-originally printed in the Lexington Herald - 2007
Pookie, my little dog, is a miniature silver-dappled dachshund. She is not dead yet, but she quit eating dog food a week ago. She quit eating people food two days ago, and she quit drinking water early today and seems to have slipped into a coma. She hasn't quite made 16 years. When she picked up and then dropped without eating a juicy piece of freshly baked ham two days ago, I could see the end was near, for she desperately loved people food.
Two years ago at Christmas, she suffered a disk injury -- to which dachshunds are susceptible -- and that required a $2,000 operation to fix. Even though the operation was successful, she never recovered the full use of her hind legs. Thus, I or my wife had to carry her wherever we wanted her to be, and she has truly spent a lot of time in our arms over the last two years.
Pookie is a beautiful little dog, with her black silver-dappled body, ears, and head, and her brown face, chest, leg, and eye-brow markings, which are now mostly gray. When she perked up her ears and cocked her head to look up at me, she was absolutely, irresistibly lovely.
Gerard Manley Hopkins expresses well my feelings in Pied Beauty. The people and creatures we love, I think, become a permanent part of us, fill out our being. When they die, a part of us dies too, with only the memories to show us who we really are. Pookie, with her beautiful furry face, eager eyes and perked-up ears, will always be a really good part of who I am, a small but extremely important and extremely well-loved part.
A few days later I sent this follow-up:
Life, I find, is not only precious but tenacious. Pookie would wake up, drink water, and drift off to sleep again. She appeared to be dying, but she would hang on. She was, after all, a dachshund. Thus, it seemed best for her, reasonably, not emotionally, that we call the veterinarian. Last night I did; the veterinarian, blessedly, came to the house this morning and gave Pookie her last shot ever. Even in such a weakened state (she was just skin and bones), Pookie fought the needle but did succumb. She died this morning around 11:30.
The little dog has lain next to me on the big dad chair every evening for the past 15 years. I watch TV or read and run my hand down her head and body. Every night she slept at the foot of the bed between my wife and me. I can't imagine her not being there. I guess that is one of the consequences of getting old. Everything around us gets old too. I always understood Pookie to be a real gift, one I was truly grateful for, but one I just wasn't ready to give up.