A Dog's Life

One day in 1998, my father stopped by to ask me, pointedly, when I planned to get my children a dog. We had moved back to California from Canada, and had only been in the house a short time.

I replied, vaguely, “I haven’t really thought about it yet, Dad.”

Well that wasn’t going to satisfy him.

“Your children don’t have a dog. Children should have a dog. It’s almost child abuse!”

Child abuse. Hmmm. No, there’s no drama in my family.

“Well, if I got a dog it would have to be a breed that doesn’t shed. I don’t want hair all over the house.”

He frowned, certain that I was springing a trap of some sort.

“What kind of dog doesn’t shed?”

I thought for a moment. “I think that Shitzus don’t shed.”

And with that, he was gone in a blurry blur.

I thought nothing more about it until about three hours later (!) when the doorbell rang. My children, who were 4 and 5 years old at the time, ran to open the door and found their grandfather standing there holding a little white fluff ball in his cupped hands.

Sara gasped. “What’s that, Grandpa?”

“It’s a dog!”

Adam wouldn’t be left out. “Where’s mine??”

Oh God.

But my dad recovered quickly. “You’ll share the dog!”

“Oh!” They were delighted.

And so, Abby came into our lives. My father had gone out and found a breeder (immediately) and paid $300 for her. I don’t think she was a purebred Shitzu (no matter what the papers said) but she didn’t shed so it didn’t matter.

She was so tiny! I worried that the kids would accidentally crush her out of sheer love. They dressed her up in doll clothes and dragged her along the ground in a laundry basket. They put hats on her and pushed her in a stroller like a baby. I worried that she would bite them, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but she never did.

She wasn’t the brightest animal ever, God bless her, and it became obvious fairly early on that she would get through life on her good looks.

Although she was supposed to be the kids’ dog, she immediately attached herself to me and became my constant companion. If I was cooking, she sat watching me with a hopeful expression. If I watched TV, she slept at my feet. If I picked up her leash, she grabbed it in her mouth and ran for the door. If I was sick or upset, she never left my side. If I swam in my parents’ pool, she circled the pool until I was safely out. If I pulled out a suitcase, she looked visibly anxious.

For 14 years she was my dog and it turns out that I shared her with the kids.

When she was about 12 I noticed that she couldn’t jump onto the bed anymore, so I had to lift her up. A year later, she couldn’t jump off because she couldn’t see very well and was afraid to jump. So I set her on the ground every time. Then we noticed that we talked to her and she couldn’t hear us.

The kids were graduating from high school and Abby was showing her age.

By the time she was 14 she had a variety of health problems, along with not-so-endearing dementia. She never seemed to know where she was or what was happening.

So how does one say good-bye to a much-loved friend and companion after so many years? Not very graciously, I can tell you. We talked to a vet who told us that because people are sad and feel guilty, they sometimes wait past the time when it would have been kinder to let the animal go.

So on March 2 we let her go. The vet came to our house and Abby felt safe and at ease. I rubbed her ears and spoke softly to her until she drifted gently away.

Now I wake up each morning and look around for her. I come home from work and wonder why I don’t hear her barking as I pick up the mail. I cook a meal and glance at the floor where she would normally sit, hoping for a morsel. I watch TV and don’t feel the weight of her body against my leg.

I found her chew toy in a corner and almost fell completely apart.

We said good-bye to a beloved family pet, and one that shared each day, the good days and the bad days, for so many years. As my children grew into young adults, she aged. At the end her eyes were milky and her gait unsteady. But she lived a happy and comfortable life.

We loved her every minute she was with us.

She was loved every minute of her dog’s life.