Goodbye to Him

He was gone by Monday evening.  He was determined to die in his own way, and it's been understood by us all that it had to happen.  It's always inevitable, isn't it?  The way seasons come in confused rushes, the way you're never quite nostalgic enough to move back home.  He died on his bed with his family next to him, with his breathing heavy, then soft, then not at all.  He panted and looked my mother right in the eyes, probably apologizing.  Probably wanting her to hold him tight through it all. The last picture I took of him.  Two years ago, on a polaroid.

My childhood dog died.  His name was Charlie, he passed away of natural causes.  He was fourteen and my family had him since I was nine.  Three months before my brother had cancer, a year before I started middle school, a decade before I left for college.  I thought he was a girl at first, so delicate and beautiful.  He was bought in the rain and was scared of the thunder.  He was special, different than our dog, Humphrey.  He was needy and my sister would dress him up in baby doll clothes.  She painted his nails.  He ate a library book and a hundred dollar bill once.  He had a developmental disorder where we had to baby-talk to him for years and years, so he felt safe and understood we loved him.  He had a scratch under his right eye where it always cried a little.  He was beautiful, strong.  He was afraid of the basement and never went in there.  Not even when there was a storm and the television said to go somewhere safe.  He refused, that stubborn dog.

He one time starved himself to bones when we left him at a kennel, when we went to Florida for a week.  We were charged $200 to fix the fence he broke trying to find us.

He one time starved himself when Humphrey died, too depressed to play ball.

He loved the snow and even when he was arthritic, he still jumped head-first into the first fall of December.

He was special, he was different.  He was delicate like a girl dog.  Beautiful in his own way.  He was blonde, he shed a lot.   He didn't know any tricks.  He was stubborn.  He was perfect the way all dogs are perfect and special the way the small quirks of age make you special.

He was home to me, but he had creaks in him, too.  He stumbled, he fell.  He growled if you touched him when he was sleeping.  He would kiss your hand, then ignore you.  He couldn't walk down steps, so they built him a ramp to go outside.  He couldn't walk up steps, so my parents moved their bedroom into the library on the first floor.  Every morning, my mom would walk him around our fenced-in yard, the whole circumference so Charlie could smell and hear and remember he was still loved.

He died in his sleep, he wanted it to happen.  He panted, then slowly let go.  He lived for fourteen years, and it was greedy to ask for any more.

My mother called me the other day and said she was lost in the mornings, with more free time.  She said she wasn't going to get anymore dogs.  She said they would move the bedroom back upstairs when it didn't hurt so bad.  She said she's waiting for a sign that he's happy now.  I asked her what the sign would be and she said it was too soon to know.  She'll know when she sees it.

I don't think the dreams I've been having are a sign that he's happy.  I keep dreaming he's in pain, that we had to make the choice ourselves.  I dream about being a senior in high school and holding onto Humphrey as we put him down.  I remember crying until I threw up.  And I wonder why I haven't cried this week.  Why Charlie was different.  I'm waiting for a sign now, too.  To know it's okay that I haven't cried yet.  And when that sign comes, I hope this dam inside me breaks.

Le premier anniversaire de chien.

He's one-year-old today. Image

He's one and I'm twenty-two, and I'll have this dog all throughout my twenties.  It comforts me to think of commitment and unconditionally loving something that's not my own ego.  A dog is a great companion for people like me, for people who have jaded views on the need for friendships and loves to be needed constantly, incessantly, selflessly.

Nolan and I adopted Murphy when it was probably a dark time for us.  We had just transplanted our humble life of studio-living in ramshackle circumstances, the metallic taste of grudges still fresh on our tongues, and we wanted something to bond us together again. Before it was California, and before we tired of that manifest destiny sort of dream, it was just simple--sex or food in Pittsburgh.  We moved into our current house and I remember the exact moment I came across Murphy's picture.  I was staying for a week in a La Quinta off Harbor Boulevard in Orange County, taking the rest of my law exams for my 1L year.  He was on Craigslist and I was on a comforter that was orange and scratchy.  I got him after my Contracts exam in an Korean community in Los Angeles County.  I gave the owners some extra money for food.  They were poor, Hispanic, and fed Murphy crushed-up, watered-down dog food.

He was inquisitive and cautious since birth.  Energetic at the promise of a walk, a newfound spot to pee, a friend to make, or a kiss from "daddy" or "papa".  It is not a hyperbole to say he has been a blessing and an angel to me.  I was unemployed for six months and he was a reason to still wake up at seven every morning to take him out for his morning ritual (sniff around the mulch, avoid the sprinklers, and squat to pee, his eyes closed in the morning light).  It was a period of bohemian, relaxed self-reflection that involved becoming a caretaker to a child, really.  I considered myself a father and told Murphy my secrets when we were alone.  He's grown into the perfect dog.  Obedient and loving, careful and curious.  He's everything you want in a child, and I brag about him often.

He's the only picture I have in my cubicle at work.  It's when his hair was still shaggy and you see him in all his emotional ranges.

I baked him dog treats and a cake until eleven at night (recipes below).  I wrapped up a sock monkey that we named Pete.  We took him to the park and to lunch, a walk and a nap.  I kissed him a few more times than usual and even wrote him a card.  I sometimes wonder if I do it for myself or for him and how much he recognizes as gestures of love.

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Then I wonder, as most children do when they grow up, if my mother ever thought this way about me.  If I ever really appreciated the post-it notes stuck to my car, saying, "Have a good day."  I hope so.

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Two-ingredient Dog Treats

Ingredients:

  • 2 4-ounce jars of baby food (I used carrot x banana for one combination and turkey dinner x sweet potato for another)
  • 2 cups whole-wheat flour (I caution using this much, as I had excess flour.  Start with one and a half cups and add more until it forms a dough)

Directions:

  • Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and prep a baking sheet with parchment paper.
  • Mix baby food and flour together in large bowl.
  • Once well-incorporated, turn onto lightly-floured surface as it begins to form into a workable dough.
  • Roll to desired thickness with rolling pin; or, alternatively, pat to desired thickness (hey, they're dogs--they won't know the difference!)
  • Cut into desired shapes.  I happened to have bone and heart shapes to work with.
  • Bake in oven for 20-25 minutes, until harden.
  • Let cool before serving to your dog.

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Doggy Birthday Cake

Ingredients:

  • 1/2 cup whole-wheat flour
  • 1 Teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/3 cup canola oil
  • 1/3 cup apple sauce
  • 1 egg
  • 2 Tablespoons honey

Directions:

  • Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
  • Prep small ramekin for cake.  (Alternatively, this could make two cupcakes.  I, in fact, used these handy baking cups from the Container Store and it was perfect for the festivities and utility.)
  • Mix all ingredients together until well-combined.  Batter will be fairly runny but consistent.
  • Pour into prepared bakeware.
  • Bake 10-12 minutes (or longer.  Mine took 25 minutes) until a toothpick comes out clean.
  • Allow to cool.