Saturday, August 30, 2008

Winston, I still miss you

I’ll always remember Winston like this

I couldn’t help thinking of my dear departed Great Dane mix Winston last week when I was lying next to my new Dane puppy in the hallway. Winston used to lie in that same spot. I really missed my old Winston. I wished I had spent more time just lying next to him and snuggling after he became paralyzed and incontinent, instead of wasting precious time and money on a fruitless search for a cure. I know so many things now that I didn’t know before my dog died.

These are things that I learned because Winston died: That every breath is precious. That for me, having a dog makes life worth living. That taking care of Winston in his last weeks was not preventing me from living my life -- it WAS my life, and after my dog was gone, there was nothing else that I wanted to do except get another dog. That there are support groups online and at the Humane Society to provide emotional support for people whose dogs are dying. That I am stronger than I knew.

I learned these things because my dog Winston died. I would have handled it differently if I knew then what I know now, but his death was the only way I could have learned these hard truths. They are Winston’s gift to me, and I believe that teaching me these truths was part of his life purpose.

I’ve also learned that his death would have been just as hard even if I had handled it differently. Everyone at the pet loss support group wishes they had made different choices, but those who did choose differently have just as many regrets. I know that Winston was ready to go, and that his spirit rejoiced when it was set free to soar to the stars.

As I was thinking all this, the wind blew through the trees -- a sound that used to terrify Winston until the day before he died, when he listened to the wind without fear for the first time. He seemed to sense that he could become the wind. Some music started playing from next door, and the lyrics seemed to echo from Winston to me, and back again. “I miss you, I love you…”

That day my new puppy and I bonded. After 2 months of seemingly endless bite-fights, we could finally lie down on the floor together and rest. I love my new puppy, and the personality differences between him and Winston help me appreciate Winston in new ways, too.

The new pup is a purebred who was raised like royalty. He had never set foot outside until he joined our family at 8 weeks old. He is comfortable in crates and on leashes. He retreats to another room to sleep when he is tired. He likes dogs better than most people, and assumes that humans will love him. He has never known want or neglect. He takes everything for granted -- sometimes to the point of seeming like a spoiled brat -- but on the other hand, he has no insecurities about his future. Of course, he is still a puppy, so he will grow in wisdom.

In contrast, Winston came to us as a one-year-old street dog who had been abandoned by previous owners. He loved people and tried to win over every person he met, almost always with great success. He always showed gratitude for his life with us. The flip side was that he never trusted completely that this was his forever home. He couldn’t bear to be alone, even if we were just in another room. He had phobias, including major fear of confinement. I still have emotional scars from seeing the terror and misery and sense of betrayal on his face the first time we put him in a kennel. His fears eased during his years with us, but his gratitude and eagerness to please remained.

There’s been an almost complete turnover in the dog population of our neighborhood. Almost all the dogs who filled Winston’s life with fun and adventure are dead and gone. Only three of his original buddies remain, and all of them are stiff, grouchy and grizzled with old age.

Winston’s best friend was a female Pit Bull who lived across the street. Now Winston and his Pit Bull buddy are both in Dog Heaven, but our new puppy just found a new dog friend living down the street -- a female Pit Bull, the same as Winston’s best friend. My spirits soared as I saw the two dogs chasing and wrestling each other, just like Winston used to do with his old best friend. I felt that their spirits rejoiced and raced with the two new friends, another Dane boy and Pit Bull girl. Life goes on.

Here is my letter to Winston today:

Winston, I will always love you. Thank you for coming into my life and teaching me so much. No other dog will ever be quite like you.

I wish you could meet our new puppy. I know that you would love him -- and teach him a few lessons in dog etiquette, too!

I will love other dogs in other ways, but no other dog can ever take your place in my heart. I will never forget the way you looked at me, grateful and eager to please -- until the very end.

A friend told me that dogs don’t live as long as humans because, if it were the other way around, dogs couldn’t bear the grief and loneliness. I know that in your case, that’s true. You and I are always together in spirit.

You have gone down a trail where I cannot yet follow, but someday our journey will come full circle. We are still connected, and our paths will cross again.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Thats a beautiful photo of Winston. You so right, with the decisions we make, you couldnt have done anything differently and all you did for him was with love. Im sure where her is your big guy knows this.

You post reminded me of life cycles. I look outside and there are no boys my sons age, no skateboards or cricket matches. That time has passed. Now its my daughter & new children, new names, new games yet there are moments I long for the old familiar

I think its good to look back, to reflect, to think 'Yes my life changed for knowing you and I learnt so much from you' perhaps Lynne that is the gift Winston left you with.

Beautiful post

Anonymous said...

Thank you for sharing Winston's story. I am going through something similar with my 14-year-old dog, Trevor. He's on gluco and Rimadyl, but he still has trouble getting up -- usually has to be helped up when he's on the tile. He's also taken to pooping inside the house, maybe because he has trouble crouching outside, plus maybe some incontinence because of perianal tumor. I don't know. My partner works from home so she's with him while I'm away at work. All of this is really taking a toll on her and we're considering putting him down. Only I don't feel ready. When I am there, I'm perfectly fine with helping him up and picking up his poop. I'm starting to feel resentment toward her, almost like she wants to put him down because she just doesn't want to do it anymore. I just don't know what to do. He still has so much life in his eyes. He loves to eat. He barks with my other dog. He makes his rounds in the yard (though much shorter now). I just don't know how I'll ever know when it's the right time. I guess none of us do. I have a feeling it's going to be the most difficult decision of my life.

Lynne said...

Thanks to both of you for your incredible comments. I’ve been reflecting a lot on what you wrote.

Meredith, my heart goes out to you and Trevor! Your timing could not have been more on target. I printed it out and read it at the Humane Society while I was waiting for a Pet Loss Support Group to begin. I’ve been going through my own fresh wave of grief over Winston’s death, which has prevented me from replying sooner.

I feel that the euthanasia decision was the most difficult decision of my life. It’s good that you recognize that.

It is hard figuring it out with a partner, although it also helps because you can support each other in your grief. Many people at the Pet Loss Support Group that I attend live alone except for the pet who died, and they feel terribly, terribly lonely with nobody around who begins to understand.

In my case, I’m the one who worked from home and my partner worked outside our home. Because I was with Winston all the time, I was the first to become aware of how much he was suffering. He put on a brave face during the shorter periods when my partner was around.

Your story of how Trevor still loves to eat and enjoys life tears at my heart. Winston was like that, too. Right before he died, the vet gave him some extra-yummy food and he gobbled it down with gusto. I’m glad that his “last meal” was delicious, but it still haunts me, making me wonder if he was really ready to go.

Well, the therapist who leads the Pet Loss Support Group always ends by saying, “Whatever you did, you did out of love.”

Anonymous said...

“Whatever you did, you did out of love.” Thank you for that. It brought me to tears, but it comforts me so much. Trevor is still holding on, and so are my partner and I. We've had a few tough talks and I feel we're both now on the same page when it comes to sticking this out for as long as Trevor seems to feel the same. That said, I know the day is near.