POST #47: THE LAST DOG BLOG (more to come)

So far, my 30 Plus years of dog ownership have taught me that I always have more to learn.  I should never be complacent in thinking I know the right way to do things.

 

I have learned that dogs can fly.

 

I have learned about trust and I have learned about the value of being dependable.

I have learned about silent companionship.

 

I have learned about forgiveness.

 

I have learned about jealousy.

 

I have learned how to be a better neighbor.

I have learned the importance of a good veterinarian.

 

I have learned about aging gracefully and acceptance of the physical changes that come with age.

 

I have learned about showing respect.

 

I have learned to never underestimate a dog’s loyalty.  Do not ever underestimate his or her ability to be protective of the pack.

 

I have learned that dogs can climb trees.  But that they need help coming back down.

 

I have learned that sleeping with dogs is not such a bad thing.  Unless it is in the summer and you have no air conditioning.

 

I have learned how to be brave even when facing an unknown threat.

I have learned the value of teamwork when facing down a threat.

 

I have learned how to step in and help or to take charge when others are scared.

I have learned a lot about unconditional love.  Loving someone and being loyal to them is possible even when you have been neglected and left outside to fend for yourself.

I have learned about the depth of grief for the loss of a loved one, and the sense of powerlessness when you watch the loved one die, or the guilt over feeling that you haven’t done everything in your power to stop the loss.

 

I have learned that sometimes you really can’t undo your past.  All you can do is learn from your mistakes and go forward.  I have learned that mistakes hurt.  But, if you pay attention you really do become a better person.

Living with dogs has helped me grow in my own capacities for human emotions.  Many folks say that a dog is an animal, and animals do not have the capacity for emotion.  A dog’s place was outside according to my grandparents.  They were part of the livestock, and they had a job to do: protect the other livestock. I’ve had friends tell me they would never allow a dog into their house because they are messy and dirty. 

I got mixed messages from my parents while growing up.  Sometimes our dogs would be allowed inside, but my parents’ attitude still seemed to be one of “they are only animals.”

I shared that opinion when we got our first dog, Spike, and continued with our second dog, Katie.  We wouldn’t let them in the house, except on rare occasions.  We treated them more like animals than family members. 

Opening our home to PD, and then Henry, and then Frank has really changed my mind about a dog’s capacity for emotion.  These dogs, pets, family members have changed my mind about my capacity to learn of my own humanity and emotional attachments.

They’ve also changed my mind about dirt.  I mean really, is dirt that evil?  People lived on dirt floors for centuries, and it brushes right off.  Surely it isn’t healthy for you to avoid contact with all dirt.

Whether they were outdoors dogs or inside dogs, they have all helped me learn about unconditional love, and all of the emotions that come along with that kind of love.

My dogs will continue to amaze me and to amuse me.  And I am sure there are new lessons out there for me to learn from PD and Frank.  But for now, it is time to say goodbye to those of you who have been reading along with me.  It is time to put these musing about living with dogs aside.  I have enjoyed writing these memories.  The writings have helped to examine my own thoughts, feelings and behavior, and have helped me gain some self-insight.  Hopefully, these have been of interest to you, the reader, as well.

Thank you Spike.  Thank you Katie, Thank you Henry.  Thank you PD and Frank for the lessons you have taught me.

And thank you, Reader, for following along as I’ve relived the adventures I have shared with these wonderful family members.  

Post # 39: Memorial Day Tributes

Frank had a chance to settle in and begin to feel like he was home once we got back from our Mother’s day camping trip.  One of PD’s favorite games was “chicken.”  We had a rubber chicken that I would throw in the back yard, and PD would fetch the chicken.  Sometimes he would bring it back to me.  Sometimes he would sit down at the far end of the yard with chicken and look at me expectantly.  I think Wife taught him the “sit, wait!” part of the game in order to encourage me to get more exercise.  I would walk over to PD pick up Chicken and throw it to another part of the yard.

PD was very possessive of Chicken.  When Frank tried to play, there would be raising of hackles and growling.  So, Frank learned to play with Bone.  I would throw chicken first to get PD going in one direction, and then I’d throw a squeaky Bone in another direction.  Frank would run off to the other side of the yard.

