Rest in Peace, Big Guy (Cigar Smoke 4-23-09)

Last month Marge and I had to put our Airedale, Hadley, down. It was very sad. I can’t quite believe he’s really gone. I can still hear his dog tags jingling.

He had been on a steady decline for over a year. His back legs had been failing him and he had lost control of his bowels. He was going blind and looked dazed and confused a lot of the time. We knew he was in pain, but he had always been a stoic dog. He would not complain. He would not whimper. He never cried.

We tried to help him as much as we could. We’d lift his back legs to help him up. We’d hold his collar and guide him through doorways so he wouldn’t hit his head. Somehow, though, we knew we were probably doing all this for ourselves as much as we were for Hadley. We couldn’t bear to lose him. I guess we were selfish.

At the end, he was not able to get up at all. He had fallen on the driveway and was stranded there. He could not lift himself up, even to his back legs. Because he was so heavy, we couldn’t lift him. So we got his bed and managed to put him in there, and then we gently pulled the bed from the driveway into our bedroom. We wanted one last night with our furry friend. And we hoped he might be better in the morning.

And, amazingly, he was — for a while. Then he got worse. So I decided to go down to talk to the vet. She had taken care of him for almost 13 years, so she knew him well. She told us that he had had a good life and she couldn’t do much for him now. She thought it was time for us to let him go.

We brought him in later that afternoon. It was the longest 15-minute ride I’ve ever had. We arrived at the clinic and one of the attendants was able to carry him into the vet’s office and put him on the table. He looked so fragile, and scared. I put my hand on his head. He was shaking.

I had never put a dog down before. I asked the vet how it would all work. She said she would give him a shot to relax him. And then she would give him the final shot. She said it would be fast and painless.

We said OK. She gave him the first shot, and the process had started. Marge and I both broke down. We were crying and trying to comfort Hadley. But he didn’t seem to be relaxing much. So the vet gave him a second shot and then he did become more relaxed. He became very calm and quiet and stopped shaking.

Before she gave him the final shot, she told us it would take about 15 seconds to reach his heart, and then that would be it. We nodded. She gave him the shot. We looked at our Good Boy through our tears and then we saw his big, fuzzy head gently drop and cover his right paw. Hadley was gone. Marge and I both cried and said our good-byes.

It was the saddest thing I have ever seen. It broke my heart.

The last two weeks have been hard. We miss our guy, and we both expect to see him every day. Marge will automatically look outside to see if Hadley wants to come in. I will start to get up to fix his dinner at 5:30 every night and then remember. I’ll come home and expect him to meet me at the door. I’ll get a cigar out of my cigar box, and I’ll look for Hadley to ask him, “You wanna go have a cigar with me, you long-headed weasel?”

And the other day I snuck a box of Cheez-Its into the living room. You know, that big red-and-orange box. I actually had the box on my right hip, trying to hide it from Hadley. Hadley used to love Cheez-Its, and when he’d see me with that box, he’d jump up and come over and, well, hound me, for some handouts. He loved those damn things. I mean, really loved ’em. I’d take a couple for myself, and then give him one, and he’d gobble it down, sometimes with a side order of my fingers, and then he’d want another Cheez-It. When I’d put the box down, he would sit in front of me and paw my knee until I caved in and gave him a few more. Now he’s not there. It’s just not the same eating all the Cheez-Its myself. They’re too dry.

I miss so many things about that crazy dog. I miss how he used to scatter-ass the ducks at the Santa Fe Dam; I miss how he did a double take the first time he drank some seawater at the beach; I miss having him sit upright in the passenger seat of my old Explorer; I miss him nose-poking my butt to suggest we go for a walk; I miss bringing him two pieces of a cinnamon roll or a donut every morning. Whenever I’d go to Starbucks or some donut shop, I’d always have to save two pieces for him. Once I brought back only one piece of donut to the car, and gave it to him. He was pissed. I never did that again.

And I miss lying down with him on the rug. I used to lie down with him on the bed for a nap, but lately he couldn’t jump up there, so we had our naptime on the rug. Usually, he’d be lying there, and I would interrupt his sleep, and get down next to him, and put my human head right near his long horse head, and he would thump his tail a few times on the rug and then he would lick my face. I think he got a little doggie high on my cologne. And sometimes that wouldn’t be enough and he would slobber-lick the hairspray off my hair, too. And finally, he would calm down, and I would sleep next to him with my arm resting on his shoulder.

Rest in peace, my friend.