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Dogs - Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Our dog Lady died last Thursday, Feb 2. My mom called me the day after to let me know that Lady hadn't been eating for a week or drinking water for three days, and that she passed away peacefully in her sleep. She was 16.5 years old.
Lady was born on July 7, 2000. We found her through PennySaver from a woman whose dog had had a lot of puppies. My mom and brother went to see the puppy, a German Shepherd and Chow mix, and my brother liked her a lot. The woman gave us Lady for free; apparently the $10 "price" was just to dissuade people who collect dogs for animal research.
I still remember when we brought Lady home. We brought her home in one of those yellow recycling crates, which she fit easily inside. She was very timid and scared, but warmed up to us in short time. My parents named her after the dog in the movie "Lady and the Tramp". She especially liked my mom and would always wait by the gate for my mom to come home from work, and would willingly let my mom give her a bath, even though it was pretty clear that she didn't enjoy being wet.
Like the two dogs we had before Lady, we kept her outside. Is this primarily an Asian thing? I'm not sure, but we probably did it for the same reason we don't wear shoes in the house. We had a doghouse and a dog feeder for Lady like we did for our other dogs.
For most of her life, she would love to chase the tennis balls and spikey balls that we threw, and would never seem to tire of it. One would merely have to say "get the ball!" or even simply just "ball!" in order for her to run and bring one over eagerly. Seeing us get the leash was a visual cue for her, which let her know that we were about to take her on a walk/jog. For most of her life, she was able to keep up on my dad's jogs around the neighborhood, and there was only one place out there she would poo without fail - on an undeveloped tract of land at the base of a hill.
Lady had a good sense of direction. One time when my uncle was over visiting and took her for a walk, he got lost and said to Lady, "go home!". Lady took him back to our home. Later, my mom wanted to test Lady's sense of direction and took her to the bottom of the hill, made a pointing gesture away from our house, and said "go home!". Lady turned around and ran home.
She was also a bit mischievous. We built a makeshift fence in the backyard with chicken wire, separating the patio from the grassy area and the slope beyond it. I don't recall the reason why we did this, but it probably had to do with not letting her poo just anywhere in the backyard. But Lady could easily hop the fence, and we often caught her after the fact, because we would call her and she would come bounding back over the fence and act like nothing ever happened. She knew that she wasn't supposed to go on the other side, since she wouldn't go through the makeshift gate when we were outside and had it open. But that didn't stop her from enjoying her freedom when she was alone.
She also liked to chase the occasional small critter that wandered through our yard. At one point, my family got a bunny from somebody through PennySaver. We put the bunny on the grass on the outside of the makeshift fence, which was probably a bad idea, because Lady would chase the bunny across the yard with only the fence in between them. No doubt she also hopped the fence when we weren't around, which must've been traumatizing for the bunny. The bunny disappeared a few days later; we think she ran away. I still feel bad about that.
In the last couple years, Lady's health began to noticeably wane. Her hearing got worse, and she would no longer bark at people passing by on the sidewalk. Her energy diminished, and she wasn't so energetic about playing fetch. I saw her last when I visited over the Christmas break last year, and she just looked so tired. She would lick my hand and follow me in the backyard, but not do much else, and she wouldn't pick up the ball when I asked. I had a feeling that that might be the last time I would see her.
So her death wasn't really a surprise for us. It's obviously sad, but we're also relieved that she's finally at peace, and if there is an afterlife for dogs/pets, hopefully she's enjoying it with the renewed energy of her youth.
The two dogs we had before Lady were Lucky and Amy. Lucky, an Australian Shepherd, was my mom's first dog. He, like Lady, lived to 16.5 years. Amy was a German Shepherd and Collie mix, and we got her after Lucky, but she only lived to age 11, dying before Lucky did.
While Lucky was leaner and nimbler, Amy was bigger and less athletic. My brother and I would love laying a plank of wood across the retaining walls in the backyard, creating a hurdle for Lucky to jump over as he ran after a tennis ball. He was able to do it with no problem. Not Amy.
Amy was the caring one of the two. When I was small, I went (fell?) down the slope in the backyard, and my grandmother, who was babysitting, went down to get me. She wasn't very athletic, so she failed to climb back up, and called for help. Lucky ignored her, but Amy (the unathletic one!) came to the rescue, letting my grandmother hold onto her back as she helped her climb back up. My mom recounts that one time at the park, Amy refused to start leaving with her, tugging stubbornly on the leash and looking back at me and my brother, until my brother and I also started leaving.
Amy was always my favorite dog, and I was the one who spent the most time with her. She made a weird howling sound that I've never heard any other dog make, and I could get her to howl by making the noise myself. We could go back and forth several times just howling for the sake of it. She died when I was in middle school, and her death came as a shock since I didn't feel like she had really been sick. I never fully understood how she died; my understanding is that she had a stomach illness, and the night of her death, in a lot of pain, she dragged herself to the sliding glass door to my parents' room and died there. Her death hit me hard, possibly the hardest amongst my whole family, and in some senses I'm still not completely over it.
