I woke up and found two panicky messages on my answer machine: A Great Dane mix needed a home!
The dog’s owner had gone into drug rehab and a friend was desperately trying to find someone to adopt the dog. My vet had referred them to me.
Dillon and I got sucked into this drama. Our longing for a Great Dane mix like Winston overcame all our misgivings -- even after the man on the phone described the dog as equal parts Pit Bull, Boxer and Great Dane. He also warned us that the dog had been abused. We drove over to meet the dog that afternoon. At least it wasn’t far.
When we got near the dog’s temporary home, we saw a sign marked “Winston Street” with an arrow pointing the other way. It proved to be an omen.
There was nothing wrong with the dog, except that he was nothing like what we expected or wanted. He looked like a regular Pit Bull and Boxer mix to me, without an ounce of Great Dane. He was much smaller than Winston. What really bothered me is that he wouldn’t look at people and paid no attention to us. After giving him a short ride in the car, we dropped him off with our best wishes that he find a good home -- with somebody else.
It wasn’t a waste of time because it helped us figure out more about the process of getting a dog and the clarity we need to have. But it made me realize how vulnerable I am to choosing the wrong dog because I want a dog back in my life so badly. I suppose this is how people end up dating the wrong person “on the rebound” after a split-up.
And I am haunted by the way that Pit Bull mix wouldn’t look at us. From the moment we met, Winston did everything in his power to read and charm human beings, all human beings. Maybe that trait is rarer than I thought.
The whole incident reminded me again of how special it was that Winston came out of nowhere and adopted us. He was a stray who found us, like an angel sent from heaven. I still miss him so much. It’s hard to let go of searching for a dog that looks like Winston, or that somehow IS Winston.
I’m trying to focus on attracting the right new dog to me. Not reacting or searching, but knowing what I want -- a very friendly, loving dog -- and finding it.
I think it will help to go to a rescue organization where the counselors can steer me toward appropriate dogs based on their knowledge of many dogs and discussion with me and Dillon.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Flowers for Winston
I got a lovely surprise today when I looked outside at the spot in our lawn where Winston used to lay down and rest before he died. Three flowers are blooming there!
After he died last month that special patch of grass turned brown from constant drip of his urinary incontinence.
Now the grass is green again, and it’s the one place where flowers are blooming. Three golden dandelions stand out again the lawn. I see it as a tribute to Winston.
I’ve written stories about Winston’s adventures ever since we first adopted him. I thought that “The Story of Winston” would end when he died. But I find that it goes on.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Harlequin Great Dane has his day in the sun
My Harlequin Great Dane mix Winston lay down in the sun on a happy day in late summer last year. I love remembering this happy day with my Big Boy.
Harlequin Great Dane in alligator pose
Sometimes our Harlequin Great Dane mix got into a position that we call “alligator pose.” He's flattened out like a gator.
I uploaded lots of Winston videos today. If you’d like to see them, click here to visit my YouTube video page.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Visiting the Pet Loss Support Group
Dillon and I went to a Pet Loss Support Group recently at our local humane society. We showed a calendar that I made with photos of Winston. The photos inspired the therapist leading the group to exclaim, “He’s your child!” I was surprised, but then again the photos did show all the love that we lavished on Winston, including taking him to see Santa Claus one Christmas. It hurt to think of my deceased dog as my child, but it did express the intensity of the loss.
Ten people were at the support group, all grieving their dead dogs and cats. Hearing their stories helped me and Dillon feel that we are not so alone, that others have experienced such loss. We all sat in a circle. Both Dillon and I sensed (or imagined) that each pet was sitting behind its owner in a larger outer circle.
For me it was especially useful to hear the other side of various issues. For example, some people kept torturing themselves by wondering they had resorted to euthanasia too soon, while others felt anguish because they had waited “too long” for euthanasia, making their pets suffer just because the owner wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It’s a no-win situation.
I also kept thinking that we could have eased our grief if we had adopted a second dog a few years ago. Then at least we would not be completely dog-less now, left alone without any canine companionship or protection. However, people with multiple dogs were still in tears, missing their particular dogs.
Some people pointed out that Dillon and I are lucky to have each other as we grieve. Most of those present were single or splitting up. It felt good to count my blessings, which are many. As they pointed out, we also still have our cat. Sapphire seems to be missing Winston, too.
Everyone had a different story as they told the circumstances of their pet’s death. It put an end to my thoughts that getting a dog without hip dysplasia might make the end easier. No matter what the cause of death, the dying process was hard. I actually found myself feeling fortunate over Winston’s relatively peaceful passing. One couple described how their dog was fatally injured in a gruesome dog mauling attack.
Toward the end, the therapist brought up getting another dog. Nobody was ready yet, and we heard stories about the difficulty bonding with a dog adopted too soon after a beloved dog died. However, Dillon and I do want to adopt another dog someday, and we were perhaps more ready than some.
The therapist concluded by reminding us that, no matter what, when all was said and done, we all loved our pets. It was the right thing to say.
Afterward many of us strolled through the kennels where dogs were available for adoption. Among them was Super Pup, the Beagle puppy that I had thought I wanted to adopt. I had gone crazy with desire for that pup a few days earlier when I found her on the Internet, but all it took was one glance to see that she was not the right dog for us.
“She’s so SMALL,” Dillon exclaimed in horror, as if smallness was a terrible deformity.
Yes, we do like big boys. We’re trying to keep open minds and open hearts about what kind of dog to adopt next. When we are ready, I trust that the right one will join our pack.
Ten people were at the support group, all grieving their dead dogs and cats. Hearing their stories helped me and Dillon feel that we are not so alone, that others have experienced such loss. We all sat in a circle. Both Dillon and I sensed (or imagined) that each pet was sitting behind its owner in a larger outer circle.
