The following is excerpted from Old Dogs, a book by Gene Weingarten:
“Puppies are incomparably cute and incomparably entertaining, and, best of all, they smell exactly like puppies. At middle age, a dog has settled into the knuckleheaded matrix of behavior we find so appealing ~ his unquestioning loyalty, his irrepressible willingness to please, his infectious happiness. But it is not until a dog gets old that his most important virtues ripen and coalesce. Old dogs can be cloudy-eyed and grouchy, gray of muzzle, graceless of gait, odd of habit, hard of hearing, pimply, wheezy, lazy, and lumpy. But to anyone who has ever known an old dog, these flaws are of little consequence. Old dogs are vulnerable. They show exorbitant gratitude and limitless trust. They are without artifice. They are funny in new and unexpected ways. But, above all, they seem at peace.
[…]
“Among animals, only humans are said to be self-aware enough to comprehend the passage of time and the grim truth of mortality. How, then, to explain old Harry at the edge of that park, gray and lame, just days from the end, experiencing what can only be called wistfulness and nostalgia? I have lived with eight dogs, watched six of them grow old and infirm with grace and dignity, and die with what seemed to be acceptance. I have seen old dogs grieve at the loss of their friends. I have come to believe that as they age, dogs comprehend the passage of time, and, if not the inevitability of death, certainly the relentlessness of the onset of their frailties. They understand that what’s gone is gone.
“What dogs do not have is an abstract sense of fear, or a feeling of injustice or entitlement. They do not see themselves, as we do, as tragic heroes, battling ceaselessly against the merciless onslaught of time. Unlike us, old dogs lack the audacity to mythologize their lives. You’ve got to love them for that.
[…]
“I believe I know exactly when Harry became an old dog. He was about 9 years old. It happened at 10:15 on the evening of June 21, 2001, the day my family moved from the suburbs to the city. The move took longer than we’d anticipated. Inexcusably, Harry had been left alone in the vacated house — eerie, echoing, empty of furniture and of all belongings except Harry and his bed– for eight hours. When I arrived to pick him up, he was beyond frantic.
“He met me at the door and embraced me around the waist in a way that is not immediately reconcilable with the musculature and skeleton of a dog’s front legs. I could not extricate myself from his grasp. We walked out of that house like a slow-dancing couple, and Harry did not let go until I opened the car door.
“He wasn’t barking at me in reprimand, as he once might have done. He hadn’t fouled the house in spite. That night, Harry was simply scared and vulnerable, impossibly sweet and needy and grateful. He had lost something of himself, but he had gained something more touching and more valuable. He had entered old age.
[…]
“In our dogs, we see ourselves. Dogs exhibit almost all of our emotions; if you think a dog cannot register envy or pity or pride or melancholia, you have never lived with one for any length of time. What dogs lack is our ability to dissimulate. They wear their emotions nakedly, and so, in watching them, we see ourselves as we would be if we were stripped of posture and pretense. Their innocence is enormously appealing. When we watch a dog progress from puppyhood to old age, we are watching our own lives in microcosm. Our dogs become old, frail, crotchety, and vulnerable, just as Grandma did, just as we surely will, come the day. When we grieve for them, we grieve for ourselves.
“The meaning of life is that it ends.
[…]
“Harry had timed his departure thoughtfully. Had he waited a few more hours, my daughter would have been unable to hug him and tell him what a good boy he had been. She had known and loved Harry more than half of her life, and I believe this was not incidental to her choice of career. She was leaving, that next morning, for her first day of veterinary school.
“For nearly a week after Harry’s death, my wife and I shared a knowledge that we left unspoken, even to each other. It was simply too heart-wrenching to say out loud. As he lay on the gurney and the doctor began to push the poison into his vein, Harry had lifted up his head and kissed us goodbye.”
I am so sorry for your loss. We just lost our old friend too and no how painful it is. My thoughts go out to you all.
I can think of a few dogs I’ve known well that were better “people” than quite a few (two-legged) people I’ve known in my life.