Lucky, according to my mom, was the smartest dog in the world. He was the one who figured out how to eat from the dog feeder, and he taught Amy to do the same. One night, my dad tried to go running with Lucky not on a leash, but Lucky ended up running away. Lucky was a fast runner, so he got away easily. We spent a few hours driving around trying to find him, with no luck. Amy cried the whole night. The next day, we woke up to find Lucky waiting outside the front gate of our house. He had found his way back on his own. Apparently, all he wanted to do was go for a long run. Or find a mate somewhere. Who knows.
Speaking of being strong-willed, Lucky never enjoyed being given a bath, and unlike Lady, he actually growled when my mom tried to give him one. Nonetheless, he liked my mom the best, and one day when my mom was showing affection to my dad in front of Lucky, Lucky got jealous and voiced his disapproval by growling and barking. My mom also recounted a funny story when she one day brought Lucky into the master bedroom, and when Lucky saw himself in the mirror, he started barking, thinking it was another dog.
Lucky's death was probably the most gradual of all our dogs'. Towards the end of his life, his vitality and eyesight waned, and the last week or two, he could barely move. I remember him just lying in the planter box on his side, in pain from arthritis, with my parents unable to do much for him. His passing was a huge relief, though obviously sad.
Nothing in life is permanent, and that includes our canine companions. For me, it's hard to know that a dog that becomes such a huge part of our lives will probably not live much longer than 15 years. Why intentionally create that strong emotional connection when you know it will be severed in just a matter of several years? But I think there's a lot of truth to the saying (cliche) that "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all". As I write this, I'm still thinking about how much I miss Amy, and fighting back tears. But if I had the power, would I erase Amy's existence from my life to remove the pain I feel at her loss? Absolutely not. The pain of loss, though great, is easily overshadowed by the joy she brought in life. And that means the world.
My parents love dogs and are now looking for another one. Priscilla has never had a dog, and has wanted one ever since we got married. I liked Lady, but I don't think I was ever fully taken with her since I've never fully gotten over Amy. And maybe that's ok. I think I'm open to letting Priscilla get a dog for us, and maybe I'll never be fully taken with whatever dog we get, and there will probably be some feelings of pain since I know what will inevitably happen, but that's ok. Dogs bring joy, and joy is one of the best things that we can have in this life. And it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Lady was born on July 7, 2000. We found her through PennySaver from a woman whose dog had had a lot of puppies. My mom and brother went to see the puppy, a German Shepherd and Chow mix, and my brother liked her a lot. The woman gave us Lady for free; apparently the $10 "price" was just to dissuade people who collect dogs for animal research.
I still remember when we brought Lady home. We brought her home in one of those yellow recycling crates, which she fit easily inside. She was very timid and scared, but warmed up to us in short time. My parents named her after the dog in the movie "Lady and the Tramp". She especially liked my mom and would always wait by the gate for my mom to come home from work, and would willingly let my mom give her a bath, even though it was pretty clear that she didn't enjoy being wet.
Like the two dogs we had before Lady, we kept her outside. Is this primarily an Asian thing? I'm not sure, but we probably did it for the same reason we don't wear shoes in the house. We had a doghouse and a dog feeder for Lady like we did for our other dogs.
For most of her life, she would love to chase the tennis balls and spikey balls that we threw, and would never seem to tire of it. One would merely have to say "get the ball!" or even simply just "ball!" in order for her to run and bring one over eagerly. Seeing us get the leash was a visual cue for her, which let her know that we were about to take her on a walk/jog. For most of her life, she was able to keep up on my dad's jogs around the neighborhood, and there was only one place out there she would poo without fail - on an undeveloped tract of land at the base of a hill.
Lady had a good sense of direction. One time when my uncle was over visiting and took her for a walk, he got lost and said to Lady, "go home!". Lady took him back to our home. Later, my mom wanted to test Lady's sense of direction and took her to the bottom of the hill, made a pointing gesture away from our house, and said "go home!". Lady turned around and ran home.
She was also a bit mischievous. We built a makeshift fence in the backyard with chicken wire, separating the patio from the grassy area and the slope beyond it. I don't recall the reason why we did this, but it probably had to do with not letting her poo just anywhere in the backyard. But Lady could easily hop the fence, and we often caught her after the fact, because we would call her and she would come bounding back over the fence and act like nothing ever happened. She knew that she wasn't supposed to go on the other side, since she wouldn't go through the makeshift gate when we were outside and had it open. But that didn't stop her from enjoying her freedom when she was alone.
