a childhood best friend is going to die soon
i got a call last night that i had been expecting for some time. my dog of 15 years, Divot, is going to be put down soon.
he first arrived as a weeks-old stub-nosed little black puppy to a family still in mourning for our first dog, Triskit, who had died in our arms after a troublesome final few months involving chemotherapy, a big shaved patch on his butt, and the complete loss of any mobility in his hind legs. Triskit, a golden retriever, had always seemed somehow patient and regal despite his obvious stupidity and death breath; divot was to forever be a puppy. you're supposed to give purebreeds three-word names, and Triskit's had been 'colonel Triskit of Davidsdle' (not that he was ever called that). we jokingly gave Div a full name and even military upgrade, dubbing him 'generalissimo Divito Pierre', deciding him to be italian and french due to his food preferences. at first this little black speck howled into the night from the laundryroom for one of us to come provide a lap to fall asleep in. we knew for sure that the mother was an afghan and surmised the father must have been a black lab, because that's what he looked like. but we had no idea whether he'd grow up to have long afghan hair or not. he never changed coats, but the afghan definetly was present, giving him great eyesight and a tendency to use his front paws as dexteriously as a cat. he also retained a slim near-greyhound weight through most of his life, the only really visible difference between him and most labs, as they tend to get porky later in life. he stayed looking as a thin black lab, and it's really no exaggeration to say everyone who met him liked him. "such a nice dog", i can still hear in a distinctive german accent coming from a girl I exchanged with in higschool as she left our company.
soon our speck grew into greased lightning. for several years he could have out-deked the finest football runningbacks. it was from this, attempting the impossible task of out-maneuvering this all-star, that we first started developing a play game similar to rope-tug except with no rope. now i can recognize it as a game dogs play with each other with much the same elements as fighting: sort of a full-body thumb-wrestling for best position to bother sensitive areas such as feet or ears.. i've found that nearly all dogs know and enjoy the game, and further understand that it's play and the goal is not injury. most dogs however don't have appreciation for just what causes pain, and at first get over-excited and bite harder than most owners will tolerate. Divot never did; he'd instantly stop and apologize the instant a cry of pain was let out. later on he'd developed impossible skill at gaining a hold of one's sweatshirt sleeve without biting the arm within. (entertainingly, it involved many fast and small test-nibbles to identify when and where to clamp down...). I'd frequently leave home with the scarred arm of a suicide attempt, but that was largely due to his "thumb"claw, further up the leg, it's just in an unavoidable position when playing the game. my family was neccissarily concerned that i was training him to bite, and he'd do so among small children, but that fear never really panned out: Div understanding enough of what the proper scenarios were. outside of our game he was never aggressive. i can remember how my grandmother on my mother's side was so short that Div would be able to sneak in a lightning-quick smooch on the face as he'd pass by the side of her chair coming from behind. grandma'd never see it coming; just a black flash and a long afghan tongue and before she could even flinch the kiss was had and Div walking on.
he was present for the final years of my childhood home in pennsylvania, the few years we lived in minnesota, my college years, milwaukee, and now he's in charleston SC with my parents. when i first returned from college, i was distressed to see how 'wussy' my favorite opponant had gotten. by then and forever after, a momma's boy. he could probably still outdeke a highschool runningback, but the godskill was gone. we regained and refined our challenges to each other in less energetic ways, moving to games of more subtle timing and prediction.. such as letting the contested object slack until one of us thought the situation safe enough to adjust grip, trying to yank away just as the other adjusts. when playing this game with other dogs, i'm merely humoring them; going through an abbreviated set of best-of techniques that were developed in honest competition with Div. none i've met since have the adaptive brilliance of Divot.
i was supposed to get and take care of Div for the month of September this year while my parents vacationed, but honestly, i was surprised that his health had upheld for this long, after a scare last october. his digestive system was slowly failing him; my mother had already spent the last few years refining a diet of rice, potatos, yams, and spare chicken parts from the butcher. he ate better than us, we'd sometimes joke. frankly, i thought using the unwanted chicken parts at least was brilliant; for a dog to live its' life on dry dogfood seems akin to me to a person living their life on breakfast cereal. it definetly did the trick though; we've enjoyed several years of his continued presence undoubtably due to diet. now, with less than a month to go until then, my family is seeing signs that he's losing his bowel control entirely, his hearing, and soon his quality of life. so the decision has been made. i knew when i saw him last that it would likely be the final time, but i regret not being able to be there with him when he dies.
