Well Done, Old Man

I remember the day we got Raleigh. It was January in Phoenix, and the weather was perfect - sunny and mild, no wind, and we drove to the the animal shelter which was about 20 miles away. The shelter had confirmed that morning that they had a Lab mix puppy, actually a six-month old, but still technically a puppy. We hurried across the city with 5 year-old Colin and 4 year-old Erin, tossing around names on the way. We settled on Raleigh on our way back home, after the shelter worker had trotted out the black puppy with the white streak down his chest, and after we had signed paperwork and paid the requisite $50. Raleigh panted with excitement all the way home, and from that day forward he was our dog. He's been with us through two states, three moves and the addition of another child. He weathered thunderstorms and ice storms and blazing hot days. He accepted the encroachment of his territory by one grumpy black cat and a Westie named Pierre. He mostly lived outside, because that was his domain, and he was our sentry guard.

In Phoenix, we lived near a busy thoroughfare in the central part of the city. We decided to get a dog because the kids were a good age for a pet, and we wanted a reliable security system. Raleigh seemed to instinctively know that his purpose was to guard the perimeter of our backyard, whether it was located in Phoenix or Tulsa. Every house we have lived in has been protected by our faithful Black Lab/Border Collie mix. It was as if he knew his job description, and yet he rose far above it. Not only was he our watchdog, but he played with our children, learned to sit, shake and catch a tennis ball in his mouth when you threw it softly to him. He was gentle with the new puppy, and tolerant of the cat's hissing on the few occasions that he came inside the house. He really wasn't much of an inside dog. He paced and panted and showered the furniture legs. But every now and then we invited him in but it wasn't too long until it became apparent that he preferred being outside where he could roam the backyard and make sure he was fulfilling his protective role. In his later years he became afraid of thunderstorms, but that was about the only sign of old age that we saw. He still loved a brisk walk around the block and would prance like a puppy when Kyle walked out the back door every morning with his canned dog food. He savored food. He was one of those wise dogs that didn't swallow table scraps in one gulp, but instead took his time and enjoyed every bite. He loved a shoulder massage, and would melt into a laying position the longer you rubbed him. He hated baths, and as soon as he saw the hose come toward him, he would slink toward the garage until he was dragged back out into the middle of the yard. Our pool cleaning guy never liked him, but that's because Raleigh was always on duty - and refused to acknowledge that the guy had any right to enter our backyard if he didn't live here.

Two weeks ago, he was his usual healthy self, then he stopped eating. For a dog that savored food, it was a red flag. Turns out he had a tumor on his spleen, but the vet did surgery, removed it and deemed it non-malignant. We were relieved, and brought him home to recoup from the surgery. In a couple of days his paws swelled, and a few days later he could hardly walk. We took him back to the vet, and she discovered he had a valve blockage in his heart. Nothing could be done. He was miserable. So we said good-bye to him yesterday. Kyle gave him one last shoulder massage, the girls have him ear rubs, I kissed his nose, and then the doctor gave him a shot that slid him into a permanent state of sleep. He felt no pain, took five last breaths, flicked his tail and was gone. It's amazing how our pets become a part of our family, and when they are gone for good you feel a dreary kind of emptiness. Dogs give, and ask for very little in return (can't say the same for the cat). They are faithful to the last moment of their lives. You can always see it in their eyes.

Alison sat at the breakfast table this morning and through tears tried to come up with some positive spins: we'll spend less money on dog food, and Pierre can have the whole backyard. I never thought I'd say it, but I'd take the stinky dog bed back, and spend the money on the canned dog food, and listen to him bark at the helicopters and the planes if I could just see him catch that tennis ball in his mouth one more time. Fare well Raleigh dog. We'll see you on the other side.