To set the
record straight, I didn’t want a dog. It’s not that I don’t love dogs – I
really do. And, with a few exceptions, they seem to love me too (and dogs DO
have a sense for who does and doesn’t like dogs, and who is “worthy” of their
affection).
No, the war
that I had been waging against my youngest son and his ally in this test of
will, my wife, was never about whether I liked/loved/would enjoy having a dog
around the house. After all, it was another dog, Katie the Springer spaniel,
that had likely played an instrumental role in Leslie and I making the jump
from friends that dated into lovers and life partners. My reluctance (and for
the longest time outright refusal) was all about lifestyles.
We were a
busy family of four. Leslie had a private physical therapy practice that she
worked in and ran, I had a full time job at an electronics firm that frequently
required me to work overtime, and both boys were active in school as well as in
a myriad of extracurricular activities. Leslie was an always willing volunteer
with school and charity organizations, and in addition to coaching one or both
boys in soccer, I was also the president of the local youth club that they
played in.
And the
travel. As much as our schedules, vacation time, and our budget would allow
(and truth be told we didn’t let that last one have as much influence as we
probably should have) we liked to get away and do fun things. When the boys
were younger that often meant spending long days, or even weeks a scant hour’s
drive away in the domain of The Mouse That Rules Central Florida! In addition
to the trips to enlighten and entertain our offspring we also took at least one
week each year for a trip without them, to give us time to reconnect, or at
least to avoid disconnecting from each other.
Between our
busy schedules and travel we didn’t spend a whole lot of awake time at home, as
our barely maintained yard and house could bear witness to. I didn’t think that
was the right environment for introducing a new family member – one who would
require, and had every right to, a lot of care, attention, and most of all,
time! It was a very valid and logical argument, and it served me well, and in
fact was the final word on the subject.
For a while.
A young boy,
especially a determined one, can be quite influential. Persistence was Jason’s
greatest weapon in this battle of wills. I had him dead to rights logic wise,
and he was a very smart kid. I don’t know if this was something he picked up
from his parents (reference the budget vs. travel comment from above) or was
inherently his nature, but he wanted a dog in his heart much more than all of
the reasons he knew in his head that it wasn’t an ideal situation for him to
get one put together.
Eventually
he wore down his mother and she defected from my side to his. At that point it
became a matter of time. It was no longer if, but when, and the best play that
I had left was to try and impose some restrictions and conditions, if not to
manage the situation, at least to save some face.
Some of
these conditions were to make our transition back to being a dog family again
(Jason was just an infant when Katie was last with us) smoother, and some of
them were to test his resolve. The latter should never have been a concern. He
did all of the required reading on dog training, and pledged his commitment
from both time and financial aspects. Jason would have to pay a certain
percentage of all costs, including vet bills, out of his own funds. He was, and
remains today a very frugal person, so his willingness to part with his hard
earned money only underscored how much he wanted this to happen.
I retained a
shred of (imagined) dignity and authority by insisting on having the final say on the
breed of our soon to be new pet. I had recently read the book “Marley and Me”
and we have good friends that had only the year before added a Labrador puppy
to their household, so I was already leaning in that direction. All of the
reading we had done portrayed them as intelligent, gentle, and displaying many
other traits that would seem to make them an ideal match for what we were
looking for.
I would be remiss if I didn’t add that despite
doing what I thought was exhaustive and comprehensive research, there was still
a “gotcha” in it for me. After our experience with Katie, our aforementioned
Springer spaniel, I was delighted at the prospect of not having a long haired
dog, as her fur ended up everywhere in our house. All lab owners will be able
to attest to how that joke was certainly on me!
We wanted to
be able to present his new puppy to Jason on his birthday in March, so the hunt
began. We had been advised to avoid the “puppy mill” dogs as one would see in
stores at the mall, so we sought out a reputable breeder, and eventually were
put in contact with a woman in south Florida that fit the bill, and that was
expecting a litter that would be ready to be placed in homes in or about our
preferred timeframe.
[NOTE: If we
had known then what we know now, we would have likely sought out a puppy that
we could rescue from a shelter. While there is no shame in buying a pet from a
proper breeder there are untold numbers of fine animals in dire need of a
loving home. Live and learn.]
