How do I say goodbye to my best
friend when he can’t understand words? I stroke my hands over his thick wiry
fur and hope that he isn’t afraid of my crying. I run my hands over him as he
cuddles in my lap, watching his ears flatten and spring back up with each pass
of my hand. I hold him while he falls asleep, and I think about my dog.
I was a teenager, probably fifteen.
I went with my step-mother, Lucy, to pick out a puppy. She wanted a girl puppy,
but the moment I saw him I knew he was the one. He was a little furry black,
gray, and reddish thing, with big dark brown eyes and perfect expressive ears.
I never even looked at the other three puppies. I reached down and picked him
up. I held him close and told Lucy that this was our dog, and his name was
Tobi. An hour later, she finally agreed with me.
Tobi was a happy puppy that grew
into a happy dog. He loved everyone and everything. He let children pull his
tail and poke his eyes and never so much as growled. He ran up to every dog he
met with enthusiasm and welcome. He would curl up and sleep with my cats and
never dream of chasing them. He didn’t chew on furniture or pee or poop in the
house. I swear that dog would even wipe his feet before he came in. And when we
got another puppy, he accepted Max with affection.
As a terrier, Tobi took it upon
himself to defend our home from the scourge of chipmunks and squirrels. He once
ripped the gutter off of the house perusing a chipmunk, then proceeded to bite
it so hard he cinched it closed. He once spent four hours crouched by a wood
pile waiting for the chipmunk to emerge. Unlike some dogs, he did catch a few.
I felt bad for the little guys, but Tobi was always so proud of himself. It was
his job and he was good at it. He’d stick out his little chest and wag his tail
and I could swear he had a sense of rightness, of purpose.
He was terrified of thunder and
fireworks. He would pace around shaking uncontrollably, inconsolable even if he
was held and coddled. I can’t count the number of times we wandered the streets
around our home, yelling his name, after someone lit off fireworks and he ran
through the electric fence. Looking for a black dog in the dark is an
adventure.
Tobi changed colors throughout his
life. None of us understand how or why. As a puppy he was mostly black with a
smattering of tan and red. In the middle of his life, he had an odd pattern of
reddish tiger stripes along his back. As he grew old, he came mostly black and
gray. And at the end, he had turned into a grizzled little old man.
I live in a duplex with my husband.
My father and step-mother live on the other side. So even though I moved out on
my own when Tobi was only a few years old, I always felt like he was my dog.
And when I moved back into my childhood home after college and a few
apartments, I felt like I got to have my dog back even though he really lived
with my parents. He would scratch on my front door and patiently wait for me to
come and let him in. He’d roll around on my rugs because my parents’ side is
wood floors. He would cuddle with my cats and curl up and sleep by my feet. He
would stay for hours, then quietly wander to the door and I would escort him
back next door. He spent a few nights with us, and whenever there was a
thunderstorm or fireworks. For some reason, he must have felt safer on my side
of the house. Toward the end, Lucy said that in her house he would pace and
keep asking to go out but not go. She would bring him over to me and he’d
scratch a little nest in the carpet next to me and sleep like he didn’t have a
care in the world.
Lucy came to my side of the house on
a Monday morning. I knew something was wrong. Tobi had been very lethargic, and
was throwing up and having accidents in the house. He was fifteen years old,
and I wasn’t surprised by the news, but it hurt just the same. The vet said
that his kidneys were failing. They said that with dialysis and diet, they
might be able to expend his life by a few weeks. I knew as Lucy told me that we
weren’t going to do that. We had lost another dog to a horrible disease called
Lepto Sperosis. Poor little Peanut died of kidney failure. I remember how she
looked with her little legs shaved and bruised from the IV. I knew we weren’t
going to put Tobi through that. It was the kinder thing to put him down now,
while he was still wagging his tail and smiling with his eyes.
On Tuesday morning, I got up and
brushed my teeth as if it were a normal morning. The appointment at the vet was
at 10:30. It was 10. Lucy opened my front door and called upstairs that she had
to work, so she moved the appointment to 3:30. She left before I could say
anything. I hated that it was postponed. Waiting was worse than anything. I
hadn’t let myself go see Tobi since finding out, knowing I would start sobbing.
But my Dad was home alone next door with the dog, and I couldn’t leave him like
that.
I went next door and said hi to my
Dad, but I wasn’t really seeing him. All I saw was Tobi, lying on the floor. He
struggled to his feet, which had become very hard for him in the past few days.
He waddled over to me, his tail wagging so hard his whole body swayed back and
forth. I sat on the floor and pulled him into my lap. I didn’t cry. My Dad is
afraid of tears, and I knew this was hard enough for him already. So I kept up
a steady talk about nothing with him, and patted my dog. He looked up at me
with his big brown eyes, and I swear that he knew. Maybe I was merely
projecting, but he had this calm look in his eyes like he knew it would be over
soon and he wouldn’t be in pain anymore.
I hated the fact that my Dad was
sitting with nothing to do all day. I love my father. He is a good man, a hard
working man. But he is uncomfortable expressing emotions. He does not hug me
often or come visit my side of the house. He expresses his love with actions.
If I ever came home crying, he would quickly move into the garage. He never
learned how to comfort me. I accept that about him. And I knew that when he was
upset, the best thing for him was to have something to do.
