Eulogy For A Pal - Topic Powered by eve community

Nearly seventeen years ago, a West Highland White Terrier my wife and I named Ziggy Stardust agreed to share our home. We struck a bargain. We agreed to give him food and shelter, a yard to run in and a warm place to sleep, and to to keep him safe and healthy, insofar as it was in our power to do so. And we swore to be worthy of his trust, always, always, always. Ziggy, for his part of the bargain, agreed to be loyal and devoted to us and to love us without condition. The term of the agreement was forever. It was a win-win deal, and was quickly closed.

When he was still a little tyke, we took him to puppy kindergarten so he could socialize and romp with other young creatures of the canine persuasion. After that, it wasn't long before Ziggy assumed among his other duties the task of keeping us safe from marauding squirrels and bunnies and the occasional woodchuck who made our backyard their home. On two occasions, he fearlessly protected us from an intruding skunk, with predictable results and to his (and our) great chagrin.

Skunk episode #2 aside (well, that and the fact he thought the dogs he saw on televison were really in the TV set), he was smart. He took to obedience training -- one whistle from me would bring him running to my feet in a heartbeat, no matter how far away he was. If I told him to stay with a hand signal, a dozen rabbits could flip him the bird from 10 feet away and he wouldn't budge. A rescue cat we named Mookie Wilson imprinted on him almost from the moment my wife brought her home as a tiny kitten she found mewing in the woods near our home. Unfortunately for Mookie, Ziggy wanted none of it -- she was a cat, after all -- but it was fun to watch.

Ziggy grew up strong and healthy. We hiked the coast of downeast Maine and the trails of Acadia together, and would sit and share lunch on a promontory, looking at the ocean and the Blue Hills fading away into the background. At high tide, he'd look covetously at the families of ducks that would paddle close enough to the front yard of our rental house for him to think he might actually have a shot. And that was how he was, well into his fifteenth year.

But then, as they do or will do to us all, the years began to steal his vitality, his Ziggy-ness. Arthritis diminished his mobility. Cataracts progressively took more and more of his vision. He became deaf, or mostly so. But he'd still give my face enthusiastic licks when I picked him up to kiss him, and as hard as it was for him to get around, he'd still meet my wife at the door when she got home from work, tail happily wagging. (Ziggy always acted like the single best thing that ever happened in his life was our arrival home at the end any given day.) During the day, he'd nap under my desk, at my feet -- napping had always been a particular specialty of his, and he was good at it. His appetite, always hearty, was undiminished and he still waited until he was outside to pee and poop. Ziggy wasn't ready, nor were we. Even so, as he declined, we knew there was only one direction in which this could go. We were getting much too near the end of our time together.

Yesterday, when I took him out for his morning constitutional, I had to carry him. He couldn't keep his balance and his legs wouldn't support him; he'd fall then couldn't get up. Literally overnight, something happened that finally took him to his end stage -- maybe a stroke, I dunno. It didn't matter. In the evening, we laid him on his soft, cushy bed in his favorite spot in front of the fireplace. We built a nice fire, turned the TV off, played music, and spent our last night together with our dog.

Early the next morning not long after the sun came up, our vet -- a beautiful, bearded bear of a man of unsurpassed gentleness and compassion -- came to our home. In front of his last warm fire, I wrapped Ziggy in his familiar old blanket and held him in my arms while my wife stroked him and spoke softly to him, soothing both him and me. And we said goodbye to our strong, brave boy as his doctor gave him the gift of a peaceful, gentle death. And sent him off across the Rainbow Bridge.

I'm sorry, I know this is way too long, though it's helped me to write it yesterday and today. But my pal isn't under my desk now and it feels ... wrong. I don't really know how to finish, except to say we got far more from Ziggy Stardust than we gave -- no matter how close your family and friends, no one trusts you or loves you like your dog. I'm a better man for having had him in my life for seventeen years. But not half the man Ziggy thought I was.

Ziggy

'Question authority. Think for yourself. Filter out the spin. Engage elected officials critically. Make them defend what they're doing in your name. Derive the truth. Speak truth to power.'

Posts: 4066 | Location: Boston | Registered: April 16, 2005

flyboy25177

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