I apologize to my readers (if I still have any) for the long delay between posts. I've been meaning to write this week, I just didn't think I'd be composing a eulogy...
I received some difficult news this week; my dog, Kohle, died.
From chats with my family, I knew that Kohle's allergies had flared up, causing some rashes on his skin; still, this had happened in the past, and he always fully recovered. This time was different.
The vet said that Kohle's autoimmune system was shutting down and that the only way to save him would have been chemotherapy, which has a very low chance of success. With Kohle already in terrible pain, and with things only getting worse, the only humane thing to do was have him put-down.
For those I live with, I want to apologize if I seemed a little out-of-it or distracted during our Halloween festivities. So often, society calls for men to bury their emotions deep inside; sometimes it's impossible to keep them from welling-up and rising to the surface. I suppose I was wearing a mask in more ways than one yesterday.
I loved that dog. I remember meeting him at the pound 10 years ago in December 2002. He was just a puppy at the time; so small that he actually slept in a DVD box. We adopted him while my Dad was on a business trip in Turino, Italy; he was a little Christmas surprise for when Dad got home!
It's a wonderful thing being responsible for another life, teaching, feeding, and raising a pet. He was such a goofy, lovable dog. All he ever needed in life was food, bedding, and a family to love him. In return, he gave us a wonderful 10 years of unconditional loyalty, friendship, and love. I remember, when we first brought him home, Kohle was afraid to go outside for a walk; it seems he thought that we were going to take him away and not bring him back home. That's how quickly he became attached to our family and home. I actually had to carry him in my arms to the top of the street, so that we could walk back home! Eventually, he learned that we would always return home.
Like any dog, Kohle had a ton of lovable quirks that made him such a wonderful companion. Every Christmas, after we opened our gifts, Kohle would attack the wrapping paper that was left on the floor. It always made for a good laugh; by the end, the paper had been turned into confetti! One of the things I loved most about Kohle was his reactions to ambulance sirens. Whenever an ambulance went down the street, Kohle would lift his head in the air, ears perked, and start howling with the siren! Sometimes, he'd go on for
several minutes, long after the sirens faded away; it must have been that wolf-instinct in him. He was unfailingly brave, unless he came across a garbage bag on the curb! To the very end, garbage bags always freaked him out.
From the beginning, Kohle was our little, lovable accident. He wasn't even supposed to be a "he." We thought we were getting a female dog when we went to the pound; but, when we brought him home and he rolled over...surprise! It's a boy!
I still remember giving him one, last, big hug before I left to England. He answered as usual, with a big, wet, slobbery, lick of my face! Kohle was always happy to see one of us walk in through the front door. I was really looking forward to seeing him when I return home for Christmas. He would have welcomed me back in the usual Kohle fashion, an awkward romp across the living room floor with a smile on his face, and then he'd bark and get so excited that he'd pee all over the floor! It's going to be difficult returning to a house without him. His passing will leave a great, big, labrador sized hole in our home; and things will feel empty without him.
I taught Kohle a lot of things over the years, how to walk, shake hands, and even to sit patiently while I poured his food. But, that old dog had some new tricks to teach me. Kohle taught me to enjoy the simple joys in life, a long walk on a warm sunny day, the pleasure of sitting (rolling in his case) on a green, freshly-cut lawn, the comfort of curling-up in front of a warm fireplace. That dog taught me an awful, awful, lot. And, no matter how bad of a day I had, I could always count on him being at the front door, head cocked to the side, tail wagging, and panting happily, waiting to greet me.
Besides his allergies, Kohle was a supremely healthy dog. We never fed him table-scraps, and he usually got a 2-mile walk everyday. I thought he'd live for a century...in doggie-years anyway! That's why hearing that he was put-to-sleep hit me so hard. I know though that it would have been selfish to ask Kohle to continue to live in pain, to prolong and worsen his suffering just to enjoy his company a little longer. I would rather suffer the feeling of his loss than to have seen him continue to suffer silently and deteriorate. I've seen how hard chemo drugs affect humans, I can barely imagine what it would do to a smaller animal like a dog. I know Dad made the decsion quickly, but he also made the right one. I would have done the exact same thing. I only wish I was there to say goodbye; I think it would've been important to be there. For those who've seen it, I cannot think of a sadder, or more profound line about a man and his dog than in "Old Yeller" when the boy says,
"He was my dog. I'll do it."
It's the saddest movie scene I can think of, and after hearing about Kohle and thinking about "Old Yeller"...I can't remember the last time I cried so hard or so long. Like Old Yeller, Kohle was the best doggone dog in the West.
Dad was the right one to make the choice. That dog loved him, and he loved that dog. We probably walked Kohle over a 1000 miles together, just going around the block every night. In return for food, water, and the occasional belly rub, that dog looked up to Dad like a god. I know that making the decision to put Kohle down was tough for Dad too. But, in the end, that wonderful and affection, Kohle looked up to Dad like a god. But, in passing, that wonderful, lovable mutt had one final lesson to teach: sometimes being a man, and making the right choice, means doing things that hurt.
