Lottie was hit by a car. We cried. Ben was shot by a hunter (who supposedly mistook him for a bear). We bawled. Gus died of complications from diabetes. I was absolutely devastated. Holly passed on from old age. We mourned. I STILL cry when I think of Gus. All of these dogs deserve to have their stories told, but for now I'm going to focus on Gus.
We had Gus for about nine years. He was a pointer mix of some kind. He looked like result of a Dalmatian meeting a Rottweiler, with some kind of hunting dog thrown in the mix...a real Heinz 57. One of the greatest things about him was that he didn't bark. The night my dad brought him home, I don't think my mom had any idea what was coming. You see, she was asleep, napping so that she could prepare for an 11-7 shift at Worcester City Hospital. All of the commotion downstairs woke her up. When she came down to see just what in the world was gong on, Gus yipped at her. She took one look at him, caught one whiff of him, and promptly deposited him in the bathtub. Gus never barked at her, or pretty much anything ever again...and he cowered whenever he saw that bathrobe.
Gus was one of the most fun dogs we had. He would go anywhere, and do anything. He loved to go for walks in the woods, he loved to chase flashlight beams, he loved to go canoeing of all things. The only thing he DIDN'T love was riding in the car. He was also the only dog that I have ever met that got drunk on purpose.
Gus used to love to steal beer can's off the back porch during the winter. My dad would leave beer outside when my parents hosted parties so it would chill. Gus used to steal the bear, poke holes in the cans with his teeth, watch them spin around while releiving the pressure inside...and then drink the beer. Needless to say, after Gus drank an entire six-pack one night, my dad stopped putting beer outside. The dog was hammered.
One afternoon, when I was about 14, I couldn't find my dog (I had come to think of him as mine by then). I could hear him yelping and howling, sounding scared and confused, which was bizarre because it was a beautiful spring day. When I found him in the woods out of sight of the house, there was nothing outwardly wrong with him...but I didn't know what to do. He couldn't walk, so I picked him up (all 60 pounds of him), and carried him into the backyard. He drank water like he hadn't had any in days. He had been doing that a lot at that time. My mom, acting on a hunch and drawing from her nursing experience, gave him corn syrup, and he calmed down immediately. Gus had been hypoglycemic.
So, after another trip to the vet, Mom's hypothesis was confirmed. We had a choice. We could euthanize him, or we could support his diabetes. I thank God we went with the second option. That meant insulin shots twice a day, as well as special diets...just how you would treat a human being. Within a couple of weeks, my mom taught me how to perform the tests to check his blood sugar, how to determine the amount of insulin he would need, and how to give him the shots that he required. For two years, every morning and every evening, I took care of that dog better than I have ever taken care of anything or anyone. It got a point that he would not allow anyone but me to give him his shots. My mom is a phlebotimist, a good one at that, and he would even allow HER to do it. When he wasn't feeling well, Gus would find me, and I would take care of him.
For two years, we went on this way. He was my dog that point. He still loved everyone else, but he was MINE. Slowly though, things started to deteriorate. He got cataracts, started needing more insulin, and other symptoms started to come back. He would get disoriented, and scared, and he was just getting old.
When it came time to make THE decision, it was only mine to make. I did what was best for my best friend. The night before, Gus and I sat down and we shared a steak...not just any stake but a sirloin. That night he slept with me, in my bed, something that was never allowed in the Bergman household.
The next morning I carried him to the truck, and then helped him into the vet's office. Dr. Seremith cried. The vet techs all cried. When the time came, Dr. Seremith asked me to assist, not one of the techs. I stayed, and Gus thumped his tail as he faded away. I like to think he was telling me that it was okay.
Why am I writing about this? That was 11 years and two dogs ago after all.
Today I sat in a sunny spot in the dining room with Coda, clipping his nails. This is something that I never thought I would EVER do for a dog. A couple of times I cut his nails too short, and he bled a little bit. We've all done that to ourselves a time or two haven't we? You would have thought I cut off his whole paw the way he looked at me...not just the tip of his nail.
I got to thinking about it, the things that I do for him that I NEVER imagined I would do for an animal. I never thought I would give a dog multi-vitamins, brush one's teeth (Ben bought him an electric toothbrush...yes his breath can be that bad), make one wear a seat belt on long drives (you laugh, Coda really has one), or run around with a plastic bag after him.
I never thought I would spend thousands of dollars on stitches, medications, orthopedic specialists, and just vaccinations. I sure as hell never thought I would ever drag a forty pound bag of dog food across the driveway, worrying that it wouldn't be enough to last the month.
But, this all got me thinking. Is it worth it, all of the money, the frustration, the aggravation, and the inevitable sadness that comes with having a pet?
When I walk in the door, and Coda can't seem to keep his feet underneath him because he is so excited to see me, or he looks up at me with bright shining eyes, or he falls asleep sitting on top of me (he thinks he's a lap dog) with a big puppy smile on his face, I can only come to one conclusion.
You're damned right it is.
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