He was eventually named Mikey, but at first my daughter simply called him her pound puppy.
When my youngest son, who was about seven years old at that time, insisted that we ask one of the attendants to unlock Mikey’s cage so we could take a closer look at him, I tried to talk him out of it. Then my daughter pointed out the date on a little blue card attached to a wire on the cage, which stated that all the dogs in that particular cage would be put to sleep the very next day.
Once outside the pound cage, the little buff-colored Cocker Spaniel-mix seemed as depressed and lethargic as he had been inside it and it became even more obvious that his long hair was all dirty and matted and that he was also covered from head to toe with fleas.
The attendant said, “I know he looks pretty rough, but I think he would make some family a great pet if just given the chance. He’s not even a year old yet and a dog this size who is treated right can live to be 14 or 15 years old.”
Upon further inspection, Mikey turned out to have a very congested cough, ear and eye infections, and couldn’t seem to stop passing this really foul-smelling gas. Something about the black and pink color of his tongue also had the attendant convinced that Mikey had once had a very bad case of Parvovirus. But on the plus side he easily passed the little test they give pound dogs for aggressive behavior where they put them on their back, mess with their stomach, and squeeze the life out of their paws. So, from the very first day, one of Mikey’s most endearing qualities – that he simply did not have a mean bone in his body – was easy to see.
Once at home, it took months and countless visits to the veterinarian before Mikey began acting like a normal dog. But other than a fairly serious irregular heartbeat that he would have all his life, all of his other ailments began to fade away one by one.
It was obvious that Mikey’s first year of life had been a really difficult one and my kids were always speculating on how he had ended up in the pound. Had he run away from home? Did someone just drop him off because they were tired of him? Did he have brothers and sisters as cute as him? Had he been on the streets for any significant amount of time before he ended up in that awful cage? What was his real name and birthday? And how could anyone not want a dog as cute as Mikey? But since no one had the answers to any of these questions, Mikey’s first year on this earth would always remain a mystery to us.
Once he started to feel better, Mikey eagerly began his life’s work – raising my four children. When one of them wasn’t feeling well, he was always within petting reach. When one of them was bored, he would volunteer to play endlessly with him or her. When one of them was sad or worried or confused or upset he was there to be their friend – and to always love them unconditionally.
And so it went, for more than a dozen years, Mikey just being Mikey, and our growing family was so much better off because of it. And like most Cocker Spaniels, he also decided early on to attach himself a little more to one person in the family – in this case me – although I never really quite understood why. Someone told me it was simply because I was the one in charge of feeding him and was also the biggest member of the family when he arrived, and that has always made pretty good sense to me. Anyway, from the very first days, wherever I went, Mikey went. Wherever I slept, Mikey slept. I even had to learn a whole new way to walk when he was around because he was always right underfoot. And I also had to learn to accept the fact that when I was in the bathroom, Mikey apparently thought I might be flushed away for good, so he always waited patiently right outside the door until I appeared again.
Then about two years ago Mikey (and this apparently happens to many Cocker Spaniels because their long ear flaps simply don’t allow for much air circulation) began having serious ear infections which made him constantly shake his head in a vain effort to get the fluids out of his ears. Antibiotics and medicated ear flushes would work for awhile, but the infections always came back. And then this last year tumors began to appear along with a very foul smell that even twice-daily cleanings couldn’t bring under control.
After talking to a number of veterinarians I learned that Mikey’s only hope was extensive ear surgery that would probably leave him deaf, if in fact his very bad 13-year-old heart could stand the complicated procedure. So earlier this week, after having endlessly weighed all the options, I decided the time had finally come to put Mikey to sleep. My children, although scattered to the wind now, were all advised and able to say a last goodbye. Then it was time to call the veterinarian and spend a sleepless night waiting for Mikey’s 10 a.m. appointment to finally arrive.
My brother went with me, knowing that I would probably turn around and come back home with Mikey still very much alive if I wasn’t properly supervised. Then it was time to walk into the veterinary office, with Mikey bravely shuffling right along next to me. A very nice receptionist took some money from me (I can’t even remember how much it was now) and led me, Mikey and my brother into a brightly lit room. Mikey, who always loved an adventure, had no problem with me putting him up on the little stainless-steel table. He even seemed to thoroughly enjoy the lengthy physical examination the gentle and understanding veterinarian gave him, which thankfully confirmed that the decision I had so reluctantly made was the correct one.
Then came the first shot, to relax Mikey and make him sleepy. And after holding him in my lap for five minutes or so he became totally calm and his breathing slowed. That is when the doctor returned with the final shot. With a very sweet nurse holding Mikey and with my brother and I talking to him and petting him, the doctor shaved a small area of one of Mikey’s front legs. Then, with his hearing already so bad from years of ear infections that I knew he could no longer really hear my voice unless I yelled, and with his eyes no longer able to focus because of the first shot, I knew I simply had to get out of that room before I saw the life go completely out of him. And after it was all over, I kept asking myself how long it would take before I would be able to fully rationalize and learn to live with making the decision that I did.
And so here I am, a few hours after returning home with only Mikey’s collar and leash, knowing that it’s either try to write down what just happened, or go sit in a corner someplace and cry, and us guys aren’t supposed to do the latter.
But what do you say about a beloved animal that enriched your life and the life of your family for more than a decade? And how do you properly express your gratitude for all the fun and joy he made possible – especially when instead of lap petting and tasty treats and his nightly walk, all I have to give him now are these words?