Small Favors

For the last two weeks of his life, it was a challenge to get him to eat.  I tried everything. I fried up some cheeseburgers in my trusty old George Foreman grill, I added macaroni 'n cheese to his regular food, I even cooked an extra steak just for him.  It didn't matter; Buddy had no appetite. 

I suppose having a soft ball sized tumor extruding from your neck is quite uncomfortable.  I am also certain that cancer as it flows through your body drains an entity of all cravings, a will to live and moreso, a desire to just quit fighting.  Eventually, all beings say enough is enough.

He lived a full life despite how short those 9 years seemed. 

From the moment I met him at the pound until his final second on earth in my arms, I loved that dog.   Being greeted at the door each day after a long exhausting day of work was a joy I took for granted.  His passion for riding in my car, playing with me at the park and sleeping on my bed next to me was a conviviality I did not recognize at the time.  It wasn't until that second after he fell into eternal slumber did I realize how different my life would be without him.

I suppose it would be easy to trivialize the loss of a pet.  Who cries for the antelope as it is mercilessly torn to shreds by the predatory lion during some National Geographic documentary?  It certainly never is the same people who cry for the predatory lion as he is celebratorily slaughtered by the predacious hunter.   But dogs are not like other animals... they just aren't. 

During those final two weeks of Buddy's life, I tried to force him to eat.  I tried to breathe new life into him.  I attempted to resuscitate his will to live.  I suppose, on some level, either through denial or willful arrogance, I believed I deserved more years with him and that I, alone, could cleanse his blood of his cancer.

It was probably a little awkward the final night we spent together when I kneeled at his side and prayed to God to spare my best friend's life.  I suppose God was busy that night; ignoring the pleas of distraught parents who were praying for a similar outcome for their own children.  Or just maybe, God was off at some dog park way up in the sky, throwing a tennis ball around to his own dog or a dog that once belonged to a guy like me. 

In a time of grief or loss, it's probably okay to misdirect some anger or cynically blame the being who gave us life and bestowed certain blessings upon us.  And I did just that.  Just as I had in previous circumstances of great loss.

It's probably not an easy job being God.  You're thanked when someone scores a touchdown, blamed when cancer robs a person of life or love, ignored during moments of feast, chastised during periods of famine, mocked by arrogant people who are certain they know all truths... I suppose God probably gets a little tired of us.

When I walked out of that vet's office holding a limp leash, an indescribable void immediately took hold of me.  That drive home all alone in my car was the longest 10 minutes of my life.  The passenger seat, which only an hour previously was occupied by my black lab whom I had spent every day and night with for nine years, now was just a cold reminder that he was gone forever. 

The following month I learned the true meaning of the old idiom thank God for small favors.  Buddy's scent lingered in my car and house for quite awhile.  A stray black hair being found became more of a godsend than a nuisance.  In fact, I reveled in each.  Little things, I once loathed, became big miracles.  My perspective had shifted from anger to delight. 

I learned a lot from that dog during his life but I learned more once his time was up.  I'm not sure I believe in that cynical phrase that all good things must come to an end because to dwell on the ending is nothing but a dismissal of every moment that leads up to that moment. 

I don't know as much as I think I do but there are certain truths I cling to... like, I have an amazing life.  I have and had friends that have remarkably made an impression on me.  I have a woman that loves me and always will no matter our outcome.  I have a mother that tries really hard despite never having been shown how to love or be loved. 

And I once had a dog that looked at me with awe inspiring eyes, mercifully forgave me for everything and wanted nothing more but to please me.