R.I.P. Stitch
Dear Diary,
It is with a great deal of sadness that I write these lines tonight. I apologize in advance for the disjointed, maudlin, and rambling text that follows. This the third attempt. The other two are in the cyber rubbish heap. It is very likely that I’ll have to come back and edit this post too. Seems like the tears keep blurring the screen on me. Damn screen anyhow.
I have fortified my interior with a split of wine, so it may be that I can get thru it this time.
Parks’ Styx River
August, 1988 - August, 2008
Yes, I know his real name was Styx. However, that certain little girl couldn’t quite make it come out right. It kept on being Stitch, so we let it ride. Stitch it was.
He didn’t care. As long as she loved him, it was fine whatever she wanted to call him. Loved him she did. She’s sixteen now, and thinks she’s all grown up. Well, she could be all grown up. Who am I to judge things like that. Stitch didn’t care a bit how old she was, or wasn’t. He was just proud to be with her.
Faithful friend. Fierce protector of children. Loving companion. Guardian of the front door (No stranger passed without the OK from within) . Tolerant father. Totally committed to our family. That was Stitch.
Like most dogs that I have known, Stitch didn’t have bad moods. He wasn’t particularly fond of the pestering he took from the various felines, but he tolerated them all.
Stitch was a cute puppy. (He was the first Doxy that our family had been close to. We have had friends or acquaintances who have/had a Doxy or two, but Stitch was our first.) I can still remember the little needles that were his milk teeth. He knew how to use them too. His ears were too long for his head, and his legs were too short for his longish body. Clumsy isn’t a real good word for his daily activities, but it’s very close.
It seems like Stitch grew up over night. I know that’s not possible, but with the passing of years I forget some of the details of his life then. As Stitch approached his middle years, he developed some health problems. The vet was very good and kept us on the right path as far as nutrition and immunizations were concerned.
Now, Stitch didn’t care for the vet shop. Not at all. He always liked to go for a ride with me. Excited to be going, he’d jump up into the floor of the truck and squirm up into the seat so he could face out of the already open window. That first trip to the vet was the last happy trip to the vet for Stitch. I don’t know if it was the smell, the sounds, or just what, but he knew when we got within a block or so of the vet shop. He flatly didn’t like to go there.
Stitch was a man’s dog. He didn’t care if I hadn’t shaved today. He was really happy to lick the salty, oily, sweat from my face when I came in from yard work. He didn’t care if I wore the same shirt two days running. He didn’t care that I had to rebuke him yesterday as long as I petted, and paid attention, to him today. For my part, I didn’t care if he smelled like a dog. I didn’t care if he dug the occasional hole in the yard. I didn’t care if he left his bone under my chair. He was my friend.
Lest you get the wrong idea from that last paragraph, I must tell you that Stitch wasn’t my dog. Stitch belonged to my wife, Jean. And, my wife belonged to Stitch. Stitch was her dog. He knew it. She knew it. And, I knew it. I’m hers too, so what the hell?
In his later years, Stitch had lost his sight and hearing. The vet said that both sets of senses seemed to be working, but the signals didn’t make it to the correct set of synapses. His nose continued to work for a couple of years after he could no longer hear. He tracked himself, and us, with that faithful nose until just the last few months. His sense of smell began to fail in late May or Early June.
Stitch had problems with his joints and spine. A combination of arthritis and rheumatism that plagued him for the last five years. There were times, lately, where we didn’t know if he would be able to stand at all. And, you could tell that he wasn’t pleased with the situation either.
The hair on his head and face began to fade about eight years ago. The progression was slow but inexorable. Much as it has been for me. The relentless, implacable, and merciless deterioration of the physical body is one price we pay for living past the norm. Stitch’s head and muzzle were completely white at the end.
Stitch is buried in the west flower bed. Right beside the Tiger Lily. That Tiger Lily is favored among all of the flowers as Stitch was favored among all the pets. Grandma’s favorites, both.
