This Is NOT a Country Music Song

My dog died.
...Thank you for your condolences, but it wasn't recent. He died on October 22, 2009, nine years and ten days after he was born in Vermont. He came home with me (and my Significant Obstacle, which is what I call my ex-spouse)in February of 2001. He developed the symptoms, and disability, of COMS (Caudal Occipital Malformation Syndrome, a genetic malformation of the back of the skull), syringomyelia, and degenerative disc disease, when he was about five years old. A month before he died, he became disabled enough that I bought him a doggy "wheelchair." He enjoyed being able to go outdoors and spend time sniffing the air and looking around, instead of struggling to stay upright on his shrunken front legs that would no longer straighten. There's a word for that, but I can't remember what it is.

He died at home, after an ordinary day when he didn't show any signs of being any worse than usual. He spent the day sleeping while I was at work, yapped for me when I came home, went out to the bathroom, then went to his crate while I went out to dinner with friends. When I got home from dinner, he yapped for me again, went out again, then went to sleep on the sofa. He was on my lap sleeping at 11:02 PM, and he didn't wake up. His breathing changed, I'm not quite sure how, but I knew something was up. I stroked him and told him to relax and do whatever he needed to do. That's when he died. I cried a lot, and called my father on the phone and talked to him about it, and called the vet about helping me take care of his remains. He was my best friend, and also a Very Good Dog. People who don't like dogs liked him. He was someone special.

I live with a dog. The longest I've been without a dog since I was 21 was from June of 1999 when my mixed-breed, Ubu, passed away, to February of 2001 when Wag came home with me. So, after Wag passed away, I decided not to wait; I started looking for another dog. Ubu, my first dog, was black-and-tan, marked like a Doberman, Rottweiler, or any other of a bunch of breeds that are primarily black with tan markings on the chest, rump, face, and legs, with spots above both eyes. My second dog, Lear, was a Rottweiler. I have always had a soft spot for that black-and-tan marking pattern; Wag was the exception, being an orange sable Pomeranian. I wanted another Pomeranian, and, when I found a breeder who had a litter of four black-and-tan Pom puppies, I put in an application and a deposit almost immediately. I got the largest of the litter, a female with a white marking on her chest and four white paw-tips in addition to her tan markings. She is four months and three days old as of this writing. She is driving me crazy.

I have discovered that, although I love dogs, I am not a big fan of puppies. Wag was unusual, first because I didn't bring him home until he was about four months old and second because he was so shy and retiring that he hardly did any of the usual puppy mischief things. Echo, my current pup, is a different story altogether. As far as she is concerned, she owns the world. Everything is explored, primarily by mouthing with her needle-sharp milk teeth, especially my hands and the tip of my nose. She hardly barks at all--unless she is awake. She leaps exuberantly at my face, clobbering my chin with her muzzle. She runs across the sofa and climbs my front, clawing at my chest and collarbones to get up to my shoulder. Once there, she licks and nips at my ear, and does her best to reach my nostril and eyeball with her tongue. I don't know what else I would expect from a four-month-old puppy. But it is making me nuts.

There isn't any quick way to the comfort of a long-time relationship with another being. I think that's what's bothering me. Wag and I knew each other so well after living together for more than 8 years that it was almost like being able to read each other's minds. He knew my habits, my body language, how to tell when to climb up on my lap and when to leave me alone. When he was deeply asleep, I could stroke his body without waking him; he would stretch his legs and sigh deeply, without opening his eyes. I miss him, and, I miss the depth of our relationship and knowledge of each other. After Echo has lived with me for a year, or two, or three, we will develop a depth of relationship and knowledge too; but we don't have that now, and it makes the loss of Wag all the more painful. While I had Wag, I enjoyed what a good boy he was. I don't think I appreciated how each day fed the future, building the intimacy. Today is not just today, and intimate relationships are built on hundreds of yesterdays.