The puppies
were born in January. Soon thereafter Leslie and Jason took a “hooky day” from
work and school to make the three hour drive south to see them. Jason fell in
love with the only male in the litter, and that one was designated as “his”.
There was at
least one other subsequent trip down south for a visit before the long
anticipated day when he could come to his new home. The house had been readied,
and Cutie, our veteran adopted stray housecat certainly had to
wonder what all of the fuss, excitement, and new stuff was about.
Now the pressure
to settle on a name for our new bundle of joy was ratcheted up. According to
all of our research, he would need to have consistency in what we called him in
order to learn everything we wanted to teach him, and while many suggestions
for his moniker had been bandied about over the last few weeks, none had felt
“just right”. Names of family members, sports heroes, traditional pet names,
characters from movies and books had all been proffered and had all been
summarily rejected.
Leslie,
Jason, and the pup made a stop at a convenience store on their way home from
the breeder’s. While Leslie ran inside to get drinks, Jason cuddled with his
new puppy and looked up at the sign over the entrance to the store.
“L’il Champ”
It seemed
right. And the fur ball’s floppy little ears perked up when Jason red it out
loud. Champ he would be!
Lights in
the driveway heralded the return of Leslie and Jason, and the arrival of the
plushest and cutest little white fur ball that you could imagine. With the
possible exception of Cutie, this little guy instantly had every member of the
household wrapped around his…paw.
Despite all
of my misgivings, trepidation, and (how could we forget?) logic, Champ soon
became an integral and indispensable member of the family. Jason was diligent
in his portion of his new best friend’s training, and the love between them was
apparent. And how could you not love this bundle of cuteness? I’m sure that
many friends of ours must have grown weary of how much we gushed over him at
every occasion to do so.
We were
worried about leaving him home alone at first, so when she could Leslie would
take him to her office with her and playing with him would be the reward for
the kids she treated for doing their work! Eventually her landlord opined that
Champ was no therapy dog and therefore not allowed to be in the building – what
did he know? He eventually assisted with therapy for many special needs
children over the years at a variety of venues!
True to what
we had read, Champ proved to be a very fast learner provided that we did our
part by being firm and consistent. Predictably (and naturally I assume),
Jason’s enthusiasm for being responsible for all of Champ’s needs eventually
flagged a bit. All of the assurances that had been made to me during the “winning
over” period that I would never have to take care of him (which I knew were
well meant but impossible) soon proved to ring hollow.
While it’s
not much fun to get up from what you’re doing (especially if you’re really busy
or being really lazy) to attend to a puppy’s needs, I found that I didn’t mind
doing this as much as I thought I would. In fact, I relished the opportunities
for my one-on-one time with him. I was not at the top of his “people pyramid”
but realized that I wanted to be within shouting distance of that spot.
Weeks turned
into months, and months into years. By now Champ had become seamlessly
integrated into the fabric of our family life. We had somehow managed to not
neglect him while attending to our busy schedules. We included him when we
could, found eager caretakers for him when we needed to, and learned that he
could manage remarkably well on his own on the occasions when we had to leave
him for a little longer than either of us would have liked. In short, he was a
great pet, and a wonderful addition to our household.
I have a
habit of saying something along the lines of “it’s the detours and things that
don’t go as planned that makes for interesting stories”. Our time with Champ
wasn’t without some of those.
In 2008, as
Champ lay on the sofa while Leslie was watching the opening ceremonies to the
Olympics, she noticed that he was breathing with what appeared to be some
difficulty and drooling prodigiously. A
trip to the emergency veterinarian clinic didn’t yield many answers, but did
confirm that he was in some trouble.
Eventually,
after a few days and consultation with some local experts we learned that he
suffered from a congenital condition that was not too uncommon in some smaller
breeds, but was basically unprecedented in labs. He was missing most of the
veins/arteries that feed his liver (only had one that was functioning) and as a
result not only had that organ atrophied to one third of its intended size, but
left him with a great deal of bile and toxic blood in his system that would
normally be processed out.
