|
| |
|
KNOWING THAT THE
END IS NEAR |
|
It was about three years ago, when he was eight years old. I was on
my usual walk with my German Shepherd granddog, Obie. He raced up a steep
hill and came bounding down like he had done dozens of times before. As he
neared the bottom, he soared majestically into the air to clear the four
foot wide culvert that separated him from the roadway.
Aging sucks, and the first thing to go is your hops. When he
did a face plant into the side of the culvert, the look on his face was
priceless. He was astounded he didn't clear it. He bounced back up, only
his ego harmed, but he wisely never tried it again.
And so the demise began. Soon thereafter his legs began to
suffer the ravages of age. His right hind leg started failing first, but a
$5000 ACL surgery got him back up and running. And then the left hind leg
followed suit, but this time X-rays showed it was arthritis, and no
surgery was going to fix it.
Every month he got a little worse. It started with a limp, and then
eventually got to the point where he was walking on three legs, unable to
put any weight on the arthritic leg. This beautiful dog, whose chiseled
frame and handsome mug had always elicited nothing but compliments, now
garnered nothing but sympathy.
I don't know if Obie was in pain. If he was, he hid it well. No
complaints, no whining, no moping. He just woke up every morning happy to
be alive. We'd meet at our favorite place, in front of the refrigerator,
and he'd graciously accept his morning treat.
He'd gobble down his breakfast, complete with
anti-inflammatory, anti-pain, and anti-anxiety pills prescribed by his
vet. It didn't seem to help his leg, but I bet it helped his mood. Like I
said, he never complained.
We'd leave for work and Obie would struggle to climb into the
backseat of my car, and I'd wince as his legs collapsed every time he
tried. But he always made it in, and you could see the satisfaction he
took in completing the climb.
Then he would tap his paw on the window and I would dutifully
lower it, no matter how cold it was outside. As we drove through the
streets, he would stick his head out and soak up the onrushing air, the
happiest dog in the world.
We'd get to my office and he would climb the stairs, slowly,
on three legs, maybe realizing he couldn't do it much longer. So painful
to watch, yet in a way so inspiring. He'd be greeted at the top by office
workers thrilled to see him. His ears would pin back, and he would hobble
from office to office, greeting his pals.
Obie had good days and bad days. Last Wednesday was a good day. He
had more energy than he's had in months. He met an Alaskan Malamute on his
walk and chased her around as best he could. He popped into the car and
insisted on keeping the window down even at 60 miles an hour on the
freeway, wind be damned. He wanted to feel it on his face. Maybe, just
maybe, he knew he was dying.
He gobbled down his dinner Wednesday night, as usual, and then
retired to the basement. But he didn't stay there. He went out the back
door and hobbled down to an area where there is water and mud. He'd never
done that before. They say it's a myth that dogs go into the woods to die,
but I'm not so sure.
But he didn't die there. After it was realized he had gone missing,
his name was called, and he came hobbling back after a couple of hours in
the mud. He was cleaned up, and then he went to bed.
The next morning he was lying peacefully outside the bedroom
door, and he had taken his last breath. This magnificent dog, loved by so
many, had reached the end. No need to put him down. Somehow, someway, he
had taken care of things himself.
We'll never know what caused Obie's unexpected death. The vet
didn't do an autopsy (or necropsy) because of Obie's advanced age. But we
didn't need an examination. There was only one thing that could kill this
gentle, sweet dog. It was pretty clear to us that he died of an enlarged
heart. |
|
|
