Tag Archives: Dogs

Mar 15

My beloved Jojo

Jojo leaping through the snow at our house in Illinois. This is one of my favorite photos of her.

We said goodbye to my best friend last week—not unexpected since she’d been dealing with kidney disease for a few years, and yet still shocking and unexpected. Particularly since the symptoms that led to her ending seemed more related to issues of back and neck pain that wouldn’t resolve. Granted, kidney failure affects the body in a variety of ways, so perhaps the pain was all related. But her discomfort was clear—panting, pacing, whimpering in pain when she sat the wrong way, not wanting to leave her dog bed. She had been on meloxidyl, gabapentin, a muscle relaxer, and a steroid with only minimal changes in her demeanor. Eventually it became clear that we were approaching the end of her life, and I made arrangements for a vet to come to the house to help her transition.

I took this picture the day before Jojo’s health started going downhill. She loved exposing her belly to the world.

Spence and I rarely left her side in the days leading up to her last. We sat in silence, petting her, reminiscing, crying, laughing. The night before, I slept on the floor with her for part of the night. She never left my side when I needed her over the past 12 years, and I was going to do the same for her.  When I was so ill with Covid, she was my nursemaid throughout, leaving only to eat and use the bathroom. Spence took one of my favorite pictures during this time (though I didn’t know it because I was sound asleep): I’m in bed, looking like a corpse because I’m so pale, and Jojo is sitting next to me, looking expectantly over her shoulder at Spence’s camera. 

Saying goodbye

In her last moments, Spence fed her her favorite treats and she gobbled them down before falling asleep under the anesthesia and snoring just like she would when she fell asleep on the couch. We snuggled her and patted her and thanked her for being our friend as she drifted away from us.

Lucy and Jojo early in their relationship in 2015.

Lucy and Jojo in December 2024.

The grief that followed has been all encompassing. She was the bright ball of joy and energy in our lives for 12 years and now she’s gone. I’ve been surprised at how angry I feel. Having the ability to release her the way we did was the best possible scenario for her situation and we knew saying goodbye to her was inevitable, yet I am so angry and tender and hurt, and I feel snappish and mean. I feel angry that we lose everyone in this life. That life is beautiful and we lose everything. In Buddhism, we try to face this head on by sitting in silence and meditating. And I’m able to be mindful from day to day that these people and critters around me won’t be here forever. But when the time comes to say goodbye, to live through the reality of these lines from the Five Remembrances: All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature of change; there is no way to escape being separated from them…well, it is difficult and painful and shattering and makes me angry.

Me and Jojo in Maine, summer 2024. I thought it might be our last time together in Maine so I wanted to get a good photo of us together. Jojo went from being abandoned in a cornfield in Illinois to summering on the Maine coast.

And now the house feels quieter and I feel lonelier. We still have Lucy Magoosey, but it’s weird to have her without Jojo because it’s always been the two of them. And we have George the cat. But it will take adjusting. And eventually the memories will bring more smiles than tears.  And there are so, so many good memories. 

Jul 31

Memories

PepinReposesmallCleaning off some stickie notes from my desktop, some of which are quite old, and came across this remembrance. I was trying to write posts about life that were 150 words or less:

The gentle harp alarm emanating from my iPod annoys me at 6:30 a.m. & I clumsily reach out to turn it off. Even that mellow sound is inadequate against my late-to-bed-early-to-rise snappishness. When I crack open my eyes, I see Sgt. Pepper standing next to the bed, staring at my face. Her eyes big and moist, her tail a furious blur of wags. She exudes excitement—the sun has risen and it’s time for breakfast! My crankiness dissolves; I can’t help but smile.  A highlight of my day before I’ve left bed.

I miss that damn dog.

Mar 22

For Love of the Dog

I always start my morning by reading email, visiting the Daily  Beast (via links they email me), and then swinging over to the New York Times to check out the headlines. This morning I scrolled through a fun slideshow called “Readers’ Photos: A Family’s Best Friend?” Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for this kind of thing, and I was impressed by the quality of the pictures! Some were really outstanding. It was fun to read the little stories that accompanied the pictures and how the animals had changed their owners’ lives. But then one submission really put a damper on my day. It was next to an unusual looking dog, very striking, and the story next to the picture said this:

I am not a dog person. But with three boys and a country house, I deemed it important that my children experience a deep connection with a being who wasn’t human. So, we ordered our hypoallergenic Spanish water dog, Muki, last spring and guess what, she is a “Velcro” dog, desperate for my attention and jealous of my husband. It’s stressful having a dog I don’t want alienate my husband and only slightly tolerate the boys. I sometimes feel the urge to let the coyotes lurking in our backyard lure her away, but I know I have created this new dynamic and must deal with it rationally. She is getting better, but we wish she were more lablike in her behavior. What to do?
— Aspen Real Life, Snowmass, Colo.