The vet
thought there was a chance that it could be corrected through surgery, but
there were no guarantees. And it would be costly. You can’t put a price on the
love you get from your fur babies, but I will admit that the estimated price
tag for this experimental procedure made me gulp – hard! We had been making an
effort to be more fiscally responsible and to shrink the pile of consumer debt
we had allowed to accrue, and this would set us back, big time.
I laid there
on the floor with our ill puppy, crying with sadness and the unfairness of it
all. While I knew that it would be hard to justify the outlay to give him a
chance (there’s that damned logic again) I also knew in my heart that he was no
longer a hypothetical pet, he was Champ, a full fledged member of our family,
and at only three years and change old, not to do anything and everything possible
for him was out of the question. We made the appointment to take him to the
surgical center on the following Monday.
The greatest
gains come after fighting through adversity. The day before Champ’s scheduled
surgery Tropical Storm Fay decided to pay us a visit. We loaded him into the
car in a torrential downpour. There was very little traffic about and a number
of traffic signals were also taking the day off as we made our way to the
animal hospital. We breathed a sigh of relief upon discovering that not only
were they open, but they had power. The thought of him undergoing this tenuous
procedure during this severe weather, with all of its attendant contingencies
did leave me a bit unsettled, but we didn’t have much choice at that point. It
was an eerie ride home without him.
The fact
that we were stuck inside on a miserable day only compounded the anxiety we had
while we awaited word from the vet. Eventually we got the call saying that he
had survived the surgery (which was not a given), and that we could come and
see him the next day, although they would need to keep him there for a few days
to ensure that he was properly monitored and had access to any acute care that
he might need.
The ferocity
of his wagging tail belied the passive look on Champ’s drugged face as we got
to visit with him on the floor of one of the hospital’s treatment rooms. He had
a large swath of fur shaved off, and a long line of stitches on his underbelly.
The procedure had gone as well as could be expected, but only time would tell
if the underlying problem had been corrected to the extent that he would lead a
normal life.
We were
happy to be able to pick him up and bring him home with us a few days later.
The precautions he had to abide by while his wounds healed were going to be
tough for a dog (and family!) as active as ours. Day by long day passed, and
his energy level and demeanor improved. Soon the biggest problem was that he
didn’t feel badly enough to warrant, in his mind at least, the restrictions
placed upon his activities. Eventually he got a clean bill of health, and was
back to being his old self.
Most, if not
all dog owners believe that theirs are special. We are certainly no exception.
Many times over we feel that his behavior vindicated our choice when deciding
what breed of dog to welcome in to our family.
We followed
the advice in one of the training manuals we had read up on to have him meet
100 different people during our first 100 days with him, and it paid off as he
was never mean towards or violent with strangers. That said, his bark sounded
fierce to discourage those that didn’t know him from prowling when we weren’t
around.
Once his
potty training was ingrained we marveled at how long he could and would “hold
it”. Accidents in the house were very rare, and only happened when
circumstances dictated him being left inside much longer than we had
anticipated, and even then he acted as though he’d let us down, when in fact we
felt bad at the thought of the poor boy trying to hang on until someone got
home.
At one time
Champ flirted with being a 100 pound dog. Despite his size he was unfailingly a
gentle giant. On the few occasions we would take him to a local dog park, he
would roll over on his back at the first approach by even the smallest dog in
the park. Leslie was walking him on our street one time past a neighbor’s house
where there were baby ducks in their front yard pond. We assumed that centuries
of breeding as a retriever may have predisposed him to want to chase them or
bring them to us. On the contrary as they curiously approached him he rolled
over and let them sit on his belly!
When Champ
would chase a ball or toy into a tight space, or enter a room where there was not
enough space to turn around without bumping into something he would walk very
slowly and carefully backwards until he was free and clear to turn.
He would
bark every time a doorbell rang on television, but not always if our doorbell
actually rang.
He would get
quite excited and jump up and down when we stood, swayed, and sang “We Are The
Boys” at the end of the 3rd quarter when we’d watch Gator football
games on TV. Even in his later years this would often see him being more active
than usual.