It’s a wonderful book, we bought it early this year.
Our own hounds are showing signs of the same acceptance of limitations.
They are nearly fifteen, will be in August, and these old litter brothers have shown through their lives something that is almost like a psychic link to each other.
Their mother was 13 when she had them, a litter of 5, four males and one female which as the runt died soon after they were born. She gave up milking them at 4 1/2 weeks. I suppose she couldn’t take them any longer and so they were as weaned as she could stand.
Their breed has an average life of 10-12 years so we are grateful for every day we have them still.
We bought the book as a comfort and to see if we could learn to let them go gracefully when the time comes.
It’s really going to hurt.
For the record, Judy, and as I indicated at the top of this entry, those are the words of Gene Weingarten, from his book Old Dogs. Personally, I have not lost a dog for a few years, now.
There were two reasons I posted that, and I do urge you to read the longer excerpts at the link first posted: (1) I almost never cry, and Gene’s writing just got me going, so I thought that was exceptional, and (2) there are some things in the way Gene talks about dogs that I think might help all humans understand their life, that is to say, the period of time between their birth and their death, better.
In memory of my old choclate lab, I mixed her ashes with soil and made a flower bed which my family refers to as “The Maggie Garden.” The following is on a sign I had made that sits amid the shrubs and plants:
Near this spot are deposited the ashes of one who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. This praise, is but a just Tribute to the Memory of Maggie, a Dog. After Lord Byron
My brother in law had a Great Pyrenee. After he passed away, Ivory split her time between us and my sister in law. For those not familiar with the breed, they have a magnificent white coat.
My sister in law took her for a “grooming” once. For some reason, they shaved her coat until she was almost bare. When I saw her, I couldn’t believe it, and the way the poor dog looked at me – well, anyone knows dogs can feel joy and anger, but if I hadn’t seen it, I would never have believed an animal could feel shame.
“The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man’s.” – Mark Twain
“I have no use from neither man nor boy, who has never had an understanding with a pup…..
Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
I’ve never understood why males who shave
their beards don’t feel that same shame, Kevin.
See, another thing we can learn from dogs 😉
Which parts of the essay did you excerpt from your posted excerption?
/:>)>
Our dog’s gravestone has an inscription written on it by our two daughters: “You irreplaceable you.”
Thank you, George Gershwin, for the perfect epitaph for our dear, always missed, “boy.”
“If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and a man.” – Mark Twain – [Take that, sasquatch!]
and this is very touching, in a Victorian sort of way:
http://mark-twain.classic-literature.co.uk/a-dogs-tale/
I excerpted out 75% of the W/P’s collected excerpts, when choosing the 25% of their excerpts that I excerpted in, EBD, and I think it would be a bit presumptuous of me to excerpt in the other 75% of their excerpts that I excerpted out, here, just in order to satisfy your excerption curiosity, so perhaps you might instead go ahead and read the referenced excerpted excerpated excerpts yourself 😉
That was beautiful, thank you Vitruvius.
Five years ago I had Tanya, my long hair dachsund, put down at 17 and a half years. I held her in my arms as the vet stopped her heart. I barely made it from the surgery past the waiting room filled with customers and their pets to my car before I broke down and wept. At 60 years of age this was so much more emotionally devestating than I would have imagined. I’ve regretted every impatient and harsh word I ever had for her during the course of our deep, deep friendship.
I’m much more aware of my ability to feel and be compassionate. Not the crusty old man I imagined I’d become.
My son and grandchildren continue to have dogs who are loved. I doubt I can, ever again.
Dammit. How am I supposed to go and get supper with puffy eyes and a red face?
My cat would say I look fine, and bring him home a treat, please.
I wish that I could see myself through my pet’s eyes. Immediately, the 20 extra pounds and bald spot would be meaningless.