For me it was especially useful to hear the other side of various issues. For example, some people kept torturing themselves by wondering they had resorted to euthanasia too soon, while others felt anguish because they had waited “too long” for euthanasia, making their pets suffer just because the owner wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It’s a no-win situation.
I also kept thinking that we could have eased our grief if we had adopted a second dog a few years ago. Then at least we would not be completely dog-less now, left alone without any canine companionship or protection. However, people with multiple dogs were still in tears, missing their particular dogs.
Some people pointed out that Dillon and I are lucky to have each other as we grieve. Most of those present were single or splitting up. It felt good to count my blessings, which are many. As they pointed out, we also still have our cat. Sapphire seems to be missing Winston, too.
Everyone had a different story as they told the circumstances of their pet’s death. It put an end to my thoughts that getting a dog without hip dysplasia might make the end easier. No matter what the cause of death, the dying process was hard. I actually found myself feeling fortunate over Winston’s relatively peaceful passing. One couple described how their dog was fatally injured in a gruesome dog mauling attack.
Toward the end, the therapist brought up getting another dog. Nobody was ready yet, and we heard stories about the difficulty bonding with a dog adopted too soon after a beloved dog died. However, Dillon and I do want to adopt another dog someday, and we were perhaps more ready than some.
The therapist concluded by reminding us that, no matter what, when all was said and done, we all loved our pets. It was the right thing to say.
Afterward many of us strolled through the kennels where dogs were available for adoption. Among them was Super Pup, the Beagle puppy that I had thought I wanted to adopt. I had gone crazy with desire for that pup a few days earlier when I found her on the Internet, but all it took was one glance to see that she was not the right dog for us.
“She’s so SMALL,” Dillon exclaimed in horror, as if smallness was a terrible deformity.
Yes, we do like big boys. We’re trying to keep open minds and open hearts about what kind of dog to adopt next. When we are ready, I trust that the right one will join our pack.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Dog Heaven
Dillon and I picked up Winston’s ashes last week. It was a sad occasion, but not without its bright spots.
A dog was in the vet's waiting room at the desk where we got the ashes: a Dalmatian puppy, a spotted dog like Winston.
One of the receptionists handed me the box of ashes. It looked an awful lot like a plain ordinary cardboard box. It just didn’t seem like my Winston at all. “Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.
She assured me that it was and pointed out a small label with his name -- and mine.
When we got home, Dillon carried the box in the door. “Winston’s back home,” she announced with a touch of happiness.
Surprisingly, it DID feel a bit like Winston was back. We opened the box and were amazed to find a beautiful brown suede box, wonderfully loved to the touch. The material looked and felt just like my late father’s favorite brown suede jacket. Inside the suede box was a canister with a label: “In loving memory: Winston.”
The box of ashes was 6 or 7 inches square and heavy, weighing four to five pounds. After we admired the box and reminisced for a while, Dillon got ready to leave. As she was going out the door, I noticed a box that arrived that day from Amazon. I thought it contained a laundry bag that I ordered, so I asked Dillon to open it before she left.
To our complete amazement, it was a book called Dog Heaven! This unexpected gift was sent by our vet, Dr. Beasley. Her note said, “In memory of Winston, a great dog whose life was filled with love.” The timing so perfect it could not have been humanly planned.
Dillon and I sat down immediately and read the book. It’s a children’s book with colorful illustrations for preschoolers, but it’s suitable for adults coping with the loss of a dog, too. We easily read it in one sitting. The text and illustrations by Cynthia Rylant describe how dogs in heaven enjoy running free, eating endless dog biscuits, sleeping on clouds and occasional return visits with angels. Sometimes we had to stop to weep.
I've been reading the book to myself at bedtime, when I tend to miss Winston a lot. It helps me fall asleep with sweet thoughts of my Winston in Dog Heaven.
A dog was in the vet's waiting room at the desk where we got the ashes: a Dalmatian puppy, a spotted dog like Winston.
One of the receptionists handed me the box of ashes. It looked an awful lot like a plain ordinary cardboard box. It just didn’t seem like my Winston at all. “Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.
She assured me that it was and pointed out a small label with his name -- and mine.
When we got home, Dillon carried the box in the door. “Winston’s back home,” she announced with a touch of happiness.
Surprisingly, it DID feel a bit like Winston was back. We opened the box and were amazed to find a beautiful brown suede box, wonderfully loved to the touch. The material looked and felt just like my late father’s favorite brown suede jacket. Inside the suede box was a canister with a label: “In loving memory: Winston.”
The box of ashes was 6 or 7 inches square and heavy, weighing four to five pounds. After we admired the box and reminisced for a while, Dillon got ready to leave. As she was going out the door, I noticed a box that arrived that day from Amazon. I thought it contained a laundry bag that I ordered, so I asked Dillon to open it before she left.
To our complete amazement, it was a book called Dog Heaven! This unexpected gift was sent by our vet, Dr. Beasley. Her note said, “In memory of Winston, a great dog whose life was filled with love.” The timing so perfect it could not have been humanly planned.
Dillon and I sat down immediately and read the book. It’s a children’s book with colorful illustrations for preschoolers, but it’s suitable for adults coping with the loss of a dog, too. We easily read it in one sitting. The text and illustrations by Cynthia Rylant describe how dogs in heaven enjoy running free, eating endless dog biscuits, sleeping on clouds and occasional return visits with angels. Sometimes we had to stop to weep.
I've been reading the book to myself at bedtime, when I tend to miss Winston a lot. It helps me fall asleep with sweet thoughts of my Winston in Dog Heaven.
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