Champ loved
to swim and the muddy pond in our back yard routinely tested his willpower. He
didn’t like the bath that always followed those forays into the pond, and given
his size, coat, and disdain for baths, it wasn’t always convenient to let him
go for a quick swim.
His favorite
all time activity was chasing a thrown stick. If Jason, Shane, or myself threw
it we had to chase him to try and get it back. He figured out pretty quickly
that Leslie wasn’t as eager to chase him around as we were, so he would bring
the stick back to her so that she could throw it for him again.
Champ had
run of the house. We were “those people”. None of the furniture was off limits
to him. When he was little Leslie couldn’t bear to leave him on the floor while
we slept, and thought it was cute to have him in our bed at night, so when he
was huge, he was less cute, but still in our bed at night!
As he got a
little older Champ began suffering from seizures. They may have been a
consequence of his earlier medical issues, but he was prescribed medication to
control them and that became a part of his everyday life. He would still have
an episode from time to time, but they were normally mild and didn’t last too
long.
There were
changes in store for him. When he was six years old Jason left for college.
While there was never any doubt about the love between them, an active teenage
boy doesn’t dote over his dog the way a twelve year old does over his new
puppy, so that wasn’t a devastating blow to Champ, and their reunions when
Jason came home for a visit were always joyous ones.
The seismic
shift came a little later. Leslie moved to St. John. At first she came home
every few weeks, but then the visits got fewer and further between. And little
by little, things around the house were going away. It was trickle at first, then at the end there were
all kinds of new people coming over and leaving with some of our stuff.
Of course he
had no way of knowing, but Champ was on his way to becoming an island dog.
Leslie’s move was just the precursor for pulling up the family’s long standing
roots in Melbourne and establishing a household in the Virgin Islands!
In late
October of 2013 Leslie returned to the only home Champ had ever known and a
couple of days later they, along with Shane, embarked upon a two airplane ride
(Champ’s first) where I met them outside of luggage claim (judging by the
greetings he was getting from people leaving Champ must have been a rock star
on the flight) and put him in the car to catch the barge to St. John and
eventually end his long travel day.
We often
wondered that if Champ could talk, what he would have to say about the move. On
the one hand, he was leaving behind the only home he had ever known. He had a
large, flat, and grassy yard, a pond to swim in, and neighbors that knew and
loved him. He had apparent truces with all of the other animals in the area,
including ducks, squirrels, and rabbits who seemed to ignore his presence once
they knew that he was not a threat.
He moved to
a place with no carpet on the floor, where he had to walk up and down steps to
go to the bathroom, where there was no air conditioning. He got attacked by a
couple of dogs the first week in his new home (fortunately he wasn’t badly
hurt) and there were strange new animals such as chickens and iguana
everywhere!
We knew in
our hearts that given the choice to stay behind without us, or to move to this
new and strange place with us that he would choose the latter – at least that’s
our story and we’re sticking with it. But we certainly knew that we’d never
willingly leave him behind!
Soon Champ
had adjusted to his new life. There were new and interesting roads to check out
on his walks, and even new places to swim. Several times we would get in the
car and drive to the ACC where another dog, Patches would join us for a walk.
Then she
started coming over for sleepovers. And then one time she came over and never
went back to the ACC. Champ was a big brother. It’s hard to say if he relished
his new role or not, but at the very least he tolerated and adjusted to it.
Being a shelter dog, Patches was very demanding of attention. Attention that
Champ wasn’t used to sharing. But he seemed to understand, and as long as he
wasn’t totally ignored (no chance!) he could live with the new arrangement.
And then it
was time to move again. It was only across the island this time, so no planes
were involved and there wasn’t as much stuff to deal with as there had been the
last time. At the new place there was a lot more space, less traffic, no
crowing roosters 24/7, and better breezes. There were still steps to go up and
down outside the house and, for the first time, stairs inside as well. Those
narrow winding stairs leading up to the bedrooms were just too tough for an
ageing dog to negotiate, so Champ became a downstairs dog.
Champ was
our alarm clock. For years he had been on a schedule where he would eat at
5:00AM and again at 5:00PM. As it neared either of those times he would get
excited and let everyone know it. Leslie would usually get up and feed the
dogs, then stay downstairs and either watch TV, fall back to sleep, or both. As
soon as I started to make my way down the stairs the first thing I would hear,
unfailingly, would be the thump of Champ’s wagging tail hitting the floor as he
lay on his side at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me to come down and
greet him.
