When Death Is Near

Hello from Montana:

My friend sent me this story this morning because she knew I was collecting stories about death of pets.  This is a great story. Have your Kleenex handy.

They told me the big
> black Lab’s name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in
> his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the
> people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for
> six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town,
> people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when
> you pass them on the street.
>
> But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in
> to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t
> hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen
> Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The
> shelter said they had received numerous calls right after,
> but they said the people who had come down to see him just
> didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that
> meant. They must’ve thought I did.
>
> But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in
> giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog
> pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis
> balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous
> owner. See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off
> when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is
> how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his
> new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to
> adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
>
> For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls -
> he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in his
> mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked
> boxes. I guess I didn’t really think he’d need
> all his old stuff, that I’d get him new things once he
> settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon
> that he wasn’t going to.
>
> I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew,
> ones like “sit” and “stay” and
> “come” and “heel,” and he’d follow
> them – when he felt like it. He never really seemed to
> listen when I called his name – sure, he’d look in my
> direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then
> he’d just go back to doing whatever. When I’d
> ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly
> obey.
>
> This just wasn’t going to work. He chewed a
> couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little
> too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The
> friction got so bad that I couldn’t wait for the two
> weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search
> mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I
> remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest
> room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the
> “damn dog probably hid it on me.”
>
> Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the
> shelter’s number, I also found his pad and other toys
> from the shelter.. I tossed the pad in Reggie’s
> direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most
> enthusiasm I’d seen since bringing him home. But
> then I called, “Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come
> here and I’ll give you a treat.”  Instead, he
> sort of glanced in my direction – maybe “glared”
> is more accurate – and then gave a discontented sigh and
> flopped down. With his back to me.
>
> Well, that’s not going to do it either, I
> thought. And I punched the shelter phone number.
>
> But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had
> completely forgotten about that, too. “Okay,
> Reggie,”  I said out loud, “let’s see if
> your previous owner has any advice.”………
> ———————————————————————————-
>
>
>
> To Whoever Gets My Dog: Well, I can’t say that I’m
> happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter
> could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not
> even happy writing it. If you’re reading this, it
> means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab
> after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew
> something was different.. I have packed up his pad and
> toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but
> this time… it’s like he knew something was
> wrong. And something is wrong… which is why I have
> to go to try to make it right.
>
> So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will
> help you bond with him and he with you.
>
> First, he loves tennis balls.. the more the merrier.
> Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hordes
> them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he
> tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it
> yet. Doesn’t matter where you throw them,
> he’ll bound after it, so be careful – really don’t
> do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it
> almost cost him dearly.
>
> Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told
> you, but I’ll go over them again: Reggie knows the
> obvious ones – “sit,” “stay,”
> “come,” “heel.”  He knows hand
> signals: “back” to turn around and go back when
> you put your hand straight up; and “over” if you
> put your hand out right or left. “Shake” for
> shaking water off, and “paw” for a
> high-five. He does “down” when he feels like
> lying down – I bet you could work on that with him some
> more. He knows “ball” and “food”
> and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s
> business.
>
> I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing
> opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
>
> Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in
> the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular
> store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
>
> He’s up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and
> update his info with yours; they’ll make sure to send
> you reminders for when he’s due. Be
> forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck
> getting him in the car – I don’t know how he knows when
> it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.
> Finally, give him some time. I’ve never been married,
> so it’s only been Reggie and me for his whole
> life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please
> include him on your daily car rides if you can. He
> sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or
> complain. He just loves to be around people, and me
> most especially.
>
> Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with
> him going to live with someone new.
>
> And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info
> with you….
>
> His name’s not Reggie.
>
> I don’t know what made me do it, but when I dropped him
> off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie.
> He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will
> respond to it, of that I have no doubt. but I just
> couldn’t bear to give them his real name. For me
> to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the
> shelter was as good as me admitting that I’d never see
> him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him,
> and tearing up this letter, it means everything’s
> fine. But if someone else is reading it, well… well
> it means that his new owner should know his real name.
> It’ll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe
> you’ll even notice a change in his demeanor if he’s
> been giving you problems.
>
> His real name is
> Tank.
> Because that is what I drive.
>
> Again, if you’re reading this and you’re from the
> area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the
> shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie”
> available for adoption until they received word from my
> company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no
> siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with… and it was
> my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq,
> that they make one phone call the the shelter… in the
> “event”… to tell them that Tank could be put up
> for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too,
> and he knew where my platoon was headed.. He said
> he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading
> this, then he made good on his word.
>
> Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even
> though, frankly, I’m just writing it for my dog. I
> couldn’t imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids
> and family. but still, Tank has been my family for the
> last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my
> family.
>
> And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your
> family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same
> way he loved me.
>
> That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me
> to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to
> protect innocent people from those who would do terrible
> things… and to keep those terrible people from coming over
> here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am
> glad to have done so. He was my example of service and
> of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my
> country and comrades.
>
> All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and
> have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I
> don’t think I’ll say another good-bye to Tank,
> though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe
> I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third
> tennis ball in his mouth.
>
> Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give
> him an extra kiss goodnight – every night – from me.
>
> Thank you, Paul Mallory
> ____________________________________
>
> I folded the letter and slipped it back in the
> envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone
> in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid,
> killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the
> Silver Star when he gave his life to save three
> buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
>
> I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my
> knees, staring at the dog.
>
> “Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.
>
> The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes
> bright.
>
> “C’mere boy.”
>
> He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the
> hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head
> tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in
> months.
>
> “Tank,” I
> whispered.
> His tail swished.
>
> I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time,
> his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed
> as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I
> stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into
> his scruff and hugged him.
>
> “It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal
> gave you to me.”  Tank reached up and licked my
> cheek. “So whatdaya say we play some ball?
> His ears perked again. “Yeah? Ball? You
> like that? Ball?”  Tank tore from my hands and
> disappeared in the next room.
>
> And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his
> mouth.
>

