Goodbye, Sweet Pea

Just over six years ago, my wife came to me and said she wanted to adopt her best friend's dog – a Rottweiler named Sasha. I told her “no way.” I didn't like rotties, because just one year before I was pinned back-first to a wall by one that tried to bite me. I fought it off with my keys, and I thought that actually owning one would at least be a challenge. My wife accepted my answer, and walked away with little more than a gentle plead. But then about a week later her friend showed up with the dog in tow. I'm glad she did. I was wrong.

The last six years with Sasha have been full of doggie tales. Some fun. Some horrible. Most just moderately entertaining. But all of them have been great learning experiences. She turned out to be probably the most loving pet I've ever known. She would lie on the floor and watch me move from room to room. I couldn't be out of her sight for more than a few minutes before she had to join me in whatever I was doing. She didn't care what was going on. She just wanted to be with me. Her favorite thing to do was a full body flop into my lap, where she would lay there and paw and stare at me lovingly. On occasion, it was “belly-bellies.” I think all dogs love those. It was that kind of activity, day-in and day-out, for years, that changed my mind about the breed. They exude adoration. Now I'm a fan of rotties. I like them for all of their problems and attributes. And she had lots of both.

For all of her difficulties; the tumors, two knee replacements, bad eyes, real bad gas, and two bladder stones that required special food; she also had some very good traits. She always showed a genuine affection for all humans; a love for, and desire to protect, any animal or person that was obviously a baby; an incredible amount of loyalty and obedience, and the desire to be with the pack at all times. She was never aloof. With all of the time and energy I spent with her, in training and in socializing, at the doctor's office, at the park, or just playing or walking around, I know my life is far richer for having her than not. I've even watched jealously on more than one occasion as others with more than one rottie walked by. She and they made me wish I had more.

But I say that with a little bit of guilt, because there were times when I wanted to do something other than wait hand-and-foot on my ailing dog. I can remember many mornings when she didn't want to get out of bed, and I would say, “Sasha, GET UP. GO OUTSIDE. LET'S GO.” Most days I had to carry her up and down the stairs. At the very end I had to carry her right out to the spot where she would always pee, and then straight back to bed as well. But her passing has left me with the understanding that taking care of her wasn't my burden; it was my privilege. Most rotties live to be only about nine or ten years old. Sasha was over twelve. That means I did my job well.

What I focused on most over the last several weeks of her illness, was her tumor-addled paw and her ears. They were the softest ears I've ever felt. I twirled them constantly. If I ever needed to feel better, all I needed to do was touch her ears. And she loved it. She would always beg for more. But her paw worried me. The tumor continued to grow, and it was nearly all I could do to focus on staving off infection. Her ears, her tumors. I miss them all.

It was her ears I was twirling while looking into her eyes as the doctor inserted the needle into her arm. I kept telling her “you're such a good girl.” “We love you, sweetheart.” I felt compelled to make her feel comfortable, no matter how horrible I felt. And I think I did. But I believe one of the most hollow feelings in life is taking the life of another who trusts you so implicitly. How amazing is it that I profess my love for someone while simultaneously taking her life. Only the heartless could feel it acceptable.

But it had to be done. So the day before yesterday, she went to sleep for the last time. I then took her and one of our other two pups out to a shady tree they all seem to enjoy. And there I buried her under it. But as I filled the hole, I didn't feel relief. Not for her, or for me. I felt disgusted. I feel as though her life were cut short, even while I feel as though she were holding on just for us.

Ironically, the last thing to be covered by soil was her beautiful left ear. It put a sunken, memorable end to a life that I think should have lasted longer. I still can't believe that it was so dirty. I wanted to pull it out and pet it again. But I think I'll have to wait a long time for that.

So, for now. Goodbye, Sweet Pea. We love you. You've been such a good girl.