Post-Gus, Day 2

Well, it's the day after saying good-bye to Gus. I don't want to be melancholy, but I am. I don't want to look in the refrigerator and burst into tears, but I am. My heart still pounds painfully every so often - I think with remembered dread still causing a spike in my heart rate.

I threw his medicines away this morning, the stop-the-nose-bleed drops, and the pain pills. The pain pills made me wheeze and gasp, trying to not to sob. What really got me were the treats under the sink I bought him for Christmas, still there and unfinished.

The house this morning was quiet - so much so it was eerie. I didn't realize what a loud dog our blind sheepie was. There wasn't any of the extra bustle that had filled my mornings. Getting Gus up and down the hallway, following him around outside in the pre-dawn dark, getting him in the house, and his gentle huffs and sighs. Gus panted, probably because he wore a wool coat, albeit fashionably short in warmer weather, but still warm. And he thunked into things, which sometimes made the whole house rattle.

The muppets seem to be feeling the change. For the first time ever, they came back to the house on their own this morning with no extra prompting (read yelling, calling, or chasing down.) Sookie especially knows her big brother is missing. She was upset yesterday when she saw his body in the garage, and this morning she seemed mopey. Elrod was upset because his people were upset. The cat who was outside during the day's events, came in last night, and searched the entire house sniffing and looking. The Jack Russell, in typical terrier fashion, is acting like nothing is wrong, except not having enough food in his bowl.

I realized sometime last night that I could have a coffee table again. After 9 years of no coffee table, I am kind of used to the anti-extra furniture trend. I can't imagine having a coffee table. Really, can't. In my head, it makes the room smaller, and a lot more lonelier. Maybe in a few months I'll think about a coffee table, but I can't yet. Besides the muppets need their wrestling space.

I know that all the extra care and tending I put into Gus I can now point and do something else with, but I am not sure what. I would happily keep giving all that I was giving to have a healthy Gus back and in my arms. But the point is, I can't. I am coming to realize that what I was telling myself to make myself go through with our decision to euthanize Gus was really, really true. He wasn't coming back, he was dying in pain. The die were cast, his race was run, and it was time to let him go. His spirit - the spark that made Gus - had already left and was only held by the merest tether of a beating heart.

We thankfully have a busy weekend in front of us. Tomorrow we go see the Lippizan stallions in performance, Sunday we may go upstate to have dinner with Joe's family; and hopefully Monday, my parents will be here, trying to flee any more bad winter weather. I really need my mother's hug right now. I am buoyed by the news that my brother and sister-in-law are getting two foster puppies tonight! What a great adventure they have in front of them! I am almost jealous. We can plan our first weekend get-away now; it's almost been a year since we've gone anywhere.

But in between all that, I'll be missing and thinking and trying to smile about my big sheepie, Gus.

Eulogy for a Dog

In memory of Gus "Bus" Iden July, 1998 - January, 2009

We had a hard to decision to make yesterday, or for me. it was the day before. Gus, our beautiful white-headed Old English Sheepdog, had been diagnosed with nasal cancer during the summer around July. It had started with a some hellacious nose bleeds and horrific snoring and escalated into total blockage of the sinuses. It culminated last weekend with the cancer
errupting into his eye socket causing him pain and distress. Within two weeks our once 93 pound dog droppped almost 20 pounds - the cancer was eating him from the inside out. It became apparent to me that we had come to a fatal decision point - either now or in a few horrible pain-filled days.

Gus had fought cancer valiantly for 7 months. Canine nasal cancer doesn't have a cure, it doesn't even have a good way to fight it. The surgery is horrible, the radiation afterwards even worse. My vet said that he wouldn't even put a young two year old dog through the ordeal. Instead we chose to give Gus the best life he could have for the remainder of his time. Over the last week, Gus turned into a zombie dog, who could barely put one foot in front of the other and who had stopped eating. If you knew Gus, you knew that was a very bad thing.

I agonized with the decision by myself until last night when I told Joe. He agreed that it was the right and best thing to do, and this morning we called the vet. Beth came to our house and help put our sheepie into a gentle rest. He was so close to going you couldn't tell when he slipped from our world over the rainbow bridge. We held him up to the end loving him as best we could.

There are tons of other blogs about losing a loved one, and lessons in life, and the pain of making the euthanasia decision. This blog is about me trying to heal some of the holes in my heart today.

Gus was a very good dog. Not great, mind you, but a very good dog. You see, like most dogs, Gus gave us all pointers in unconditional love, respect, friendship, and how to love whatever food is in front of you. But unlike most dogs, Gus had a few more lessons for me to learn and keep.

Most of you wouldn't know that when I brought Gus home, he had one beautiful brown eye and one blue eye. About 2 months after I adopted Gus from the Old English Sheepdog Rescue in North Carolina, he went to totally blind. Both of his retinas tore and detached, leaving an otherwise healthy and young 2 year old dog in the dark. Adding insult to injury, he grew
cataracts over both retinas, leaving boths eyes a milky blue. I always blamed his blindness on the rough start he got in life - left in a dog pen in the hot sun in Charlotte, North Carolina for the first full year of his life. The fur on his back was still brown from being sun-burnt when I brought him home.

But Gus and I both adapted to his changed world. I got rid of the coffee table, and he began to put his full trust into me.

We learned how to communicate. "Slow" meant "hey stupid, there is a tree (or house or car or horse trailer) right in front of you!" "Other way, Gus!" meant to execute an incredible tight turn in the other direction because impact was emminent. "Step, step" meant that the altitude was about to change one way or the other.

We still had accidents along the way. A quick-footed pony gave him a concussion and 10 staples in the head. I kept a bag of frozen peas handy to keep on his noggin after "Slow" and "other way" didn't work. But Gus, for the most part, worked it out. He had his Sunny, and then his Sookie to help him when Mom wasn't there.

Gus - your zest for life and love will never be forgotten. No matter you were blind, you wanted to play like the rest of the dogs. You barked and chased, and wished you could get that damn Jack Russell just once. You never let a garbage can lid stand in the way of getting what you wanted, by God, if the garbage smelled good there was something in it for you! Peanut butter kongs were a requirement, not a nice-to-have. And despite your people's best intentions, if there was some place you wanted to go, you were going regardless of how many bushes, holes, fence posts or donkeys were in your way.

And love. Gus always trusted that there would be someone around to love him. Someone he could feel and who would hold him. And if you were too busy to touch him, then he would touch you. Mostly by shoving his head through your legs, and squirming until he got his whole body between your legs. The looks of surprise on all the new people Gus met when he first did that too them! When the big, shaggy head would poke itself right out above your knees. Everyone would laugh and then get the message Gus was trying to tell them - love me. Easy enough to do for a dog so full of love himself.

And who among us who knew Gus doesn't have Gus claw scars on their ribs or their knee from Gus reminding us that he was present at the dinner table?

Gus had a love of well-endowed women too. If there was a large chested chick in the crowd, Gus would find her. And within the first hour have his head between her boobs. I used to warn any endowed women meeting Gus that he would be all over them, but I decided to keep it our secret. Every dog needs one or two. Secrets that is.

I said to Mom this morning, that even in times of immeasurable sorrow, you must remember to count the joys. Gus was a joy, a clown, a train wreck, and my giant living teddy bear. My heart is breaking with missing him. I know my love for him will always be there, and a piece of his heart will stay with me until the end of my days.

Now Gus is over the rainbow bridge. By now he has found Sunny and they are having a joyful reunion. And best yet, his eyes can now see what he hasn't been able to for 9 years.

Gus, our big goof-ball, rest in peace. We love you now and always.