The days and weeks following the death of a loved one, whether human or  a beloved animal companion, may pass in a blur.  It is human nature to want to wish away grief with disbelief. It is possible for belief and disbelief to operate in our sub conscious minds at the same time. There is a part of our mind that helps us to endure that which is unthinkable.

While we may acknowledge that a loss has occurred, we keep looking for clues or signals that our loved one is still living and will continue in our loving relationship.  This may continue for many years that you think you spot your loved one in a crowd, or you smell the special smell that belongs only to him or her.

Reactions to Bad News

Unexpected announcements of a terminal illness, untimely death or sudden emergency will bring about many inevitable questions and decisions that you are unprepared for. If you have had no warning and no time to prepare disbelief is a protection of a shattered heart.

You may very well react with statements like; “oh no, you have made a mistake. He was fine this morning.” What we really mean is “This is too much to bear at once and so I must resist the fact.”  This is the part of the grieving process and is perfectly normal.

Grief is an Emotional Weight

In addition to the weight of the loss, there is also another major reason that we tend to put off truly believing in the death of our loved one.  That reason is because by acknowledging and accepting the death of someone close to you, means that you accept that you too will die. There is a reluctance to admit your own mortality.

This may force you to face your own deep-seated fears about death and dying. In addition to the multitude of practical matters to decide, you may welcome the busyness involved so that you don’t have to deal with the spiritual issues.

Bereavement is a Shock

Loss of a loved one is first encountered as a shock to your system.  You may feel as if you are covered with cotton batting or layers of gauze. You take care of the necessary details, but almost in slow motion.

It is a blow to our lives when we lose someone and the weight of the grief will take time, thought, tears and lots of friends to get through this period in your life.

Do not be concerned if you feel numb, disbelieving or in shock.  Don’t allow anyone make you feel guilty because it seems that you are not dealing with this as they would like. This is your personal journey and one that you will take at the pace your heart and soul can handle.

Healing From the Pain Takes Time

Grief is a slow process and often takes one or two years to begin to feel “normal” again.  That does not mean that you will always hurt this badly, but you do need to give yourself permission to heal your way.

You may find comfort, sympathy and support with a group of people who have undergone similar losses.  It has helped me in the past and I am confident it will also help you to understand the feelings and emotions you are now experiencing.

Are you lonely, sad and depressed from the death  or loss of your pet? These feelings of pain and anxiety are perfectly normal, but you can find peace again. Do you view your pet as a member of your family, your closest friend, and constant companion?