But a dog can be part of the family.
This particular dog I speak of was taken out of the pound in Salinas Ca, virtually hours from "the end". No one wanted to claim the stray who had been picked up by the doggie police and brought to the pound. He was a mutt, homely in his own special way, tiny, and not much of a pooch at first glance. But my son, 3 years old at the time and wanting a dog, picked this guy out.
He then gave him the very unmasculine [and somewhat embarrassing] name "Pinky". What can I say? The kid was 3, and that's what he wanted to call him.
Pinky was afraid of me for the first few months, giving me and my wife a clue as to why he was a runaway...we speculated that he had been beaten by some a-hole, and it was probably an adult male. We came to this conclusion as we started to see this little not-so-good-looking guy possessed enormous intelligence, and we figured one day he got hit too hard or perhaps too many times, and he bolted. That's what a smart dog would do, don't you agree?
In time, he and I forged a great friendship, one I never thought I'd have with an animal. He was with me all the time, loved to take un-leashed walks with me in a field next to our home, and was always there for me or the kids. He seemed to love children, and was warm and friendly with all adults. Another "smart" reference: In 1996, I had surgery on my right wrist. He used to lick my cast - at first my hard cast, then the soft cast, and eventually my wrist itself - in the exact spot that the surgery had been done. Through the cast, he knew something was wrong.
In 1997, he drove across country with me after I retired from the Army, enduring the heat and misery of a cross-country drive through the various deserts of the southwest and the steamy southeast in August. In 2000 I had my first stroke, and again he sensed something wasn't right and he stayed close to me all those months I was still recuperating.
2 years ago we started to notice the change. He was getting older, his hind right leg shook from time to time, and the winter cool of Central Florida became tougher to endure. Last year we noticed that his hearing of normal sounds was completely gone, and he could only respond to the concussion and noise of hands being slapped together loudly. His bladder control had become weak and sporadic, and he was closing in on 12 years with us, and probably 2 years before we picked him up that day in California.
Last night, I came home from work and my wife said he hadn't eaten, drunk any water, or moved from his brand new doggie bed he had received for Christmas a couple of days before. When I came home, he got out of his bed and peed on the floor, so my wife yelled about it and I hurriedly let him outside to go. He was wobbly and appeared disoriented. He fell twice outside, and once inside in front of my wife. Much to my surprise, I was very upset at this development, and spent most of the night trying to get him stretched out and walking better. I took him outside for two walks, which became two "carry's", and brought him inside an laid him on my bed. Twice during the night I woke up and he looked at me, as if to say "Still here big guy". In the morning, I picked him up and put him in his bed and went to work. He seemed to have little or no interest in food or water still, but perhaps he's just feeling sick and all will be ok in a couple of days. He could be in pain; could have arthritis; any number of things could and probably are wrong with him, but he can't tell me. I've considered taking him to a vet, but most are not open this week. There is no way I'm leaving him at a vet...no way in hell. He's been a part of the scene for so long now, I would never leave him to wait out his final days - if indeed were are in his final days - in loneliness. If he passes, he passes in the place he knows with the people he has loved who share that love right back at him.
Yeah, I said love...and yeah, I'm talking about a dog. Hang in there my friend.
.jpg)