the best and worst of my life. The best because I have spent almost all of my non-working time with him, hand feeding him, talking to him, and loving him. We have always been pretty bonded, but the last few weeks brought us even closer. The worst, of course, because I've watched nasal cancer take its toll on his body.

I dried his nose when he bled, and sat with him when he had trouble breathing. I watched him each day in hopes that I would miraculously know when he was ready to cross The Bridge.

The day didn't actually come all at once. It just sort of slowly came to me that he was ready. Since the moment I made that decision I have doubted and reconsidered it a million times.

However, he's tired, very tired. He can't breathe through his nose and he isn't sleeping well because of it. He isn't eating much. Other than some cottage cheese he has pretty much existed on cut up weiners for the last three weeks -- hand fed, of course.

I tell myself he isn't suffering -- tired isn't suffering. But, in my brain I realize that he certainly isn't feeling good, isn't having the good quality of life I want for him. My heart isn't doing too well, but I will do for him what he's always done for me. Love him without conditions -- love him enough to do the unthinkable. Love him enough to send him to the Bridge.

I'm writing this on July 7th, 2002 -- we have an appointment to have him put down in the morning. I'm working hard to deal with it, to get myself ready to be there for him.

And I watch him and as usual, he watches me, sitting at my feet. We took a walk this morning -- out where he's not allowed, because it's not fenced. He didn't walk far, but he left his studly mark everywhere he could. I think he wanted to go farther, but the heat was creeping in and I didn't want his last full day of life to be any harder on him than necessary. I mixed his weiners with cottage cheese -- and fed it to him with my fingers. He ate every drop. I got down on the floor with him so often I think he thinks I'm nuts -- I just wanted to put my arms around him and make sure he knows I'm there, with him, loving him.

So, here I am. Hoping that tomorrow doesn't come. Knowing it will. Hoping that this is the right decision. Knowing it is, but hating that it is. Hoping I can be strong enough to be right there, holding his paws, stroking his head, looking into his beautiful brown eyes, until he's gone. I don't know.

I think of Flash when I read this:

"He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds. He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea. He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.) When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself. He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant. His head on my knee can heal my human hurts. His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things. He has promised to wait for me... whenever... wherever - in case I need him. And I expect I will - as I always have. He is just my dog." -- Gene Hill


July 8th, 2002

Well tomorrow did come. After a night filled with tears as I petted him until I finally fell asleep, it was finally time to take him to the vets. My friend Danni volunteered her air conditioned truck and her vet for handling this.

We drove over, giving me time to sit with him and stroke him and remind him that after he looks up my parents and Lady (his best pal who died three years ago) he should wait for me. I know he will.

The vet came out to the truck and gave him the tranquilizer. He slowly fell asleep with his head on my thigh while I stroked his ear and assured him I was right there with him. Flash has always been a heavy breather (he had been debarked before he came to me) and the disease had made it even louder and more labored when he breathed through his nose. After the tranquilizer his breathing was even and quiet for the first time in his life, I think. And then, finally, it was time. The 'shot' was given in a vein in his front paw. And so very very quickly it was over. My husband lifted him out of the truck and onto the vet's cart, taking his collar off for me.

And boy then I cried! Still crying actually. So much crying my sinuses hurt down to my jaw. I came home and walked up the stairs where he should be waiting, and he isn't. And into my office where he should be sleeping, and he isn't. My head hurts and my stomach hurts and I don't know what to do with myself. I have spent every moment of the last six weeks when I wasn't at work, with him. And now in a house full of a zillion furkids I feel so alone. I know it will get better, I do believe God makes humans able to cope with death so they'll love again, but right now, writing about it is the only thing I can think to do.

His collar and the towel we used in the car are here with me. They'll stay here with me until I'm ready to ask another dog to keep me company here in the office. I know it'll happen, because my life is so much better with a dog underfoot. Dogs are happier having someone to dote on, to pick up dropped morsels of food from, to sleep right in the way of the door -- and not having a dog to keep me company would seem a disservice to Flash, I think. He spoiled me into needing a dog right here, always nearby -- and when it's time I'll turn the office over to another one.

So, my dear handsome boy. Thank you for your love, and your devotion. I know how very lucky I was to share your life -- how lucky I was to be the one to help you make your trip to the bridge.

Goodbye my boy! You'll always be in my heart, in my thoughts. Thanks Flashdancer for taking such good care of me, I'll take it from here until we meet again.