Tuesday, May 19, 2015

First and Lasts
There are so many more, but these are the best ones.




The first of my four-legged children, you were my very own dog. Acquired accidentally on my lunch break on a hot June day in 2004, I should have NEVER walked out of the pizza place next door and into the pet store holding an adoption event from a local shelter. There you were, the “Georgia Black Dog”, cowering under the table, away from all the dogs vying for attention of prospective adopters. I sat on the floor and stroked your shoulder and heard a voice behind me say, “she doesn’t let anyone touch her, did you just touch her? She’s just here to get socialized and isn’t really up for adoption, she has been badly abused and is in no shape to be adopted yet”, and there it was-
The Last of my willpower, the last of my ability to reason that as a poor college student that lived in a rented townhouse that didn’t allow dogs, that I shouldn’t bring the scared, abused, skinny brownish dog with welts on her hind end home. The last time that pet store probably ever had someone buy and assemble a crate in store, food and bowls and a bed, and then pay an employee $100 in cash to take care of her in the stockroom all day until I could retrieve her after work. You were mine, and I was yours, as soon as I touched you that day.

The first time I ever had a dog that came with tons and tons of “baggage”. You were afraid of me, of food bowls that were shiny, of ceiling fans, and flashlights, and lightning, and beeping noises, and men with beards, and the opening of trash bags, and outside, and inside, and door frames, and going upstairs-
The Last time I ever considered giving you up and taking you back to the shelter, convinced that you would never bond to me, was two weeks later, in the wooded trails, when the strange lady with the ancient German Shepherd stopped me and told me- out of the blue- that I needed to let you love me your way, that I was trying too hard, and that I just needed to be patient and quiet and tell you simply, every day, “I love you Doodle”, and that you would understand, that you were a special gift. No one has ever been more right.

The first time I ever had a dog that wouldn’t come when she was called, but would just look at me, come near and stay near, but not let me catch her until she was darn ready to be caught-
The Last time I ever took a dog to a public dog park before an impending thunderstorm, and was the last one to leave since you decided not to be caught and we sat in the pouring down rain, lightning and thunder crashing around us, six feet away from each other, until you decided to come over and sit.

The first time you saved my life was on the trip home from Athens to Columbus. You were such a good car rider, it was always your favorite. You sat still and quietly in the back with your nose out of the cracked window gleefully taking in all the smells. I only knew you were awake by the short, short,  looonng, rhythm of your sniffing. But not that day, you were restless and softly whining. I was confused about what you wanted since you had already eaten dinner and gone potty before we got in the car and we’d been on the road less than an hour. We were behind a big red pick-up truck the whole way down the two lane road and your whining grew louder. I saw a gas station and pulled over to offer you water and see if you needed to go potty again. You pulled me around on your leash for, in my hurry, what seemed like forever, without so much as a pre-potty sniff. I was growing impatient. You jerked the leash to go TOWARDS a lady that was walking towards us, and I was so surprised as she reached out to touch you. Not only that you went towards her, but even more so at the scars all over her forearms. Like she had been dragged through briars, her arms, and her face implied scars of a much deeper sort. She asked me all about you and I told her about your past. She seemed to connect with you on a level that I couldn’t understand then. I didn’t know why this lady was holding up my trip, and why you were content to be patted by her. We got back in the car and went a few miles, only to be stopped by traffic on the same two-lane. At the bottom of the hill I could see multiple fire trucks. I sighed. A bad wreck. Something else to make my trip longer-
The last thing I remember before I burst into tears and had to eventually pull over, was what I saw when we passed that wreck. A red pick-up truck and another car, smashed between two tractor trailers. The red-pick up truck was compressed front to back to the width of a double door frame. I was stuck for a moment as the firemen rushed to put a tarp up so that our lane couldn’t see the remains in the truck. But I saw them. And I recognized the pick-up truck, the one we had been behind before you made me stop for the weird petting with the stranger. We would have been right there in that horrible wreck. Every time I passed the cross on the side of the road for years after that, I said a prayer for peace for that man’s family, and thanked you and that lady for making us late to that scene.

The first time you chased down the tennis ball that I threw for you, you ran and ran and ran with it, around me in circles, with no real intention of bringing it back. I laughed as you got all the other dogs in the dog park running too, now sleek and black and shiny, your confidence made me smile and your happiness was evident-
The last time you chased a tennis ball, the poodle beat you to it. You weren’t fast anymore, and maybe not sleek, but black and shiny and happy you still were. She lost interest in the ball moments later and you retrieved it and took with you to your couch. You placed it between your front legs and every time she came near, you just bared your teeth silently. It was your ball anyway, and she needed to know it.

