I stepped out the front door of our house in Vermont on Saturday to go for a run — and was almost bowled over by a high-spirited, hyper-friendly young Kerry Blue terrier who came bounding at me like an over-wound-up Disney pet from Toy Story.
I didn’t recognize the pup. “Don’t you have another dog?” I asked my neighbor Mike, the Kerry Blue’s owner. I was thinking back to the countless times I’d been tackled in a similar fashion by a wiry, handsome Rhodesian Ridgeback, charging out of the same house.
“That was Tongo,” Mike said. “We had to put him down just after Labor Day, two-and-a-half years ago.” Watson, the high-octane terrier, was acquired shortly after Tongo passed away. “Tongo had an osteosarcoma in his leg,” Mike told me. The vet laid out the options: chemo, or amputation of the leg. They went the amputation route, but Mike said he’s always regretted it. His eyes looked like they were tearing up, and there was a little tremor in his voice. Tongo had twice disappeared into the woods to die, before Mike and his wife found him and ultimately put him to sleep. Mike said he he always meant to spread Tongo’s ashes
in the woods he loved here in Vermont, and also in Massachusetts, their full-time home, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it just yet.
I couldn’t believe how much Mike, talking about his dog, sounded like Mimi, a long-time writing student of mine and a good friend. Mimi’s also been going through a rough patch on the dog front. She e-mailed me last Monday: “Having an awful week. I’ve been told my Lab has to be put down, and I’m trying to do the right thing.” A day later she wrote, “Buddy was euthanized at 5:30 PM. My house feels so empty — it’s difficult to describe. My two other dogs keep looking at me, as if to ask, ‘Where’s Buddy?’ I don’t know what to tell them.”
Ten years ago I wouldn’t have known what to make of Mike, or Mimi. Ten years ago I didn’t have a dog. Now I get it. I often think of Ricky as my fourth son. My guess is that when his time comes, I’ll react a lot like Mike, and a lot like Mimi.
Here’s hoping I don’t have to find out for a long, long time.
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Our dog Canyon, always a homebody, took to wandering into the woods before she too had to be put down 2 years ago because of kidney failure. We didn’t understand it, or realize other dogs did it. Is it some ancient doggy instinct?
I think Mike told me he looked into this, and that it is some sort of doggy instinct. Mike?