Then I would walk over to PD and pick up Chicken.  Frank learned from PD that he was supposed to wait with his toy.  So I’d have to walk over to Frank and pick up Bone.  Frank was still learning, and interested in making up his own rules.  So sometimes Pig turned into a game of “chase me.”  Once I had both Chicken and Bone in my possession, the games would start again.

Memorial Day arrived, and we honored our World War II veterans at church.  I thought about my father who had died recently and who served near the end of the war in the Philippines.  

George and William Hamilton

I thought about Wife's father and uncle, who also served.

Bill Allen

Don Allen

Bill, Gus (their father) and Don Allen

And I thought about my brother who died shortly after his services as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam.

Kirby Hamilton

Kirby Hamilton

I spent the afternoon digging up memories of loved ones.

Frank spent the afternoon trying to dig up Henry.

Wife looked out the window and told me that Frank was digging up Henry’s grave.  I had buried Henry pretty deep, and so I wasn’t too worried.  Henry was probably three or three and a half feet down.

I casually went outside to see what Frank was doing.  All I could see of Frank was part of his butt and his tail.  He was about half-way down to Henry and digging fast!

I took Frank inside and filled in the hole.  I put a couple of cinder blocks and bricks on top of the soft dirt.  Then we let Frank back outside.

Wife and I have really fond memories of Henry, and we miss him a lot.  But we did not want to see Henry again!

Did I mention that Frank was persistent?

I pulled Frank out of the hole again, and put a large #2 wash tub over one end of the site, and placed the concrete bird bath over the middle.

Frank finally gave up on his Memorial Day tribute to Henry.

I feel bad for Henry, though.  One of his pleasures was keeping the birds out of our yard.  And now, all of the birds would be coming to splash and play right over his head.

Post #13: Katie Grows Old

The boys grew up and went off to college.  Katie’s life became quieter, and she grew older.  There were still moments of excitement, though.  I woke up one morning to the sounds of Katie barking.  I looked out the back door, and Katie was playing with a small furry object.  A black furry object, kind of like a kitten.  Only this black furry object had a white stripe down it’s back.  I went back into the house and grabbed my .22 rifle.  The poor little skunk was half dead, and Katie was taking her time finishing the job.  So I got Katie out of the way, and killed the young skunk.

Wife’s parents died, and left their house to Wife, her sister, and our two children.  After much debate and prayerful consideration, Wife and I decided to buy out the rest of the family and move into the home.  We really had not considered that to be an option, until the neighbors began asking us to please move in.

It took quite a bit of doing to go through her parents’ belongings and decide what was going to be kept, who would get what, and what should be sold or donated.  Then the process of moving our stuff into the old house began.  Finally, we were moved into the 80 year old house.  And Katie was introduced to her new back yard.  She now had a house with a chain link fence so she could see what was going on in the world. 

She had lost some teeth and could no longer hear.  She was a lot older, but she could still remember how to dig and how to follow her nose.  We looked out into the back yard one day, and Katie was gone.  There was a busy boulevard between our new home and our old house.  I was fearful that Katie would try to find her way back to the old house and get run over.  I started a search, going up and down alleys and streets.  I called her name, although I wasn’t sure she could hear me.  Thankfully, I found Katie across the street and down at the end of the alley sniffing around a trash can.  She was next to the boulevard, but had not yet crossed it.  I brought her back home, and made the yard a bit more secure.

Katie lived out her last days resting under a large oak tree.  She could no longer climb.  The squirrels were still of interest for tracking, but she no longer risked life and limb to give chase.

Katie had to be put down when she was 13.  We were the grateful recipients of many kindnesses at this time.  Katie had let Wife know that it was time to go one Sunday morning.  She had become lethargic and it was obvious she was in pain.  I had recently undergone surgery and my wounds were not yet healed.  I was unable to lift Katie or carry her to the vet, much less dig a grave.  One of our church members came to our house and dug the grave for us.  With great kindness the vet came out to our home with an assistant and put her down.  After Katie was dead, the vet surprised us by offering to bury Katie.  She placed Katie in her grave and covered her. 

We had Katie buried under the huge oak tree where she spent the last couple of years of her life.  We would look out of our back door and at the ancient oak tree and remember Katie, and remember all of the years of faithful service that Katie had given to us as companion, playmate and protector.