Our boy was
beginning to show his age. He had lost a good deal of weight, which given labs’
predisposition towards hip problems and the stairs he had to negotiate, was
probably not entirely a bad thing. His hair had thinned and he didn’t display
the energy level that he used to. We believe that the medical issues and
surgeries he had when he was young likely had aged him a bit prematurely, and
at 11 plus years old, he was no youngster by any measure.
He still had
the same bright eyes, the same eagerness to greet and be greeted, and on
occasion showed flashes of his youth. He still loved to swim when he was
afforded the privilege, and when we took them for walks along the Leinster Bay
trail he would often pull whomever held his leash toward the water as if to ask
if he could go in for a dip.
I’ve heard
it said that animals have a sense of a lot of things that surpass those of humans.
Looking back, it seems that Champ may have known before any of us that his time
was drawing near. While it was not uncommon for him to occasionally “butt in”
when Patches was getting attention as if to say “how about me?, I noticed that
Champ had recently sought me out to have his head scratched, belly rubbed, or
to lick my face than he had in a long time.
We had
openly wondered about his quality of life. He was more and more often having
trouble getting up and down the stairs, and spent more time than usual
sleeping. More than ever I found myself wishing that he could tell me what was
going on, how he was feeling…
Leslie and I
went off island for a few days and Jason agreed to come stay at our house and
watch Champ. I’m sure that they both enjoyed spending more time together than
they had been able to do for quite some time. The report when we got back was
good but he did mention that Champ had a seizure that, by description, was longer
lasting and more intense than any we had seen in a while.
A few days
later I went to watch a friend of ours sing at a local hangout while Leslie
stayed at home getting ready to go to work. She sent me a text to let me know
that Champ had had another bad seizure. Shortly after I got home he had another
one, and then another. These were scary. He lost all bladder control during
them, and even when they had subsided his back legs would not work well enough
so that he could stand, and he appeared to have lost his sight as well. I let
Jason know what was going on and he drove across the island so that he could
see him…just in case.
Champ was
excited to see Jason but still couldn’t quite stand up, so we just laid there
in the floor with him. By the time Leslie got home he was better, and was able
to get up and walk around, although a little unsteadily. He seemed to be a
different dog than the one that lay helpless on the floor just a couple of
hours earlier. Was this an episode that he had just weathered? Leslie opted to
stay downstairs with him overnight.
Early in the
morning I was awoken by the sound of Champ yelping – a kind of cry that I don’t
recall hearing from him ever before. I think he was trying desperately to get
up but couldn’t. Leslie said that he had suffered several seizures during the
night – of the severe variety. Champ was miserable – dehydrated, disoriented,
and unable to perform the simplest of his everyday functions.
We knew what
we had to do. We got him into the back of the car and drove him to the local
animal clinic. The on duty veterinarian dutifully asked us if there were any
measures that we wanted to try to see if we could moderate his symptoms, but I
think she knew as well as we did that it was time to ease his pain for good.
Champ went
out with the dignity that one would expect from a dog that had lived his life
the way that he did. He lay quietly on the treatment room floor, even before
the first sedative was administered. He couldn’t stand, but he wagged his tail
and gave us farewell kisses. We both laid there with him, hugging him, stroking
him, and crying over him until he took his final breath.
It was a
fittingly overcast day and we spent most of it in mournful silence, punctuated by periods of sobbing. It was
going to be tough to imagine him not being there where we were used to seeing
him and it was still all sinking in.
Every day
the pain of letting Champ go gets a little easier to bear. We’re convinced that
we absolutely made the best decision for him, and as much as I miss that
thumping tail and those face licks, I’m happy that I won’t have to watch him
enduring any pain needlessly.
We have
great memories of his time with us, and evidence aplenty that he led a
fantastic life. It would be hard to imagine a more gentle, loving, and loyal
canine companion than Champ was to all of us.
Like I said,
I never wanted to get a dog. Shows what I know.
