Anyone who knows me has heard the story of how I met my husband. I had signed onto a writers website, and read the musings of many different types of writers, while sharing some of my own thoughts.
Several months later, I was moved to tears as I read how a man recounted putting down his beloved black Labrador, full name Black Jack Riley, but affectionately known to everyone around him as just “Jack.” The man, by all outward appearances, was a gruff, loud and angry loner. But what he had written had come from the depths of his heart, equating losing this animal with that of a child, and how deep his pain had been.
I wanted to meet such a person who could move me with his words, and who obviously had many layers to him. So I organized a dinner to meet all of the 20+writers who lived within driving distance.
The rest, as they say, is history.
We were married two years later, after I had become enamored with his newest “son” Riley, a brown Labrador giant of a dog, who insisted on eating a pair of my shoes every time I had come to the lake to visit. It was after the fifth pair had been chewed to smithereens that he hinted “perhaps Riley doesn’t want you to leave, so maybe we should get married.” We had the ceremony in the back yard, with Riley standing beside us.
Shortly after my arrival to the lake, we had adopted a black Labrador, a homeless waif we found sitting in a box at a feed store. His name was “JJ” and was being given away because he wasn’t a purebred; he was half beagle, so was a little smaller in stature. That didn’t stop our JJ, (who I reminded the man the initials would match Jack Jr , so it was fate.) He is undoubtedly the alpha dog of the pack. Yes, we do have a pack, because my wedding present was a yellow Labrador who I had named Simon, even before I had seen him.
If you were to assign human personalities to these dogs, I would say that Riley was like Alec Baldwin; big and burley and kinda goofy, but can be surprisingly strong in a pinch. Protective of the other Baldwin brother, Riley loved to groom his younger brother, periodically licking his face and his ears, while Simon stood there, blissfully unaware of the favor his brother was really doing for him. It was a kindness and gentleness I had never seen a dog do for another ever before, and would be mesmerized each time I watched him do it. After a while, Simon would go to him, head down and slanted towards the angle of his snout, waiting for his cleaning of the day.
Riley would happily oblige.
JJ would take on the personification of Joe Pesci, a manic and maniacal ball of energy. Forever on guard, he tells the birds to stay away from the yard, and barks “whatdoyouwant?” at every passer by. But by the same token, can be as gentle as any hospice worker, so keen is his sense of responsibility for his brothers. He is the first to greet anyone at the door, and the last to make sure everyone is inside before I lock up for the night. Standing guard, he will survey the perimeter and will not move until satisfied all is well. He insists on a hug, standing on his back legs and wrapping his two front legs on your shoulders, before you can proceed.
Simon? Chris Farley, without question. Big, overweight, lovable, clumsy and I dare say, dumb. He is afraid of the wind, the vacuum cleaner, and the cat. Not realizing he could probably bite the feline in half with his massive jaw if he wanted to, he prefers to just get up and move to the other side of the room if he thinks the thing is going to start bugging him. His tail will knock anything in its path to the ground, with out nary a look over his
shoulder to assess the damage. His look of surprise is always coupled with that of wonder, as if to ask “Did I do that?”
If one has a pet named Simon, I reasoned to the man when we brought home a cat, is that we simply must have a Garfunkle. He completed our eclectic animal family, although he mostly hides in the basement once the human children and grandchildren came out to the lake house for a day of food, fun and family.
Seven years later and everyone has gotten older, the man and I, the kids who had kids of their own, as well as the animals who we have come to love as much as the children. Our lives have changed in so many ways, and opportunities arose out of circumstances over which we had no control.
Relocating to a small town out west, there are new jobs, a new house to fill and new friends to be made. Throughout the cross country trek in a motor home we purchased just for this task, the “boys” and I all traveled together without real incident and with only some minor inconveniences. It was as if they knew we were on a grand adventure and would wait patiently until we were settled before their distinct personalities took over, once again.
Shortly after settling in, I awoke one morning to the sound of Riley pounding his feet on the floor at the edge of our bed. Not having bought a bed yet, the mattress from the motor home had been placed on the floor. True to their custom, all the animals laid on the floor around us, just as they had in the old house, only this bought us all on the same level; we were all on the floor together.
I didn’t even open my eyes as I heard the thump, thump, thump on the floor from the end of the mattress. Not as docile as his brother, I knew he would give Gar a whack with his paw had he continued to annoy him. I assumed he was just messing with him and would lay down again after the instigator chose another victim.
But the thumping continued. I sat up and was not prepared to see what greeted my sleepy eyes, and it took a few seconds for my mind to accept what was happening.
Riley was attempting to stand up, but could only make his two front legs move. His hind legs were dead, and his thumping was an attempt to try to right himself. With every attempt to pull himself up, he shook his head from side to side, like a horse. It was like he was trying to shake whatever was clouding his strength from his brain, and with each shake of the head, he moaned a little in frustration.
Pulling himself off the blanket on which he slept, he made it over to the doorway, his back legs still lifeless. He dragged them behind them, and the realization of what was happening finally hit me.
My poor Riley was having a stroke.
Pulling himself to the hallway, he was able lift his haunches up slightly, crouched as if he was going to defecate right there in the hallway. At this point I wouldn’t have cared, it was horrific to watch him like this. With each attempt to try to stand straight he banged his head into the wall, the slamming force of his body and trying to walk overcoming any sense of balance. He, like me, was disoriented and confused and couldn’t comprehend what was happening to him. A baby trying to learn to walk again, he looked at me with his big brown eyes, pleading with me to help him.