RIP Katie

1989 - 2002

Post #6: Old Vets and Mosquitoes

Our vet was elderly and was an old college friend of Kathy’s father, Bill.  We took Spike to see him once a year for her shots.  Since she never got sick, her only visits were these once a year trips.  He finally retired and sold his practice to a new, young vet who was just starting out.  The new vet inherited us along with the rest of the practice.

Spike was seven years old when we made our first visit to the new vet for the routine rabies shot.  This vet took a blood sample and a stool sample, and checked Spike out pretty thoroughly.  He took the samples and checked them under his microscope.  When he turned around, he asked us what we were giving Spike for heartworm prevention.

“What?  What’s that?” we wondered. 

The vet was surprised at our surprise.  This was a very preventable problems.  Spike had heartworms.  She had a lot of them.  The heartworms were transmitted to Spike by mosquitoes.  There are a lot of mosquitoes in the Coastal Bend of Texas.  The heartworms made their way into her blood vessels and began to multiply.  Heartworms can grow to be a foot long, and can block off the arteries leading to the heart. Over time, they can cause heart and lung problems, embolisms, and death. Spike did not seem to be showing many of the advanced symptoms.  She was not coughing or breathing heavily.  She did seem to have less stamina and had become less active.  However, since she was an "outside dog" we didn't really know much about her daily activities.  We did not pay that much attention to Spike, other than when we went out to play with her in the back yard.  And it was usually the boys who played with her, not Kathy or I.

There is a treatment for the heart worms, although treatment can be dangerous.  It was possible that Spike would not survive the treatment.  The vet warned us that even if the treatment were successful, Spike may not ever regain her full amount of energy.  The heartworms had already done a lot of damage to her heart and lungs.  Without treatment, Spike would get worse, have problems breathing, lose even more stamina, and die.

Spike’s chances of survival were not good.  We decided to give her every chance we could.  So we gave the vet permission to begin treatment.  She was administered Arsenic to kill the heartworms.  She received her first shot, and we were told to bring her home and keep her confined.

We set up a small space in the house and fenced Spike in.  We knew that she was not feeling well, as she never complained about being kept inside the house or being confined to the small space near our front door.  Spike became lethargic, but was also happy to be near us.  She did not seem to get better, though.  We took Spike in for her second shot of arsenic, just knowing that we were killing the heartworms, while hoping that we were not killing Spike.  Spike became more lethargic.

We decided to leave Spike with the vet after the third injection. She had a lot of arsenic in her, and she needed to be monitored closely.  This was the end of the treatment.  Spike should start getting better in a few days, but we were at a critical point.

Kathy stopped by the vet's office that night on her way home to check on Spike.  Kathy could get to the kennels in the back of the office, even though the staff had already gone home.

Kathy found Spike laying in her kennel, exhausted from her fight with the heartworms and the arsenic.  At first, Kathy thought she might be dead.  But Spike saw Kathy and became alert, wagging her tail, weakly.  Kathy spoke to her and petted her for a bit.  Spike returned the affection with a few kisses.  Then Kathy went home.

A couple of hours later the vet called.  Spike had died.  Kathy felt sure that Spike had roused herself from near death so she could tell Kathy good bye.

We were all sad.  I drove Kathy and the boys to the vet's office to pick up Spike.  The vet wrapped Spike in a towel that we had brought, and sent us home with her.  Kathy had called her father about Spike, and he met us at our house.  We picked out a spot in our back yard to bury Spike, and I started digging.  It was late, and dark, but the sand was soft. I had never buried a pet before, and wasn’t sure how deep to go.  My father-in-law was watching, so I wanted to be sure I did it right.  I just didn’t know what right was.  So I dug.  And I dug.  And I dug some more.  Kathy, Bill, Jason and John stood by watching me dig.

I was thinking “how deep should I go?  They bury people six feet.  I could probably do that, but that seems awful deep.”

I had gone down to the point that I was standing in a hole almost to my waist when I heard my father-in-law’s voice: “are you digging to China?” 

I knew it was time to stop.

We placed Spike gently in the bottom of the grave and covered her.  Kathy cried.  I cried. Jason cried.  John threw up.  We all said our goodbyes to Spike.

Spike was a wonderful, beautiful dog.  She was loyal, bright and she took better care of us than we took care of her.

Lessons learned:

• Heartworm prevention is a must.
• Dogs need fences.
• The best dogs really do bite.  They protect their family whenever there is a perceived threat.  They aren’t vicious, just protective.