I promised to paint and decorate the small limestone slab that will be the marker for Stitch. I couldn’t do it today. May not be able to do it tomorrow either. But, I will get it done.
So, diary, now you know some about Styx River. You know more about Stitch though.
I have to close this chapter in my life. There are new puppies to love and care for. They don’t understand our sadness. I hope they never do.
Farewell old friend and stalwart companion. Perhaps you will be waiting when I make the long ride to that happiest of hunting grounds.
I truly hope so.
Comment by perkiset
Dinker - my mother sent me this, completely coincidentally this morning. However, I don’t know if I’m completely certain that it was coincidence… the universe moves in strange ways.
Our family’s thoughts are with you and yours my friend.
A Dog’s Purpose (from a 6-year-old).
=================================================
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog’s owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn’t do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home. As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn some thing from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker’s family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker’s transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker’s Death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, ‘I know why.’
Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I’d never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, ‘People are born so that they can learn how to live a good Life — like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?’ The Six-year-old continued, ‘Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.’
Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
* When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
* Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
* Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy.
* Take naps.
* Stretch before rising.
* Run, romp, and play daily.
* Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
* Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
* On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
* On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
* When you’re happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
* Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
* Be loyal.
* Never pretend to be something you’re not.
* If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
* When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
Comment by Gab Goldenberg for TBCC
Pretty moving post here Dink. Never even saw the dog and I felt for him and could get an impression of the importance he held to you.
Comment by Dink
Thank you, Perk.
A very nice gift from your Mother too.
Comment by Dink
Thanks Gab. Ya, Stitch was a pretty important part of our household. For a long time too.
He got to see a lot of youngsters grow up. Both the canine and human varieties.
It doesn’t seem to matter that we knew it was coming. The hurt and missing is still there. We’ll heal.
Comment by PinkHat
Dear Dink,
I am so sorry to read about your terrible loss. Very moving post and such a tribute to a good friend. Having lost 2 standard poodles within 8 months of each other this past year (they were only 5), it brings me to tears to think about how you are feeling right now.
Here is a poem that says so much, about these very special friends - I thought it might help just a bit.
**************************************
Did you ever wonder why dogs are here for such a short time?
Did you ever wonder why it is never long enough that they are yours or mine?
Have you stopped to think why they cannot talk
And how they can be overjoyed just going for a walk
Did it ever occur to you why they never judge?
No matter what their past, they never held a grudge
Have you noticed that they don’t know how to hate
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have that same trait?
Did you ever notice the money you make and the clothes that you wear?
Do not matter to dogs, just as long as you’re there
They don’t need the glitter, they don’t understand fame
To dogs in the world everyone is the same
Did you ever notice their sprits are not broken?
Cruel words and hatred are never spoken
The color of your skin, the place where you live
A dog doesn’t judge, they just want to give
Did you ever notice how they are happy each day?
All they ask is for food and some play
They depend so on us to learn those lessons of love
They wait for the day to go back above
For dogs know when they come, it’s for a short while
God sends them to us to learn lessons of love and make us smile
By the time that they leave, we should learn a lot
It’s not about money or things that we got
It’s not a wonder God grants them so little time to be yours or to be mine
With creatures so wonderful he needs them above
He gives them to us so we can learn lessons of love
So when the day comes and your dog must go
You will look back and there will be much you will know
You will have learned the lessons of love
And your dog can be proud when they look from above
COPYRIGHT Debbi Greer, December 2004
Comment by Dink
Thank you so much PinkHat. Your family means much to me.
I remember the passing of the standards. I was sad then too.
The poem is very nice and truer than most would believe.
Again, thanks.
Dink
Comment by Jez
Its always sad to lose a trusted hound, still miss the dog we had as a kid, often think it would be fun to take her out for one last stroll… 20yrs is a v good innings tho, whats that, 140 in pooch years!
Comment by sassy bear
Boof!
Comment by sassy bear
sniff! ;(
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