The others were awake at this point, but I led them out the back door to do their morning business and not interfere with what was transpiring. Still dragging himself with the back legs in a squat position, I though maybe he really did have to go to the bathroom and this was just the result of having held it for so long, that he was experiencing some kind of massive cramping. I tried to direct him over towards the door, but he was delirious and couldn’t hear me. His moaning was getting louder and I realized now that he was in pain.
He was dragging his body towards the stairs down to the family room. I quickly guided him back to the kitchen. I realized he was looking for “Dad”, who was at work and had no idea what was happening.
Situating him back into the living room, I let the boys back in, who by this time had figured out that all was not right with their brother. He was usually out there frolicking with them in the yard, barking hello to the neighbors and reliving themselves before they had a hearty breakfast.
They came in and went straight for their bowls. Riley didn’t want to be near anything but me.
The living room floor was wall to wall carpeted in an outdated but clean shag rug. We had intended to rip it all out when we decorated. But today, I was grateful for the plushness and thickness of it, a small blanket of comfort for my poor Riley, who now laid stretched out on his side in front of me.
I had grabbed the phone and kept it by my side, waiting to hear back from the Veternarian I had found online just he day before. Retelling the circumstances to the answering service, I waited for the call to tell me what to do. It wad only 6 am and my husband had left for work an hour earlier.
Laying down next to him, I stroked Riley’s long body, his brown fur, still trembling. He was softly moaning, but feeling my body next to his gave him comfort and he relaxed just a little. Slowly his breathing began to return to normalcy; I wondered if he was slipping into a coma.
The phone rang and he did not move. The receptionist made an appointment for me later that morning, and told me to stay with the dog to make sure nothing else happened. I cringed at the way she said ‘dog’ as if he was a thing, and not the example of love and kindness he had become to our family.
We laid that way for a few more minutes, and I wondered where the others had gone. Since it was still early, their routine was to eat and go lay down again, until it was time for a walk or whatever activities I had planned for the day.
Almost on cue, Simon appeared out of nowhere, walked slowly towards me and then sat down next to me. I looked up at him as he watched his brother lay there, his eyes darting quickly between mine and the body before me on the floor.
Without hesitation, he laid down in front of Riley, sprawled out as long as him, as they were similar in size and weight.
Laying face to face, he slowly began to lick his brothers face, kisses of kindness that he had received so lovingly the day before. He kissed his eyes, his nose, his ears and his face. Riley did not move.
That’s when I lost it. I cried for the gentleness of the act, for the pain my brave boy was suffering and the idea that my husbands best friend might be gone before he could say goodbye.
I prayed. “Please God” I pleaded as I pulled him closer to me, breathing deep the smell of his fur, my arms wrapped around his body so close I could feel his heart beat.
“If you have to take him today, take him soon. Don’t let him suffer, and don’t let my husband suffer the task of having to do what is needed again.”
I repeated my little prayer several times, over and over, each time hugging him harder and harder. Within minutes, they were both asleep, snoring like dogs do when nothing else is happening and all is right with the world.
The appointment wasn’t for two hours, but I was already thinking about how I was going to get him into the car. He was 111 pounds, and with the dead weight of his back legs, I knew it added at least another ten.
How could I get him to the car? Would I have to drag him? Who could I ask to help me? I had not met any of my neighbors yet, had no idea who occupied the houses surrounding mine.
The tears began again as my frustration over the whole situation mounted. Why now, why here? I questioned. At least at home on the lake I could get my neighbors to help me, who knew Riley and loved him as much as we did. At least at home I would be taking him to the vet who knew him as a puppy, had watched him grow and cared for him like one of her own, and not stranger who knew nothing about him, about us.
Why, Lord? Why? My dog was dying in my arms and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
I thought about my mother who had died months earlier, and wished I could call her. Her “Infant of Prague” statue had arrived the day before, the last of any belongings my siblings and I had agreed to divide up between us, and renewing the feeling of sadness that she was, indeed, gone. It stood in my office, awaiting a proper place of permanency once the house was furnished.
She had painted it when I was in high school, and it stood as a reminder of my Irish heritage; all Irish Catholic families had such a statute in their own home as a symbol of reverence and reminder that miracles were indeed possible.
Suddenly the phone rang; it was the vet asking if I wanted to come to the hospital sooner as an earlier appointment had cancelled. I was somewhat taken a back in the first place that I had to wait for an appointment at all when I called, surprised they would not just let me bring Riley in right then. But they were calling to bring him in now, so I said I would be right there.
Untangling myself from the sleeping dogs, Simon picked his head up to see what was going on, and nudged Riley with his snout as if to say “wake up, sleepy head.”
“Momma’s gotta go bye-bye” I whispered to him, still trying to figure out how I was going
to get Riley into the car.
At the sound of my voice, Riley opened his eyes.
Lifting his head up as if to answer “Hey, wait for me” he took my breath away with the strength of which he moved.
He leapt up, standing on all four limbs like nothing had ever happened. Strong and proud, he pranced around the living room as if he was waiting for us all to go out and play.
I stood there looking at him, dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe what had once been a heavy lump of fur on the ground was now jumping, yes jumping, around the room!
Simon looked at me with his big dumb smile, his head cocked sideways towards me, as if to say, “See? Everything is ok.”
I considered canceling the appointment to the vet, because they would never believe what just happened. I would look like an idiot. But I did decide to take him, because it was just too bizarre.
The prognosis of the vet was that what had happened was the result of one of three things: either he did have a small stoke and blood tests could be ordered, or his paralysis was a result of some arthritic cramping due to a surgery on his leg years ago.
Or, he offered with a slight smile, another explanation.
It just could have been a miracle.