so long old friend.
he first arrived as a weeks-old stub-nosed little black puppy to a family still in mourning for our first dog, Triskit, who had died in our arms after a troublesome final few months involving chemotherapy, a big shaved patch on his butt, and the complete loss of any mobility in his hind legs. Triskit, a golden retriever, had always seemed somehow patient and regal despite his obvious stupidity and death breath; divot was to forever be a puppy. you're supposed to give purebreeds three-word names, and Triskit's had been 'colonel Triskit of Davidsdle' (not that he was ever called that). we jokingly gave Div a full name and even military upgrade, dubbing him 'generalissimo Divito Pierre', deciding him to be italian and french due to his food preferences. at first this little black speck howled into the night from the laundryroom for one of us to come provide a lap to fall asleep in. we knew for sure that the mother was an afghan and surmised the father must have been a black lab, because that's what he looked like. but we had no idea whether he'd grow up to have long afghan hair or not. he never changed coats, but the afghan definetly was present, giving him great eyesight and a tendency to use his front paws as dexteriously as a cat. he also retained a slim near-greyhound weight through most of his life, the only really visible difference between him and most labs, as they tend to get porky later in life. he stayed looking as a thin black lab, and it's really no exaggeration to say everyone who met him liked him. "such a nice dog", i can still hear in a distinctive german accent coming from a girl I exchanged with in higschool as she left our company.
soon our speck grew into greased lightning. for several years he could have out-deked the finest football runningbacks. it was from this, attempting the impossible task of out-maneuvering this all-star, that we first started developing a play game similar to rope-tug except with no rope. now i can recognize it as a game dogs play with each other with much the same elements as fighting: sort of a full-body thumb-wrestling for best position to bother sensitive areas such as feet or ears.. i've found that nearly all dogs know and enjoy the game, and further understand that it's play and the goal is not injury. most dogs however don't have appreciation for just what causes pain, and at first get over-excited and bite harder than most owners will tolerate. Divot never did; he'd instantly stop and apologize the instant a cry of pain was let out. later on he'd developed impossible skill at gaining a hold of one's sweatshirt sleeve without biting the arm within. (entertainingly, it involved many fast and small test-nibbles to identify when and where to clamp down...). I'd frequently leave home with the scarred arm of a suicide attempt, but that was largely due to his "thumb"claw, further up the leg, it's just in an unavoidable position when playing the game. my family was neccissarily concerned that i was training him to bite, and he'd do so among small children, but that fear never really panned out: Div understanding enough of what the proper scenarios were. outside of our game he was never aggressive. i can remember how my grandmother on my mother's side was so short that Div would be able to sneak in a lightning-quick smooch on the face as he'd pass by the side of her chair coming from behind. grandma'd never see it coming; just a black flash and a long afghan tongue and before she could even flinch the kiss was had and Div walking on.
he was present for the final years of my childhood home in pennsylvania, the few years we lived in minnesota, my college years, milwaukee, and now he's in charleston SC with my parents. when i first returned from college, i was distressed to see how 'wussy' my favorite opponant had gotten. by then and forever after, a momma's boy. he could probably still outdeke a highschool runningback, but the godskill was gone. we regained and refined our challenges to each other in less energetic ways, moving to games of more subtle timing and prediction.. such as letting the contested object slack until one of us thought the situation safe enough to adjust grip, trying to yank away just as the other adjusts. when playing this game with other dogs, i'm merely humoring them; going through an abbreviated set of best-of techniques that were developed in honest competition with Div. none i've met since have the adaptive brilliance of Divot.
i was supposed to get and take care of Div for the month of September this year while my parents vacationed, but honestly, i was surprised that his health had upheld for this long, after a scare last october. his digestive system was slowly failing him; my mother had already spent the last few years refining a diet of rice, potatos, yams, and spare chicken parts from the butcher. he ate better than us, we'd sometimes joke. frankly, i thought using the unwanted chicken parts at least was brilliant; for a dog to live its' life on dry dogfood seems akin to me to a person living their life on breakfast cereal. it definetly did the trick though; we've enjoyed several years of his continued presence undoubtably due to diet. now, with less than a month to go until then, my family is seeing signs that he's losing his bowel control entirely, his hearing, and soon his quality of life. so the decision has been made. i knew when i saw him last that it would likely be the final time, but i regret not being able to be there with him when he dies.
so long old friend.