Can hardly type thru my tears.I had to sign the paper to have my poor old boy(spaniel mix) sent on his way to Doggie Heaven a few yrs ago.As Robert stated above,I didn’t make it out of the building before the tears came.A wonderful vet came and spoke with me..she embraced me,and told me my lad would have had no quality of life,after a serious medical problem.She spoke of quality over quantity..but it still hurt like hell.I spent 30 yrs in the healthcare field,watched both my parents pass..and the pain of losing my boy was as intense as the pain I felt losing people I loved.It was difficult coming home to a so empty house..and of course I now have 3,yes 3 more boys of assorted breeds.The joy they provide during their lives tends to outweigh knowing the pain that comes at the end.I love my 4-legged boys,and don’t care that other people think that’s crazy.They don’t understand the joy of having a wagging tail,a slobbery ‘kiss’ from a 150 lb Newf!
I like dogs (so long as they live outdoors) but all this deep, emotional attachment to them – I cannot understand.
Just so, Texan, as the entry I posted first above notes:
“When we grieve for them, we grieve for ourselves”.
Our attachment is not to them, it is to ourselves.
Although, my dog has already tasted tonight’s SDA
Late Nite Radio cheese selection, so, well, you never
really do know who’s in charge, exactly, do you ?-)
When the end comes may I accept it with the peaceful grace of an ol’dog. I’ve seen close loved ones go too young and those losses have ripped away the fear of the great unknown. Now all that remains learning peace – maybe an ol’dog can teach tricks.
Thank you for such an insightful post.
Thank you for a beautiful post. I just left my best friend at my parent’s until I complete a move that has a loose schedule. She (a Border Collie mix) has been gone from my day-to-day life for about three weeks, and Mom observed that “the dog has decided to live”. That I was missed so pained me, and reading this brought me to tears.
I just left from a short surprise visit, and the only way leaving was made bearable was knowing I would be back soon. I told my dog just that, and I’m confident she understood. I still got *that* look: the one every friend of a dog knows.
“Our attachment is not to them, it is to ourselves.”
So, it’s rooted in narcissism?
I can’t recall where I saw it but I will forever remember it. “I don’t know if there is a heaven or not, but when I die, I like to think I will go to a place where all the dogs I have ever loved will come running to greet me”
“Our attachment is not to them, it is to ourselves.”
So, it’s rooted in narcissism?
Posted by: texan at June 14, 2009 9:57 PM”
Narcissism is by definition deficient, if not incapable of returning or even recognizing the grace of love.
This posting has brought back memories long buried in my mind.
In 1948, the Russians had taken control of Czechoslovakia, and were eliminating dissenters to their imposed regime. My parents’ hotel had been ‘nationalized’ and my father was being followed everywhere he went by thugs from the secret police. Our family pet was a wire haired fox terrier named Bobyk who was as much a part of our family as my sister and I.
In our hectic last week in that country, my father was tipped off by a school friend who then worked for the police that he was to be ‘picked up’ in four or five days, and that it was time to leave the country. Being only 8 at the time, I didn’t quite understand why my parents told my sister and I to say goodbye to Bobyk because he had to stay at a forester’s friend of my dad’s, and he had to leave that evening.
We tearfully said good bye to our beloved pet and continued packing our few belongings we knew we could carry with us, then went to bed. My parents woke us up at 6am because there was a whining at our front door, and when they opened it, had found Bobyk there. He had chewed through a leather leash and walked back along the track the forester had driven, some 30 km, and found us.
Bobyk stayed with us for about an hour while we cried and hugged him. Then having said his goodbye in his own way, he wanted to leave and my parents let him go. That was the last we saw of him as we crossed the border into West Germany two nights later.
Some years later my father wrote his forester friend and described Bobyk’s visit, and how he had come to say good bye. He was astounded to receive a reply along with a picture of Bobyk, who had apparently escaped from his tether, but had strangely returned to them a day later.
We had a rescue male spoodle with a natural fluffy coat, but my child farmed him out to others for a short time. He came back as a fully clipped poodle. We could not help but laugh; poor thing, he got it and we knew that he was not keen on the Paris style girlie cut.