WTF? I almost feel like this is some sort of joke, some tool taking on the tone of a snobby Aspenite who can’t stand her new hypoallergenic Spanish water dog (a breed many of us were probably unaware of). First of all, I’m sure she paid top-dollar for this dog from some breeder without doing any research on what this breed was like—she probably put emphasis on hypoallergenic, without thinking about personality. Second, to say she occasionally feels the urge to let the coyotes have their way with this dog is particularly disgusting. I’m not saying she can’t express regret over purchasing the dog and it not working out for her family, but that’s not quite the same as saying she wished the dog would be brutally mauled and killed while the owner’s back is turned. I find that pretty gross, and it makes me feel sorry for the poor dog because it’s stuck in a household with this flake. I mean, it’s not rocket science to find a new home for the dog—there are rescues and humane societies that could help. I just hope her written words are more severe than her actions, and that she secretly adores the dog (though I’m not holding my breath).

Jan 19

For Love of the Dog (Project 52, Week 4)

I didn’t think I’d become one of those types of people.  The kind that dress their dogs in shoes and jackets, carry them in handbags, and speak to them in baby talk. The kind who disregard people on behalf of their dog (once, my colleague at the vet clinic was working on some paperwork at the front desk while some clients milled around in the lobby. One client came toward the desk and asked “How are you today?” My colleague replied along the lines of, “I’m good, thanks.” The client looked at her and said, “I wasn’t talking to you; I was talking to the dog.” Nice.)

Well, I’m not really one of those people. Sgt. Pepper is too big for handbags. And while she’s willing to wear clothes, she’s so skinny that most stuff doesn’t fit her well, and slides from side to side. Clothing also blocks access to her harness; the most pragmatic item of clothing she has is a pink raincoat, but it’s a hassle to deal with when I need clip a leash to her harness. (The raincoat came from her foster mom; I remember when she gave it to me I asked her if Pepper would wear it. “She loves it!” foster mom said).

So, I’m not quite one of those people. What I am, however, is a person who is thrilled when Pepper meets me at the door when I get home from work. I typically greet her first, though I try not to linger over her too long for fear my husband will notice that she is usurping his greeting. I’m a person who waves to my dog from the car when I see her through the front window, standing on the back of the love seat, poking her head through blinds, watching me leave the house. On one occasion, when I was leaving to drive to Ohio, I backed out of my driveway and saw Pep watching me from the window.  After several minutes of watching her peer out the window at my car, I decided I couldn’t leave her behind and pulled back into the driveway to pack her travel bag and take her along. She was thrilled; I could tell by the wag in her tail. I’m a person who flops on a chair and encourages Pep to join me, and then I rub her belly, and massage her ears, and hold her face in my hands and talk to her in baby talk, and shower her with more attention than is probably necessary (it’s all quite ridiculous, I assure you).

I’m a person who is unnecessarily forlorn at the prospect of leaving Pep behind when my husband and I take a trip later this year. Pep is 7-years-old and hasn’t had the easiest life. She was found as a stray by animal control, and then was taken in by the Animal Protective League. When she was at her foster mom’s, she escaped from the backyard and was gone for 10 days. They found her 5-10 miles away from where she started. She’s very shy around new people and if you move toward her too quickly, she’ll squeal in anticipation of you kicking her. My step-dad is convinced she was abused; I think she was probably shoved or kicked out of the way a lot by her previous owner. It’s the only explanation I can think of for why she’s so skittish and fearful around people’s feet (she comes up to about the middle of my shin, so she’s not a very big dog). She’s very affectionate though, and loves to cuddle, so I don’t know that she was abused.

She hates being kenneled, and barks incessantly when she finds herself in one. I hate the prospect of leaving her at a kennel–she’s not a fan of other dogs, and I hate to think that she’ll think she’s been abandoned again. (Yes, I know she doesn’t have the capacity to think in such terms, but I know she’d be scared. That much I know.) I’m becoming the type of person who considers rearranging all of her plans in order to accommodate her dog. I adore traveling more than almost anything, but a couple of times I thought perhaps it would be best if I stayed behind with Pep. However, I haven’t gone out of my head quite that much, and am most definitely going on this trip. (All of the other trips I have planned for this year are with friends or family members, so I don’t have to worry about Pep’s accommodations–my husband will be home). For now I’ve made tentative arrangements with a friend who has said she will come and take care of Pep at the house.

But for all the traveling complications created by Sgt. Pepper’s presence in our household, not to mention the reconfiguring of my lunch schedule around Pepper’s need for bathroom breaks, I cannot describe the unadulterated delight she has brought us.