Requiem for a small dog
I flew to Detroit, Michigan one late September day in 2005 to meet a breeder in the gigantic airport. She drove over the border from Canada and I first met Hektor, our new Cesky Terrier puppy. He was scared on the flight home but his cuteness appeal allowed the flight attendant to let me hold him. My skeptical husband met us and that was it, he fell for the puppy hook, line, and sinker. We named him after Hektor the great Trojan warrior, honorable to his death at the hands of Achilles outside the walls of Troy. Even their enemies, the Greeks, admired Hektor.
One incentive to get a puppy was that our old Stafford was slowing down and I hoped a puppy might bring her new life. Given that she hated every other dog on the planet but adored every human being, this was an audacious and whimsical hope on my part. But when we drove home from the airport and introduced them, Stella, our Stafford, seemed to understand and embraced his puppy charm.
He loved pulling out her weak back leg and then rolling on his back under her chin as she bared her yellow fangs. He would wiggle and bare his huge teeth in return in pure enjoyment. He adored her and I could tell she liked him as well as she never hurt him. Stella lived over two more years and we credited Hektor for that. They would curl up together in the back on the car on long drives. When Stella had a massive stroke in the middle of a January night, Hektor crawled into her bed with her as her heart slowed and she gradually stopped breathing.
As a puppy Hektor could destroy any dog toy in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. A small dog, his teeth were fearsome machines of destruction. It became a game to find a toy he could not dismantle. We never did, although his Kong frisbee did a pretty good job of lasting more than the usual “tuf toy” issue. He loved to chase squirrels, go on walks — although he was a cautious pup who did not warm to new events well. He was moderately friendly with other dogs — a big relief after Stella who gave off “bad dog vibes” and would rarely start a fight but would delight in any opportunity if the other dog tried to engage. Hektor was not interested in other people, again a major change from our Staffie who adored all human beings, the scuzzier the better. Stella had loved the entire human world. Hektor would ignore the fawning audience. He would not be mean, just not “see” them. We did have friends whom he took to and was delighted to greet. One in particular, our friend Ann, he adored and would get right in her lap anytime she visited. He was quite tolerant of our grandchildren, although he was not raised with them nearby but he seemed to know these curious beings were part of us so he respected that.
For over 14 years Hektor has been our Big Dog. He would go on long walks with us, adored watching my husband cook, and would sit begging for potato chips as we watched TV. He loved to get up on the couch and cuddle and eventually ended up on our beds. He loved sharing the warmth — even on those summer nights. OK, we spoiled him. When he was around five we had to go to a conference in Canada and found a lovely kennel just on the US side. After three days we picked him up. I have never seen any dog so happy in my life. He was ecstatic to see us and exuded devotion and happiness the entire drive home — as if we had just sprung him from Rikers. The caretakers said he had refused to eat and ignored everyone. We never kenneled him again. When we got a Siamese kitten she bonded to him right away and they would often nap together as well.
Over the past two years we have watched him decline. First he lost his hearing. I have never had a deaf dog and this was hard on all of us. I am sure he wondered why we stopped talking to him. He could no longer run after his Frisbee or go on long walks. Eventually he could barely walk at all. In the evening he would get snarly and mean if you tried to get him to go outside, upstairs, or in his crate. My husband described this as “sundowning,” a typical symptom of old age. This past September we got a Boston Terrier puppy who joined our pet family. The cat was appalled by the puppy but Hektor seemed to tolerate her, well, sort of. She would run under him and pull out his legs. Ah, getting his own back! After breakfast I would find them together in his dog bed. The cat stretched out on the radiator right above the two of them.
However, each day seemed to bring more trouble for our dear Hektor as his sight waned, he no longer seemed to know where or who he was. He would stand and walk aimlessly, a listless uncomprehending look in his eyes. He spent most of his days in his bed or walking around the house. He ignored the puppy, no longer even trying to play half-heartedly as he had done in September. However, every morning I would find them squeezed together in the small dog bed.
After much anguished discussion, we made the decision to let him go. He had demonstrated every sign of advanced canine senility and as we gazed at him we saw no light in his eyes, no joy at all — even eating no longer seemed to be a fulfilling event, just one that had to be done to punctuate the day. We found a compassionate vet who gently evaluated him and confirmed what we already knew: he was in pain, and yet did not have the strength or interest to respond. We both hugged him and for one moment Hektor looked in my eyes, turned to my husband and looked deeply at his beloved man, and we felt somehow he knew and was perhaps even thanking us. For that moment he was Hektor, the Trojan prince.
This story is not unusual but each telling reveals how closely we bond to the pets in our lives. Dogs remind us to be human as they offer us boundless love and acceptance, even when we least deserve it. They trust us to be the best humans can be. Ah, if only we lived up to that faith. Of all the animals in the world, dogs might be the only one that truly accepts us humans as worthy of such faith. They give us that chance. As I watch my puppy launch herself at complete strangers with an abandon of love and deep expectation of joy and acceptance, I marvel at how dogs can still, well, even like us. I have a fleeting vision of heaven with a small black Cesky Terrier eagerly barking at the gates. A Stafford rushes up, barks welcome and the gates open. Stella and Hektor play the “teeth game” again in joyous reunion.
OK, how maudlin can one get? Apparently a lot when our dogs are involved. But if the concept of heaven is simply a recognition of the value of each life lived well, the, dogs are definitely deserving of such acknowledgement. Even the errant destroyed shoe or blanket cannot cancel out the joyful life that my Hektor lived. And we all miss his presence, including his cat and puppy. Death empties the world of a witness to life even as birth introduces a new presence. It is the “cycle of life” as we glibly term it. But it is also testament to how the universe is replete with value, with love, with energy and life as the good. And that is God — which spelled backward brings me full circle to Hektor.
