Augie goes to the beach
For several weeks every summer, we go to an old family property on Cape Ann, northeast of Boston, MA. Some of us make the 17-hour drive from Nashville to transport gear and have a car while we’re up there. In recent years, we’ve stayed in the Cardinal’s House, a once grand now comfortably shabby manse on a hill looking out to sea. The cousin who rents it to us lives in the back half of the house, which years ago was cleverly divided in two.
We pretty much live on the deep wraparound porch, around which my cousin’s dogs frequently come trotting to visit. Every year, we’re a bit sad and guilty for not having brought our own brood of standard poodles, though we’re also grateful for a break from them. But this year, we couldn’t leave Augie, the oldest, for fear of his dying while we were away. Chronic liver disease and achy joints from nearly 14 active years have been taking an increasingly rapid toll. So we added his gear to the load, made a bed for him in the car, and piled in for the 2-day drive.
For brief stretches of the drive, Augie would sit, noble and still as a sphinx, and watch the world fly by. Mostly he slept, waking when we’d stop every few hours. Every time, a surprising assortment of people at the gas station or rest stop would gush openly or nod quietly when Augie walked by, saying things like So regal. Just beautiful. What a Fine Dog. We forget this, of course; to us, he’s just Augie the Doggie. I imagine he was equally surprised, this being more attention than he’s felt in possibly years. Our bigger, younger standard poodles, Isa and Dave, tend to steal the attention.
We spent the night in a pet-friendly road motel in Pennsylvania, taking several turns about the parking lot among other pups and travelers. Though clearly stiff and a bit disoriented, Augie seemed to like this part of the trip, too.
When we finally arrived at Bay View and helped Augie out of the car, it took him a bit to understand we were stopping for good. After relieving himself, he returned to wait patiently at the car door to be helped back in. So we led him away, encouraging him to wander, and watched as he did:
We turned back to unloading the car, and moments later, I glanced over to see Augie look up — left then right — before tapping some reservoir of strength to sprint back to us at the car. He thought we were going to leave him there. I wanted to cry.
Instead, I leashed us together. Augie loves being on leash, visibly relaxing into the shared commitment and discernible boundaries. He learned to heel on his first walk, never pulling, alert to whatever pace you set. We abandoned unpacking for a proper walkabout, sniffing out the house before bringing his gear and mine inside. It was slow business, but really, what was the rush?
When we were by the car, my cousin’s little dog trotted over to inspect and greet us with my cousin’s own matter-of-fact kindness and confidence. Tallulah spent her first 5 or 6 years captive and continually pregnant in a puppy mill.
Augie’s ears and tail shot to attention, having grown unaccustomed to meeting new dogs (electric dog fences are not an entirely good thing). Lulu didn’t flinch, circling and sniffing at Augie’s knees, unconcerned by his greater size. Warily, Augie bowed to return sniffs, and a steady circle dance of get-to-know-you commenced. After several turns, Augie dizzied, and Lulu said Good enough then, before trotting on her way. Augie watched her go, mystified.
Moments later, a jingling bell emerged from the shrubbery. Wyatt, the elderly white golden retriever we also met last summer, was coming to say hello.
Wyatt downshifted to a slow, easygoing posture before approaching Augie, greeting him graciously, one old dog to another, before ambling after Lulu. Augie seemed nonplussed, watching them wander about companionably, free and unmolested by the excited barking, attention mongering, or territorial assertions that he endures regularly. He followed them, and I imagined a canine Cocoon might begin.
We have been in Bay View for a week now. While I see no indications that Augie is drinking from a fountain of youth, he does appear lit up by this place. Observing his contentment on the second day, my daughter dubbed this Augie’s Make a Wish trip. I love this.
His days are easy and quiet, marked with new discoveries, even in oldest age. Meeting the ocean for the first time, Augie examined the wavelets with a curious slurp as they broke over his paws, pulling against the suck of wet sand and mica. His hunting instincts, seemingly dormant for years, have stirred to life amidst the rich scents of marsh grasses.
Being is joyful. Sleep is deep.
We see the puppy he was, tail aquiver as he dreams.
I don’t want to take Augie home from this place. I want this to be the life he leaves, like departing a party at its peak.
To be clear, I don’t wish him dead in 2 weeks’ time. I just fear his suffering to be alive far more than I dread his passing. I’m anxious to guard his comfort and peace, mildly frantic at the thought of his feeling alone, trapped, or forgotten. All of which says more about my own fears than his.
Even in stormy weather, it is peaceful here. Bountiful with scents of mineral, sea, and low-tide decay; sounds of blowing wind, bell buoy, and birds; colors of sunset and shifting water; textures of rough granite, gritty sand, slippery mica, and sun-dried grass as fine as hair. Brine, grill char, and summer fruit on the tongue. Silence in the ambient glow of sunrise.
In all this unfamiliarity, Augie clearly senses the constant presence of his people nearby. He enjoys slow strolls down to the beach and around the pond, but mostly, he sleeps in the shade of the deep porch. Occasionally, Lulu’s snappy clip comes around the corner, followed by the lazy shuffle of Wyatt, to say hello and tidy any scraps. And occasionally, Augie rises to join them for a silent, sniffing wander. It’s companionable and easy, no barking to Play! Or Notice me! No pressure to Eat Now! or lose it to the younger dogs.
Isa and Dave are wonderful dogs, and they are good to Augie, appropriately deferential and accommodating when he joins their play. Their inability to relate to the exigencies of his aging is only as it should be. When we return home, Isa and Dave will welcome Augie with furiously excited sniffing and wagging— and then storm us with ceaseless, demanding exuberance and affection.
I am afraid of seeing Augie sink then, resign himself to less, grieving the loss of his time here. Afraid because seeing his grief will make it impossible to escape the fast approach of our own. Even if we were to upgrade his care back home, we couldn’t recreate the peace and freedom he knows here. It makes me sink to imagine his suffering a long car ride only then to suffer more.
But these are my worries, conjured only in my head. There is discipline in caring for others. The only true way to keep it is to be present, with them. After 14 years, I’m pretty confident that all Augie really wishes for is our presence. So that’s what we’re going to do. I’ll let you know how it goes.
