Today I was reminded of a loss from a few years ago. It would seem that I might be able to get past certain things, but apparently not. I know many people speak of their pets as their children, and everyone thinks their pet is something extra special. Well, my dog was unique and I know it because all my friends whom he encountered said the same thing. I am no stranger to seeing someone die, both those close to me and those I don’t really know at all except for all you can know about a person by being present during that most frightening moment in their life.
I got Nikolaus (Nik) when I was 21 (he was just 5 weeks old at the time) and he chose to stay with me for 12 years. I knew when I got him I was making a commitment. Decisions on where I would live, the kind of work I would take, everything would depend on his comfort and his well-being more than mine. A Malamute with a touch of wolf, he grew into a sizable beast at 130 lbs. He barked less than twice a year, preferring to communicate by howls, long and low or varied, sometimes ending in an odd yawn. I always worried about leaving him alone at home because I knew when he was alone, he loved to howl. I could step outside the door and wait a few minutes and he’d find some place to be singing to himself. It wasn’t loneliness, it was just fun. I worried that my neighbors would complain, but they said it was a soothing sound and they didn’t mind at all. On a return visit to the neighborhood they would always first ask how he was doing.
Like me he was full of apparent contradictions. Many people thought they had him figured out, a gentle giant with a sweet disposition who would never do anything wrong. Nik knew how to lie. Oh, he wasn’t very good at it, but he knew. He and I always communicated at his level. He was an animal, a bit wild and smelled of predator which made almost all dogs take an immediate dislike to him, extremely intelligent, excellent at out-thinking someone, but he knew he wasn’t human, he just liked being around them. So our language was that of the wolves. If he did something well, I’d praise him and we’d rub the side of our faces against each other. If he was worried that I was angry he’d try to appease me with a low bow and attempts to lick under my chin. If he DID do something very wrong, no time was wasted: I put a shoulder into his side to knock him to the ground and bit his neck until he howled in submission that he understood. To the unitiated, it could be traumatic to witness.
I could speak to him in English and people would swear he was understanding every word. There were nights when friends were over and he was trying a little too hard to get into the conversation. I would gently say, “Nik, that’s enough. Get your bone and go to bed.” He’d let out a huff, find the bone he chewed his whole life, take it off to the bedroom and lie down on the floor at the foot of the mattress (I always slept on the floor, he close but not touching unless it was really cold.)
But like many wilder animals, he had no true sense of territory. Wherever his pack was, that was his home, and he adjusted to a new place within minutes. We lived in some pretty miserable situations, tight spaces, but I made sure he was always happy and exercised. People think that dogs need space to roam. That’s just not true for the most part. Dogs need to interact, to be with their pack, and if you get to roam and explore, so much the better. Leave a dog to his own devices and he’ll find a pack to run with or he’ll just explore a little then sit. Before I left for work and soon after I got home, we would always get exercise until he was tired. It made me a much more fit person, too. Ever play football with a huge four-legged mass of muscle that couldn’t walk and carry something at the same time but SURE knew how to block? Even when I was sick, I had to find a way to keep him active.
Another reason I knew he was special was that he had “sleepovers.” Friends would bond with him and love being around him so much they would ask if he could come over to stay for the night. One night was all he ever really wanted, but it was exciting for him. I also knew he would be on good behavior for one or two nights but after that, he’d try to see what he could get away with. Anyone who offered to take care of him for 3 or more days had to have a strong personality and know how to communicate with him, keep him in check. He was never away from me for more than 7 days and that was only once.
I’ve many stories about him, he is a significant part of who I am, but I’ll hold off on them for now. I understood that he was more popular than I could hope to be. I was just glad to be part of his ever-increasing social circle.
He taught me many things including how to take the commonplace and make it fascinating every day, how to behave in the presence of a lady… especially when you really want to get petted, how to have the courage and strength to be comfortable with a friend, even letting your guard down for a moment, how to have and show your very clear interest in the person with whom you are talking.
The day he died, I suddenly felt bad at work, my stomach in knots, so I headed home. From experience I knew the feeling meant that he was in trouble. He was whimpering. His chest and abdomen were ballooned out tightly. I rushed him to an animal clinic, they tried to decompress him, then another animal emergency hospital. I am so glad I was earning enough money at the time to make whatever decisions I needed for him no matter the cost. In case you didn’t know, those types of clinics want cash up-front. I can imagine many have been put out of business by grief-stricken pet-owners who never paid. There is no government subsidy to back them up.
He had never had this problem before and the doctors assured me from his x-rays that he hadn’t gotten into anything he shouldn’t… he was old. It happens. They even commented on his great health… except for this. Even as they worked on him for hours, the hope that his bloat could be fixed without long-term problems was fading. His heart had been damaged, he would need extensive surgeries and even then would not be able to move about much for 6 months. I allowed the attempts to go on for a while, but I knew his howls. Even as he was still flirting with the nurses, I came over to him and he let me know he wanted to “go.” This time, however, it was a tired sound unlike any intonation I had heard before.
The hardest part is that once you make that decision, you can never take it back.
No death has struck me harder than his. Maybe deep down I am more feral than I care to admit. Tear a man down to his core and what is left is that animal instinct for a pack, strength, affection and survival. Perhaps that says something about my lack of humanity.
I don’t know if you’ll see this or not, seeing as how I’m commenting on a post that is almost a year and a half old. I just wanted to tell you that this post struck a chord with me. Thank you for sharing it.
I saw a review of a book that will be released soon (March 13th if I remember correctly)that might interest you. It is Dog Years by Mark Doty.
[...] Sometimes I write things that recount difficult moments. [...]
[...] and to try to see how simply we can make our lives and move towards that goal of completion. My wolf and I were a bit nomadic at times but wherever we lay down for the night was our home, whether it [...]