Pongo's health had been declining for years. He had a slow growing cancer on his abdomen that we had surgically removed once but it grew back in the same spot a year later. It didn't interfere with his bladder function and although it grew to the size of my fist (and I have large hands), we could not see any impact on his overall health. He slowed down due to arthritis like any other fourteen year old dog. He still looked forward to daily walks, although sometimes he was so stiff and sore that he would stop at the end of the driveway, not wanting to go any further. Sometimes I would still put him in the car and take him to the dog park where he always amazed me by finding a spark of his younger self. Or I'd take him on the short trails through Allan Yorke Park where he could remember his hiking days, enjoying the smells of fern, bark, cedar and the scent of both humans and animals that had crossed the path previously.
In July 2015, we were finally given a son through the foster care system. He was an active 11 year old boy who suddenly absorbed all of my time. I still feel guilty that I did not give Pongo as much of my attention as he had always gotten before. We stopped doing nose work. His last trial was the beginning of May where he won a ribbon in the Nose Work 1 Container Element Trial for successfully completing four container searches. I feel horrible about that the most. It was the one sport that Pongo could continue to engage in in spite of his age. His nose did not lose its keenness and brought him daily joy. But I had waited a long time for a child and being a foster parent had its continual challenges that consumed a lot of our energy.
I knew Pongo was near the end of his life and feared the day it would come. I hoped that he would go quietly in his sleep and that I would not be faced with the decision of putting him down. I spent time laying on the floor with him stroking his still luxurious coat, looking into his eyes and telling him how much I loved him. I knew he was in pain and that the pain medication he gradually took more and more of didn't eliminate it. One evening in the fall, I lay on the floor alone with him at the foot of my bed. I stroked his ears, his neck and back and told him, "It's okay. Whenever it's time to go, I understand. Don't worry about Mommy." He began to sleep a lot and sometimes so deeply that he wouldn't hear us call him. He began to fall down the stairs and occasionally have an accident in the house.
One night in November, we came home from a family function and Pongo was shaking by the door. He was panting hard and glassy-eyed. We let him out to go potty and his body heaved as he tried to poop, but nothing came out. We just knew. Del and I looked at each other and knew that it was the moment we had been dreading. We knew he was suffering.
For the next hour, the family took turns laying beside him on the floor, stroking him, giving him love. Pongo wanted to be by my side and tried to follow me as I moved about the house. When he lay down on his dog bed in our room, I lay down beside him as I had done before. This time, I talked about the good times we had had.
"Remember when we got lost in the Shenandoahs? You kept me warm at night when we got lost. You were such a good boy." Tears flowed down my face.
It was too late to contact the vet, so we decided to wait until morning. Pongo had a difficult time settling down but eventually we all went to bed. I was woken up around 1 or 2 am by Del's shouts. When I went down the hall, I saw the carpet was wet and the front door was open. Del came up the stairs sobbing.
"He was peeing everywhere so I tried to get him to go outside. He fell down the stairs! He was right behind me but I couldn't catch him. He's outside now. I can't get him to come back in."
I found Pongo laying in the front yard. He struggled to get up when he saw me. "Hey sweet boy," I cooed, "let's go inside." He wavered when he got to his feet and Del picked him up and carried him into the house. We both showered him with kisses, putting him down in the living room. It was a long night, both Del and I sitting up with him.
In the morning, I began to make phone calls. I tried to find a vet that would come to our house to help end his pain. But I got voicemail after voicemail. It was a Saturday and no one was answering. When the kids awoke, we told them to say their goodbyes, that it would be Pongo's last day. Del fried a steak and cut it up into tiny pieces, Pongo's eyes brightened and he sat up while I fed it to him piece by piece. Then I got dressed and told Del I was going to take him to the woods. Del scooped him up in a blue fleece blanket and put him in the back of my Saturn. Del cradled him in his arms as I drove two blocks to Allan Yorke Park, then he carried him into the woods and set him down. Del left us, promising to come back later. I wanted to find a private spot for us to rest, but Pongo was having trouble walking and when I tried to carry him, it seemed to cause him pain. I chose to set him down at the base of a tree next to the path. I spread out the blue blanket and he lay down on it, then I settled in next to him.
We sat there for the next hour, Pongo with his nose sniffing the air. I made sobbing phone call after phone call. The professionals I was finally able to speak with who made house calls were already booked for the day. It became apparent that I would have to take him to a veterinary clinic, which was the last thing I wanted to do.
When Del returned, he carried Pongo to the car and we drove to the Sumner Veterinary Hospital. Pongo had taken his first nose work class with Sarah Baker at the adjacent It's a Dog's World training center a couple years before. When we arrived, staff ushered us into a room with a leather couch. I was relieved that there was no sterile examination table, steel or concrete. I sat down on the couch and Del put Pongo in my lap. Pongo had always hated the vet and typically became anxious the moment we entered the doors. But to my surprise, he lay calmly in my lap. Del said goodbye to Pongo and left the room. He couldn't watch.
Pongo passed away peacefully in my arms. My lovely boy was gone but he was no longer in pain. What a beautiful life we had lived together! Pongo gave me the strength to venture beyond fear. To enjoy the outdoors in a way I couldn't on my own. He was my loyal friend, always at my side, loving without judgment for thirteen years - the "crazy" shelter dog who transformed my life and brought me joy every day that he was in it.
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| November 21, 2015, Allan Yorke Park |
The circle of life propels me on in its wake. The pain of Pongo's death begins to subside, but I still owe him something. Several years ago I started writing a book to tell his story. But life interrupts, as an old friend used to say, and it is hard to find time to write. I have to tell myself now - no more excuses. And so I begin again today. There is no other dog who deserves a greater tribute.
