Another post about dogs.

When I was a little girl, my parents took me to see Black Beauty at the drive-in.  I cried for a full day after that movie.  I have distinct memories of being so upset when Black Beauty’s friend died (I think that horse’s name was maybe, Ginger?) that I crawled into my mom’s lap and cried harder than I had ever cried before.  After that, my mom started making the guys working in the video store fast forward the movies to make sure that all the animals were still alive at the end of the film.

There’s a video on YouTube of a little pug watching the end of that 80’s movie Homeward Bound, and it is one of the most delightful and yet heart breaking things I’ve ever seen. 

A) Because I know exactly how that little dog feels as he anxiously waits for Shadow to come over the ridge to find his family again.

B) Because I believe that little dog actually understands what’s happening in the story, and

C) Because even though I only watched that movie one time from start to finish, watching this 4 minute video of the last moments of the movie are enough for me to be a blubbering mess of tears. 

I just can’t do sad animal movies. Or books.  Jesus, reading the end of Marley and Me I thought my heart would stop I was crying so hard.   You want to kill off a person? Go right ahead.  You want to kill off or hurt an animal? Nope. No way. Not gonna watch or read it. Not in a million years.  I will google search the end of movies now to prevent any surprises.  I will read the last pages of a book before reading the middle so I can stop myself from connecting with the dogs before it’s too late.

Sometimes I look at my little dog and I want to cry because I know she’s going to die.  I started reading this book called The Dog Stars and there’s a section in it about how we have genetically altered dogs to be hypo-allergenic, and changed their DNA to adjust their size or sound or style, but why haven’t we been able to extend their life expectancy?  Having adopted a small dog, she’s probably going to live to be 15, 16 if I’m lucky. But that just doesn’t feel long enough.

When my family had to put my childhood dog to sleep, she was 12 (a wonderfully sweet golden retriever who never asked for anything but treats and more treats). My mom and dad and I were in the room when she took her last breath.  I remember thinking how quick it all was.  They carried her off to get her IV put in (because at that time her hips weren’t working very well so she had trouble walking on tile) and they wheeled her in on a cart.  She looked like a lioness; so beautiful and calm.  The vet asked us if we were ready and then injected the medicine.  Maybe one minute later she was gone.  Our barking, un-disciplined, love bucket of a dog was gone. 

My mom and I went to Kohls afterward, and spent $300 on who knows what. I carried around a throw pillow for a while, but I can’t remember if we bought it.  It’s been more than 10 years since and there are still moments when I go home that I open the door from the garage and expect that sloppy kiss and “scratch me” full-body lean.  Those moments don’t last long, maybe half a second or two, but a decade later and I still miss that dog.   How in the hell will I manage losing my long little odd-ball dog, that is only mine?  She has rescued me in every way and I am so grateful to have her.

And since this post was such a downer I will leave you with this anecdote.  My cousins’ had a leader-dog puppy for one year when we were all in high school.  They also had an adult golden retriever and this puppy – whose name I think was Josie, terrorized their older dog.  She was adorable, and ate everything.  I have one very specific memory of being at their house and both dogs were in the back yard.  The older one was pooping and little Josie followed right behind eating the poop as it came out.  I have never been more delighted or disgusted watching Nikki waddle/walk-poop while trying unsuccessfully to escape the gaping jaws of the poop-eating puppy.

Dogs are the best.