She also liked to chase the occasional small critter that wandered through our yard. At one point, my family got a bunny from somebody through PennySaver. We put the bunny on the grass on the outside of the makeshift fence, which was probably a bad idea, because Lady would chase the bunny across the yard with only the fence in between them. No doubt she also hopped the fence when we weren't around, which must've been traumatizing for the bunny. The bunny disappeared a few days later; we think she ran away. I still feel bad about that.
In the last couple years, Lady's health began to noticeably wane. Her hearing got worse, and she would no longer bark at people passing by on the sidewalk. Her energy diminished, and she wasn't so energetic about playing fetch. I saw her last when I visited over the Christmas break last year, and she just looked so tired. She would lick my hand and follow me in the backyard, but not do much else, and she wouldn't pick up the ball when I asked. I had a feeling that that might be the last time I would see her.
So her death wasn't really a surprise for us. It's obviously sad, but we're also relieved that she's finally at peace, and if there is an afterlife for dogs/pets, hopefully she's enjoying it with the renewed energy of her youth.
The two dogs we had before Lady were Lucky and Amy. Lucky, an Australian Shepherd, was my mom's first dog. He, like Lady, lived to 16.5 years. Amy was a German Shepherd and Collie mix, and we got her after Lucky, but she only lived to age 11, dying before Lucky did.
While Lucky was leaner and nimbler, Amy was bigger and less athletic. My brother and I would love laying a plank of wood across the retaining walls in the backyard, creating a hurdle for Lucky to jump over as he ran after a tennis ball. He was able to do it with no problem. Not Amy.
Amy was the caring one of the two. When I was small, I went (fell?) down the slope in the backyard, and my grandmother, who was babysitting, went down to get me. She wasn't very athletic, so she failed to climb back up, and called for help. Lucky ignored her, but Amy (the unathletic one!) came to the rescue, letting my grandmother hold onto her back as she helped her climb back up. My mom recounts that one time at the park, Amy refused to start leaving with her, tugging stubbornly on the leash and looking back at me and my brother, until my brother and I also started leaving.
Amy was always my favorite dog, and I was the one who spent the most time with her. She made a weird howling sound that I've never heard any other dog make, and I could get her to howl by making the noise myself. We could go back and forth several times just howling for the sake of it. She died when I was in middle school, and her death came as a shock since I didn't feel like she had really been sick. I never fully understood how she died; my understanding is that she had a stomach illness, and the night of her death, in a lot of pain, she dragged herself to the sliding glass door to my parents' room and died there. Her death hit me hard, possibly the hardest amongst my whole family, and in some senses I'm still not completely over it.
Lucky, according to my mom, was the smartest dog in the world. He was the one who figured out how to eat from the dog feeder, and he taught Amy to do the same. One night, my dad tried to go running with Lucky not on a leash, but Lucky ended up running away. Lucky was a fast runner, so he got away easily. We spent a few hours driving around trying to find him, with no luck. Amy cried the whole night. The next day, we woke up to find Lucky waiting outside the front gate of our house. He had found his way back on his own. Apparently, all he wanted to do was go for a long run. Or find a mate somewhere. Who knows.
Speaking of being strong-willed, Lucky never enjoyed being given a bath, and unlike Lady, he actually growled when my mom tried to give him one. Nonetheless, he liked my mom the best, and one day when my mom was showing affection to my dad in front of Lucky, Lucky got jealous and voiced his disapproval by growling and barking. My mom also recounted a funny story when she one day brought Lucky into the master bedroom, and when Lucky saw himself in the mirror, he started barking, thinking it was another dog.
Lucky's death was probably the most gradual of all our dogs'. Towards the end of his life, his vitality and eyesight waned, and the last week or two, he could barely move. I remember him just lying in the planter box on his side, in pain from arthritis, with my parents unable to do much for him. His passing was a huge relief, though obviously sad.
Nothing in life is permanent, and that includes our canine companions. For me, it's hard to know that a dog that becomes such a huge part of our lives will probably not live much longer than 15 years. Why intentionally create that strong emotional connection when you know it will be severed in just a matter of several years? But I think there's a lot of truth to the saying (cliche) that "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all". As I write this, I'm still thinking about how much I miss Amy, and fighting back tears. But if I had the power, would I erase Amy's existence from my life to remove the pain I feel at her loss? Absolutely not. The pain of loss, though great, is easily overshadowed by the joy she brought in life. And that means the world.
My parents love dogs and are now looking for another one. Priscilla has never had a dog, and has wanted one ever since we got married. I liked Lady, but I don't think I was ever fully taken with her since I've never fully gotten over Amy. And maybe that's ok. I think I'm open to letting Priscilla get a dog for us, and maybe I'll never be fully taken with whatever dog we get, and there will probably be some feelings of pain since I know what will inevitably happen, but that's ok. Dogs bring joy, and joy is one of the best things that we can have in this life. And it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.