Dog and Man

January 31, 2011

Dog and Man

You’re a good boy Rockie, I said as I pressed my nose against the fur on the back of my beagle’s head. He still smelled like the after-shower dog cologne we sprayed him with after every bath. He turned his head slowly to one side and the other, trying to see who was holding him. I looked over at my two brothers, their eyes glossy, staring at Rockie’s weak movements, watching as his normally hyper body lay tired and weak on the metal table.

The room was barely bigger than a closet. Color-faded posters hung on painted cinderblock walls. One poster had information on tick prevention, the other on how wolves took care of their young cubs. Both were old news to me, I had been staring at them once a year for the last twelve, every time Rockie had his annual check-up. On the small countertop in the corner sat a box of rubber gloves and a dog thermometer. Next to that was a plastic container of dog treats, mini bacon scented bones that Rockie would normally devour. But not today. I looked back down at his fur, the blacks and browns across his back and neck, the whites on his legs and belly. I remembered when I first saw those colors, when I was barely tall enough to see over the top of the cardboard box he was brought home in. Those colors had answered my prayers.

Beside me in the small room the door squeaked open. The vet came in again and closed the door behind her. She stood with Rockie’s file tucked into her crossed arms.

Have you made your decision? she asked gently. 

---

I never thought I would feel as bad as I did when I lost my dog. I expected it to be sad, deflating, and difficult, but I underestimated the bond that we were a part of. My beagle was always there: in the lawn, on the deck, in the living room, in the basement. Now that he’s gone, I realized that’s where I always wanted him to be: there. To fill the emptiness of an otherwise ordinary home, to follow me around for no other reason than to be next to me, to be home with me when everyone else was gone. Now the birds and squirrels can reclaim the tranquil backyard they once knew. No longer having to worry about the howling dog that watched with intensity their every move, trapped behind the collar that made him a human’s. Without that collar though, I knew Rockie was an animal just like them, as natural and as free as those robins and chipmunks. Even they would have to marvel at the way his muscles worked together when he ran, as a perfectly polished symphony of flesh, fur and instinct. Soon all things that ever hinted at a beagle’s existence will fade, and the yard and lives of those he affected will return to the way they were before his arrival. The only thing that will remain are the memories of the small yet deep role that beagle played in the lives of his masters, in the lives of the young humans that he grew up with, played with, learned with.

On the face of it, I find myself embarrassed almost, at the thought of giving so much grief to an animal. It’s only a dog, I would have said, not understanding the true connection that brought us together, the connection that had been there the whole time. The pack animal lived with us not as a subordinate, but as an equally loved member of the family group. We took care of him as any loving human would, gave him food and water, health and attention. He depending on us for his every need, repaying us in the only way he possibly could have: by looking back at us with his loving brown eyes, resting his head on our knee when he wanted attention, laying in our beds when he didn’t want to sleep alone.

Now here I am, left behind. Now only I can suffer. My beagle is gone forever, on his way back into the ground to become a part of the unending cycle of nature. Ready to return to the earth, the very thing that gave rise to his kind and mine, to enrich the ground so that another generation of plants can be fertilized, so another generation of herbivores can eat.

—

Yeah, I said softly, taking in a breath. We’re going to put him down. I stopped before I cried. I had heard those words so many times before, from so many friends and relatives that had owned a dog or cat. For the first time I didn’t just hear them, I felt them.

Okay, the vet whispered. I’ll give you a few minutes." I pulled the yellow blanket further up Rockie’s back. My brothers wiped their moist eye sockets. I knew they weren’t ready. Neither was I. When we last looked at Rockie’s sad beagle eyes blinking back at us, I wouldn’t have had the heart to tell him, even if he could have understood. Only thank you. For being there when we wanted a friend, for growing up alongside my brothers and me, for giving us a friend that never got mad, that never cared how badly we felt or how sad our days were. In good times and bad, like wolf cubs to their wild parents, Rockie was a part of us, a part that formed the intrinsic bond between dog and man.

Thank you, Rockie.