Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Ramble from Phair

Phair shares tonight.
The Dog's Day Of Summer

It's muggy hot up here in the northeast. The rain, which has fallen in liberal doses over the last few days, does nothing except make everything wet and sticky. I've got every window open and eight fans spinning and the house temp is still hovering around 80 humid degrees.

My dog lays sprawled across the hard wood floor. He's panting as if each breath is as much of a struggle to draw in as it is to blow out. I'm beginning to think that assessment isn't too far from the truth.

Scout's eleven this year. He's been exceptionally healthy for almost all of those years. But, these last few months are proving to be the exception under which all rules break.

Life for the two of us has been rolling along just fine. Seaside home, good food, warm in the winter and cool in the summer; living at the beach definitely gives the aura of success. Changing jobs and getting more money for work closer to home only enhances that allusion. Scout has kept busy with his vocation; protecting me from strangers, seagulls, and mailmen. He occasionally annoys family enough that they leave visits earlier than previously planned. Good Boy.

Last month, Scout changed. It was suddenly unignorable how truly old he had become. The subtle graying of the fur around his mouth, the picking at food he once devoured, the shaky approach to stairs he's climbed a thousand times, the puking, meant little individually. Yet, wrapped together and topped with his once proud curled over tail now hung low between his legs and even I, who loves him most, can no longer choose to be blind to his pain. He has been too good of a boy for me to hide from my responsibilities for long.

Scout was a hyper 6 week old Lab/Akita mix when he came home with me just weeks after my Dad died. We were living in a fairly dangerous city at the time. With Dad gone, my elderly mother would be alone all day with my handicapped brother, Thom, while my sister and I worked. A dog, I reasoned, could keep her company and scare off jerks looking for easy pickin's to break into. That was all I figured I needed. What I got was so much more.

Scout fell snout over paws in love with us.

He learned his barking job right off the bat. First day. A low, deep bear like rumble which could echo for miles. I can honestly say Scout is the best barker I've ever lived with. His barking frightened away more than one suspicious character. However, it was his lack of barking, using instead physical posturing for attack which saved me from one of the worst beatings of my life. Yes, I was in my own home. Yes, it was a relative that thought he had conned Scout into trusting him. He was wrong. Scout let him know in no uncertain terms not to fuck with us. The relative never tried to hit me again ending more than 30 years of violence. From that day forward, Scout never let anybody stand next to me unless he was wedged between us. Dating has been difficult but I understand where the boy is coming from and I don't complain…too much.

But, it was the jobs Scout assigned himself to which endeared him to our entire family.

Scout became Thom's mouth and legs. If my sister or I were out in the yard or at the back end of the house or if the TV was just too damn loud and we didn't hear my brother call for us then Scout would come and get us. He'd stand half way between us and my bother turning his head left to right until we got the hint and went to check on things.

When Thom died, Scout was inconsolable. He lost 25 pounds in 6 months. The vet thought he just might grieve himself to death. Funny thing was I felt the same way. I just wanted to curl up and sleep until it didn't hurt anymore which would be forever because losing Thom is suffering without end. One night in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing, I pulled out the pajama's Thom had been wearing when he died. I sat on the floor clutching them and weeping. Scout stood guard over me for a few minutes before sitting down next to me; shoulder to shoulder. I swear he was crying too. We leaned on each other that night and for many more to follow and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled each other out of the long dark tunnel of loss.

My mother also became part of Scout's job. Mom was a round, short woman with shrinking eye sight in her older years. Don't get me wrong, the woman was a force of nature during my childhood but even hurricanes blow themselves out. And so too did Mom. She became so debilitated that she often could not get out of her Lazy-Boy rocker.

I asked her one night, after helping her up for the umpteenth time, "How do you get out of this thing all day?"

"Scout helps," she replied.

Seems the boy would stand beside her chair, she would grab hold of his collar, and 1-2-3 up she'd go.

"How did you teach him that?" I asked.

Mom shook her head as she tickled the boy around the ears, "I didn't. He taught me."

Scout handled Mom's departure from our lives much better than losing Thom. He moped a bit but seemed to understand that the woman was old and sick and her best years were memories and pain was now her constant companion instead of him. Or, maybe I'm just thinking the two of us understood it was her time and nothing can stop the inevitable fact that we are matters of life and then death.

And so, it would seem Scout and I have come to yet another unavoidable ending. We'll struggle for a bit trying to postpone it. There will be some pills to try and questions about surgery, I'm sure. Being the one with the opposable thumbs, the decisions will fall on me. I'll reject most of the vet's aggressive treatment suggestions. I owe him more than physician assisted torment. No, he's been too good of a dog and friend to engage in the futility of medicine for too long. I'll accept only those approaches limiting the pain which has now become Scout's constant companion instead of me.

phair


I send you both good thoughts.

Enjoy the updates.

Elisa

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