Goodbye To A Girl's Best Friend

One week ago today, my worst fear came true despite the fact that I knew it had to happen one day:  Hooch died.

What started out as a late Sunday trip outside for bathroom usage (which is usually what the heavy panting has always stood for), became so much more.  I didn't really think anything of his not coming when I called him after his panting woke me up at about 11:30 p.m. on June 30th.  I chalked it up to the hearing deficiencies of the male species in general or perhaps with his age (he would have been 13 next month), maybe his hearing isn't as good as it was.  I jiggled his bed with my foot which got him up.

Outside, he just urinated quickly and then took a few steps away from the spot and laid down with his head up, looking at me as if this was any ol' Tuesday afternoon, not a late night Sunday.  I couldn't entice him up with his dog cookies (worrying sign #1).  I stood there for a moment scratching my head.  I couldn't just leave him outside so I went in and got his collar and leash and had to drag him to the standing position and again to take the one step up onto the deck.  From there, we entered the house without a problem.  On the landing by the backdoor, I took the 3 steps up into the kitchen and said 'Come on, Hooch'.  He just looked at me, hesitated for a moment...and then went downstairs into the basement (a.k.a. man cave).  I could count on the number of fingers the times he has gone down there by himself which always seemed to coincide with the cat food bowl suddenly empty.  This time, he just went down and laid down on the floor. 

It's now about midnight or slightly after and about this time, my inkling that something was really wrong became more than an inkling so I went downstairs, took an old comforter and a pillow and laid on the floor next to him.  His panting had stopped but his regular breathing wasn't normal.  I've oftentimes worried that if we can see the benign fatty tumors on the outside, what possibly could be going on on the inside.  I knew from a few years back when the vet was worried why his lymph node was swollen that I wouldn't take such drastic steps as to head to our state's capital to the popular veterinarian school to be poked and prodded, alone and away from home.  I knew that if it ever came to that, I would let him be until it became too much.  As luck would have it, antibiotics worked on the lymph node.  Halfway through my night with Hooch on the basement floor, I knew this was something bigger than what antibiotics could help.

I laid with him all that night.  When he shifted to a different part of the floor, I followed (after a brief stint on the nearby couch when the floor got too much for my human bones).   Off and on, I would go upstairs for 10 minutes to see if he would follow.  He never did and this was a dog that would come check on me if I was gone from a room for about that long.  When I checked on him from the top of the stairs, he was laying his head was at a weird angle, a way that I had never seen it.  Everything about what was going on was not right.   I cried like I haven't cried in a long time.  

During the night, I texted Big A off and on to let him know what was going on for when he checked his phone during a downtime at work.  I didn't think it was important enough to call the main office for his boss to track him down.  There was nothing he could do about it.  He discovered the texts at about 6:30 Monday morning.   When he came home a couple of hours later,  he knew immediately that something was not right.  He confirmed it by trying to give Hooch a piece of beef jerky which he didn't take (before, I had also tried cheese which he loves.  His nose twitched but he didn't take it).  Looking back, I feel worse for Big A than I do for myself.  I had 11 hours from beginning to end to spend with him and to come to terms with the inevitable but he did not.

Our regularly scheduled vet appointment that was originally made for something else, was moved up to 10:30 that morning.   As the time approached to leave, we tried to get Hooch onto an old sheet so we could carry him up the steps in a hammock-like.  He finally stood up during this and his back legs were shaking.  It was after this attempt that we managed to get the sheet under him and lifted up.  80 pounds of dog is a tough thing to move up steps.  As he laid there, he looked up at me and I told him what a good boy he was.

At the vet, I told the vet tech about our night.  She felt him over and we could see her nodding her head and she noted that he was breathing from his abdomen, not so much from the lungs which could mean water in the lungs or any numerous things.  We will never know what exactly happened other than he was ready to go and we couldn't prolong what he was going through.  Alex and I were with him in the room the whole time - Alex petting his back while I had the front so I could see him (and he me) as I stroked his velvety ears.  Both of us talking to him.  Having only experienced this once before with our previous cat, I felt a relief when his breathing returned to normal as the first shot (the sedative) hit.  It was then I knew that he was finally ok.  I told him the same thing that I had told him every day for over 11 years:  "I love you, Hoochie." and "You be a good boy.  I'll see you later." (the latter was always his clue that wherever I was going - usually work - he wasn't coming but that I would be back. He would then settle himself on the couch or on the chair and get comfy with staying at home). 

We stayed in the room for a few minutes after he passed, just petting him, talking to him or about him.  His face looked like the sleeping face that I remembered, not the one that I had seen and worried about why he looked so tired or why his head looked like it was getting smaller or why I could feel his spine all of a sudden (I think he was losing his mass like most aging animals do).

After being up with him for 8 hours, I took this picture of him Monday morning, July 1 at 7:54 a.m:

This was the weird angle that he was laying his head all night which wasn't right and the tired face that I love dearly but worried about.   Maybe it's weird to have taken a picture but I needed to remember him and our last night together, just like I remember our first night together 11 years and nearly 5 months ago when I made Big A (whom I was only merely dating at the time) stay with me that night in case this dog was wild and crazy.  He was wild and crazy if you were the UPS guy, mail lady or the idiot father of the newspaper delivery boy (thankfully they went digital during these last 11 years). Other than that, he was the dog young Murf always dreamed about having and the right one that adult Murf didn't know she needed. 

Today at 10:10 a.m., I happened to notice the time and I stopped and reflected on what I was doing one week ago which was probably trying to haul 80 pounds up the steps.  This last week hasn't been easy.  Work is my respite since he was never there.  I feared this past weekend when Big A would be sleeping during the day and I didn't have my 4 legged kindred spirit to hang out with.  As I knew I would, I survived but I would have preferred to have had him with me.  I still have moments of "WTF just happened?" when I can't believe it.  I've spent over 11 years worrying about someone else's bathroom needs besides me own and now he's gone.  I still look for him or his head on the floor when I get out of bed.  One helpful thing is all the kind words and stories about Hooch that people have shared with me when I posted his death on Facebook.  It's amazing to know how many people have a funny story or a happy memory of him.  He wasn't just my dog or our dog, friends and family that he met felt the same way.  From starting off as a family-less dog in a shelter to having all these people that loved him other than myself and Big A is a beautiful feeling and one I'm sure he felt throughout these years.  That brings me comfort.