The second time you saved my life was at 2:17 am in the summer of 2005. I was fast asleep with you next to me on the floor. We were alone in the townhouse since our other roommate had gone home for the summer. Your big growl woke me up with a start. I didn’t have my glasses on or the lamp on yet to know what was happening and you were throwing your body at my bedroom door trying to get out- with the kind of bark I almost never heard you do. The deep snarly bark that meant you were dead serious. I opened the door to my room and you rocketed down the stairs. I was almost frozen with fear as I could now hear, and comprehend the banging at the back door that meant someone was trying to kick in the door. My cell phone was charging in my car outside, and we didn’t have a land line. It was just me and you. I could now hear you throwing yourself at the back door and barking like you were going to get through it first. I ran to the window and peeked down to see a dark figure on the porch run away into the woods. The banging had stopped, but the barking continued. I wouldn’t let you out because you would have chased him down and killed him I think. After a few minutes you stopped barking and I was brave enough to run to my car and get my phone. My neighbor was outside already asking if I was ok and she had already called the police. I had to lock you in my room when they arrived because you simply were not letting anyone in that house, even the policeman who bolted a 2x4 across the door for the night to secure it since the door frame was split. He said one more kick and the intruder would’ve been inside-
The last thing I wanted to hear a few days later was that the guy they caught after he kicked another woman’s door in, was that he admitted to watching me and a few other girls for days before that. He knew I was home alone, and he knew I had a dog, but he didn’t think that you would protect me. He was wrong. I’ve never ever felt unsafe again because you were always there.

The first time my bathroom door creaked opened while I was taking a shower, I timidly peeked out to see if I was about to become a story out of Law and Order SVU, but thankfully it was you. There was no door you couldn’t open and I became accustomed to your presence during any and all activities, as you were not one to be left out. You settled down onto the bath mat and waited for me to finish showering. You didn’t move as I reached over you to brush my teeth, because the bath mat in front of the sink was much better than your array of beds just outside the bathroom. It was sometimes hard to put on mascara while leaning over a large dog to see the mirror, and you always huffed and left the bathroom annoyed when I would dare to turn on the blow-dryer. I knew you just wanted to be with me, and I appreciated it. I never minded you being there, ever-
The last time I showered and you were there on the bath mat, was yesterday morning. I thought to myself for a moment about how it would feel to get out of the shower and not see you there because I knew you were declining. It happened today, a million days too soon, while we were waiting for the vet and you were resting a little more comfortably on your couch. I opened the shower door and the bath mat was empty. I sobbed into my towel and tried to hurry and get dressed to get back to you. Thank you for the hundreds of times you were there. I think I will probably look for you on the bath mat forever and ever.

The first time you woke me up with the thwap, thwap, thwap of your tail on the wall, it was because you needed to go outside and I had overslept a little. You soon trained me to get up at any and all hours of the day or night and attend to you with your metronome tail. The “weapon of mass destruction” as we sometimes called it, your tail was the reason I have a higher than normal coffee table and cheap wine glasses. You quickly taught me not to leave things in the path of that tail, the excited and expressive tail that greeted me every day and woke me up every morning, and had a way of shedding more hair than most dogs have on their entire body-
The last time I heard the thwap, thwap, thwap of your tail was Monday morning early. You were having a hard time breathing and wanted me to come to you. You called me with your tail. For eleven years that tail has been the soundtrack to my life. I don’t know how I’ll ever get up again without the encouragement of that sound.

The first time I felt grown-up and moved into my very own apartment after college, you were finally my only roommate. It was a third floor apartment and we walked up and down those steps together for what seems like thousands of times. You waited for me patiently at the window to come home each day, and you made me feel safe and secure and happy. Just the two of us in our big girl apartment, looking out the window at the world that we were ready to take on-
The last move you ever made with me was last May, we’ve lived in a townhouse, an apartment, and four houses together. Six times we’ve packed our life together, and I can’t even begin to know what to do without you in our home. I can’t even remember having a home where you weren’t there.

The first time you met him, you liked him immediately. Little did he know that I would’ve never gone on a second date with him if you didn’t make it clear that he was “good”. A better judge of character I’ve never known. When he laid on the couch with you, you didn’t growl at him, and you hated sharing your couch with anyone but me. I loved him almost immediately, and you let me know that I was safe in loving him because you did too-
The last time you saw him was this morning when he petted you and said your name as he left for work and told me to call him and let him know what the vet said. I don’t know if he knew that you were leaving us today for sure, but I know you loved him since your tail wagged as he patted you, and your tail hasn’t been wagging in two days. He’s digging you a resting place on his mom’s farm as I write this. He came home from work early and gently moved you from your couch into his car while I hid upstairs and cried and typed. He’s kind, and you always knew it.

The first time I knew I loved you was on the way home from the pet store that day when you awkwardly rode home facing backwards in the front seat of my car. I knew we had work to do, but your eyes were so kind even though your body looked neglected. I didn’t know when or if you would love me, but I knew I already loved you. You were panting a bit and I saw you had an under bite, it was always my favorite thing when your lip would get stuck against your teeth and I would barely see the under bite. And when you would guard some toy and bare your teeth at other dogs and instead of lifting your lips to the side, you would part them in front and reveal the under bite. Or when you would greet me at the door or at the steps and wag your whole body and “smile” and there it was, the under bite that I love. From that first day until today, my love for you has consumed more of me than I knew could exist. You have been there for almost every first as I grew from a naive teenager into an actual adult, and so many lasts-
 I can’t believe that today was our last day. You were beautiful and kind and warm and soft and loving and protective and loyal and independent and patient even to the very end, and you taught me more about life than most human relationships have. I don’t even know who I am without you. I owe you so much more than I could ever give you, and I can only hope that today, when I held you in my arms and felt you take your last breath, that you know that I will love you until my very last breath.

Rest in Peace my sweet Doodlebug and thank you. 
Run free with ample breath, and swim and roll and rest and play and love.
Spring 2002- May 19, 2015


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