May I interject my cats? Good! We have three. (Remaining.), and I likely will not be without a cat for the forseeable future. We only had one of the three present when we took number two for the final ride to the vet.
Our cats just seem to show up and we feed them. And they hang around.
They are not just pets, they are gifts, and they understand when no one else does. They share. They care in a very unique manner.
My heart goes out to you V. Relish the memories but I’m sure your dog would have you move on.
I have had quite a number of dogs over the years, a lot of them rescues of unknown age and provenance, and I am deeply grateful for my memories of all of them. I have never known an animal who actually set out to cause me or anyone distress; I do know that each one will break my heart — but it will be just that one, last thing, and they never mean for it to happen. Thank you, Vitruvius. I will buy the book.
Alienated – Why do you tell me such heart-rending things? I need to function on a daily basis.
May I ask, what does “Bobyk” mean?
Doesn’t mean anything, Black Mamba. I remember when we tried to give our new pet a name, my mom suggested it after a dog she used to have when she was a little girl, which she called Bobychek.
My Seka the Wonder Dog was very old two falls ago and hadn’t been able to go up or down the basement stairs for about a week or ten days. I gladly carried her and her weight was down to about 75-80 lbs. at this point.
It was hunting season and time for my annual trip north for the month of October. The poor old girl tried to squat and fell over and couldn’t get up. Once the truck was loaded, I thumped the ramp up to the open canopy and Ra the Dog leaped up and then I went and picked up Seka and had her walk over to the truck, knowing full well that she was way, way too weak to make it up the ramp.
I picked her up and put her in the back and there smiling back at me was the happy and loving dog that I’d had for 16 years. She was going hunting. A very happy dog. She died on the way north.
I still tear up thinking about that great dog. I certainly valued that dog more than most humans.
Another cat comment – I just picked up my two 8-year old cats at the boarding facility after being away for a week. I was really surprised that, not only did they spot me coming into the facility, the male immediately was at the door yowling for me. Of course, they cried and complained all the way home. Last evening and this morning, they’re still coming to me for attention and reassurance, wanting to be held and petted. I’m rather surprised as cats are supposed to be such diffident creatures, only interested in their food dish.
Of course, their being the same age, I’m not looking forward to the time when one of them predeceases the other. I went through this before and the survivor sank into a depression and died several months later. He never really got along with the other cat and used to bully him, but I guess he missed the company.
“When we grieve for them, we grieve for ourselves”.
Our attachment is not to them, it is to ourselves.
Maybe, but couldn’t that be said of all grief.
What a beautiful post, and I loved reading all the comments (well, Texan’s, not that much).
I lost my beloved Golden Retriever to cancer eighteen months ago. she was almost fifteen years old, and I’d had her since she was a seven-week-old pup. She was my constant companion (I took her to to work every day; easy since I run my own business), my best buddy and playmate.
I still miss her terribly and cannot bear to think of getting another dog, partly because I can’t bear the idea of going through that kind of grief again, partly because she was so special and I just can’t imagine living with any other dog.
And yet… an elderly lady I once met told me that she felt the way I did and yet, two years after her dog passed, she got another one because. she explained, ‘A life without a dog is not a life).
Barbara: I lost Thea, my beautiful hardluck girl, just last year, but hard as it was, we took another rescue almost right away. Nothing changes the loss, but caring for another dog and receiving the love it desperately wants to give you is something that truly helps. Please remember that.
I miss my dog. 3 years now. He was awesome.
It’s awfully hard to read the computer screen through tears and with bi-focals! I’m drained. I loved my Dobie, Sambal. Gone nearly 20 years we still review the stories. Waaaah!
Thanks Vitruvius for the brief diversion from politics.
That was an incredibly compelling post. Thanks. I just adopted a rescue farm stray last week. After growing up with three purebred dogs, it dawned on me that my cats are unique but leashing them up and taking a walk is out of the question. As a two-year-old stray, this bad boy is a handful but is making incredible strides daily. He already sits and lays down on command and is halfway to rolling over. This after one PetSmart training lesson [7 more to go].