My Dad doesn’t like animals. He once
beheaded a groundhog with a shovel. But Tobi did what I never thought any dog
could do. My Dad really loved Tobi, and not in the distant way he had loved the
other dogs. The other dogs had been Lucy’s pets. Tobi was the first one he
appeared to think of as his as well. He is not a man to cry or to hold the dog
he is about to lose. So I asked him if he could do an oil change on my truck.
It seems an odd request, but I know my Dad, and when he is powerless to save
something, its better to give him something productive and helpful to do. So I
gave Tobi a final pat and went back to my side of the house.
At 3:15, Lucy knocked on my door.
She had Tobi on the leash and my Dad was already in the car. But Lucy was
shaking and already crying and she said she couldn’t do it. So I nodded and
took the leash. I picked up Tobi and I brought him over to her so she could say
goodbye. I carried him to the car and settled him on my lap.
My Dad drove and we talked about my
job and the coming job search, about the weather and football. I held Tobi
against me, and he looked around at the world passing by with his usual
doggy-smile on his face. The vet is only a five minute drive, but it felt
longer. I set him on the ground and he walked up to the vet, sniffing and
acting interested and happy. He peed on some snow, and as he always did, kicked
a little snow and dirt behind him afterward.
He didn’t want to go inside, so I
picked him up and carried him in. There was a great dane mutt and a golden
retriever in front of us. The couple with the golden retriever unwitting set me
off crying when they looked over at tail-wagging-Tobi and said “He’s doing
fine.” My Dad muttered ‘Well, not really’ and I gave up trying not to cry. I
sat on the floor and petted him to distract myself. I was now the center of a
lot of unwanted attention as the six people in the waiting room realized why we
were there. Luckily, someone came and told us we could wait in a back room.
Tobi didn’t want to leave the other dogs, so I had to carry him.
It was a nice room, with a small
couch, and the examination table. I sat on the couch with Tobi on my lap. I
didn’t want to put him down and was relieved when he settled down without any
interest in exploring the room. Dad and I tried to fill the sadness with small
talk. The vet came in. I know him from the times I’ve brought in my cats. He is
a very nice man, and is wonderful with Tobi. My Dad has been pacing the room,
unable to sit still. He does not know what to do with himself. I’m glad I’m
there to hold Tobi.
The vet tells us that he is going to
give Tobi some of the sedative to calm him. It will basically lull him to sleep
so that when the actual injection comes, he won’t be afraid. It takes about ten
minutes. I hold Tobi while the vet injects him. He doesn’t like it and I can
tell it hurts. But he doesn’t growl. He just twists his head around so he can
look at what the vet is doing. He had to inject him twice, trying to find a
less sensitive spot for the second one. Tobi never growled, and wagged his tail
when the vet patted his head.
Dad and I were left alone with Tobi.
Finally, Dad sat on the bench beside me. Tobi was curled on my lap, and his
little nose overlapped onto my Dad’s thigh. My Dad patted his head. We told him
he was a good boy, and I told him that he wasn’t going to hurt anymore. I
couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t make any sound while I cried. It was just a
steady stream of tears that soaked his fur. Dad and I talked about nothing for
those ten minutes. Tobi relaxed in my lap, and I could feel every bit of tension
leave his body. He slowly closed his eyes. I couldn’t see them because he was
facing my Dad, but Dad told me they were closed. I ran my hands over him and
kept talking. If he had to die, at least it was this way. He got to gently fall
asleep on my lap, with my Dad gently patting his head from time to time,
listening to the familiar sounds of us talking.
After ten minutes, the vet and his
assistant came in. I knew it was time. Tobi was asleep. He wasn’t even aware of
me standing and laying him down on the table. He looked very small and old, but
peaceful. They gave him the last injection while I stroked his ears. I cried so
much that there was a puddle on the floor. My Dad stood behind me, quietly. It
took only a few seconds, and the vet told us he was gone.
The vet assistant handed me some
Kleenex. It was a simple gesture, but one that meant a lot. They were both very
comforting without making me feel worse. They let me grieve and told me how
sorry they were without being too intrusive. The vet asked if we wanted to take
a few minutes with Tobi, but he was already gone. Dad is a man of action, and I
know how hard it was for him to just watch while Tobi died. So we thanked the
vet, and headed out. My tears were gone by the time we were outside. I felt almost
free. My Dad stopped in front of me and turned around, opening his arms. I slid
into the hug, and he thanked me for coming with him. He said he couldn’t have
done it alone.
We talked about happy things on the
way home. We worried about how Max, the other dog, was going to do without
Tobi. We worried about Lucy, who was not coping with losing Tobi very well. I
hoped she wouldn’t regret not coming with us to the vet. I think she made the
right decision for her.
While it was one of the hardest
things I’ve ever had to do, I’m glad I was there. I’m glad that my happy
wonderful little dog lived a great life. I feel blessed that I was there to
hold him. To make him feel safe and loved, while he fell asleep for the last
time. I burst into tears as soon as I shut my front door behind me. And I’ve
cried a lot since. But I know that we did the right thing. That I couldn’t have
asked for a better end for my little man. Rest in peace Tobius No Jinx Jalbert.
Thank you for being my dog.
