FEATURE

A Not So Casual Friday

Over the past few years, I've written about my longtime friend and four-legged companion who had taken to sitting under my office chair and napping.

As he'd gotten older, moving without making certain where he was sleeping could have a bad result. But I'd learned not to move my chair unless I could see Alfie or hear him snoring.

Over the past few months, he seemed to be sleeping more, although fitfully.

He'd developed a keen dislike for my oldest daughter, chasing her through the house, treeing her on the sofa or kitchen counters, and, on some fortunate occasions (fortunate for him), he'd pin her in the laundry room until she could get me on the phone to come home and let her out. Over the past couple of months, he'd stopped climbing the stairs, so she could retreat to the second floor.

A piece of cardboard across the doorways was normally enough to convince his fading eyesight that he couldn't get to her. But it didn't do anything to prevent his raging at the barrier. And nothing would keep him from pacing along the cardboard like a caged lion, waiting for any opportunity to get out and tear anyone on the other side -except me- to shreds.

It made for an uneasy truce.

Today, for the first time in nearly seventeen years, I'm dealing with the fact my familiar friend isn't snoring under my chair, wandering aimlessly around the house, or waiting to terrify anyone who rings the door bell.

My daughter is free to go anywhere in the house without having her guard up, and we're all free to wander around the house at all hours of the day or night.

No concerns about surprising a half-blind, nearly-deaf dog still capable of biting a chunk out of anyone not fast enough to get away.

And today, for the first day since I was a child, I am intimately aware of what it feels like to weep uncontrollably, not caring what anyone thought.

Yesterday, I authorized the veterinarian to carry out an order I'd reluctantly signed nearly two weeks ago.

Despite medical issues that were causing my friend constant pain, I'd been unable to make the decision to end his suffering.

Maybe I'd hoped some miracle of veterinary science could reverse the cumulative effects of nearly seventeen full years.

Maybe I thought denying the inevitable end of our time together would somehow keep it from happening.

Maybe I'd just never considered I might actually outlive him.

I don't know the reason, but I know I just could not force myself to take advice offered at first reluctantly; and then insistently, by my friend and longtime veterinarian.

My inability to deal with my friend's worsening situation was taking its toll on everyone around me.

If my wife or daughter would innocently ask about Alfie I flew into a rage, once accusing them of wanting me to "murder" my friend.

It was something I was emotionally incapable of handling.

I've never made friends easily. And despite his cranky disposition, Alfie was one friend over seventeen tumultuous years who had never judged me, was unfailingly glad to see me, and steadfastly accepted me at face value.

Selfishly, I was unwilling to give that friend up, until I remembered one of the last conversations I'd had with my father.

Our relationship had been strained, but, we'd finally set aside our differences. I had the chance to thank him for the lessons he'd taught me and the quiet sacrifices he'd made to give me the chance to pursue my dreams.

One of those lessons was about pets.

"A dog depends on you," my dad told me, "without your care and feeding, he's just another critter. With it, he's going to always be the friend you can count on. He'll put up with your moods, watch your back, and be glad to see you when you get home- even if he's been hungry or thirsty while you've been gone."

"That," he told me, "is the easy part. The hard part will come when your friend's not able to take care of himself. At that point, you have to make a hard decision - to give up that best friend because it's best for him - not you. It's not something you'll ever be comfortable with, but it's part of your obligation to your friend."

And he was right. Sometimes, life isn't easy - and it shouldn't be.

Last night, I wandered aimlessly around the house, looking in all the usual places for a friend whose absence I wasn't willing to accept.

Today, when I find myself looking under my chair before rolling back or swiveling around, or opening the door to the deck, I'll probably call Alfie. I know he'd enjoy the sunshine. And then I'll see his leash hanging by the door.

Later, when I take a piece of cardboard I don't need anymore out to the trash can, I will think of my friend and smile - but my smile might include some tears.

Sometimes, doing the right thing can be hard. Doesn't mean it's not the right thing, it just means we're human.

Today, I'm feeling especially human, because a dog who spent his life being my friend and never asked for much, left me with some fond memories- and a big empty spot.

Mar 10-12	Pairs Conventional Pistol Shooting Camp U.S. Army Marksmanship Unit's Phillips Range, Fort Benning, Georgia
Mar 12-14	World Ice Fishing Championships Boom Lake, Rhinelander, Wisconsin
Mar 19-21	STI International Double Tap Championships Double Tap Ranch, Wichita Falls, Texas
Mar 26-28	23rd annual California Association of Taxidermist's, Western States Taxidermy competition and show Red Lion's Sacramento Inn, 1401 Arden Way, Sacramento, CA

Subscribe to our RSS Feed