Chapter 14 Gayle's Death

These next chapters will be those that I couldn't deal with before.

Gayle was such a special dog that it's difficult to this day for me to think about that last year of her existence. The earlier years bring smiles to my face, but that last 9 months, after we learned she had lymphoma, were the closest to my having a family member die of cancer. I know it's nothing like having a person die of cancer ...just ask my stepchildren or Tom whose first wife succumbed to liver cancer. But neither of my parents died that way, and none of my siblings. Thank God, none of my children, and God Bless them with good health ...Please! That goes for all of my 14 grandchildren as well.

But, when Gayle had a growth under his chin, on his neck, I thought it was the same affliction as Jeanie, the collie my mother had when I was a kid. She had some kind of cyst that was removed. Simple. So we fearlessly took Gayle over to the Owego Vets, her vet ever since she was still a Guiding Eyes Puppy, to have her examined. They extracted a sample from the growth by needle, already knowing what it looked like. I forget if they told us right away, or if we had to wait until they called us with the bad news that it was lymphoma. We asked what the prognosis was when they told us what they thought it was, and they said there was no cure, and letting it take it's natural course, she could last a few weeks or up to about a month. I looked at our healthy yellow Lab, and couldn't believe this dog was even ill. We asked what could be done. They said there was no cure, but through chemotherapy she could probably live for another year at the most. It seemed like maybe the treatments would be worse than letting her die naturally, so we kind of opted for that at the vets office. Later that day, that time after supper when we watch the last of the news and maybe a game show on TV, and the dog usually tries to get our attention to play, Gayle did her funny dance of a few steps, and then rolled onto her back giving herself was wiggle-waggle back rub that somehow demonstrated "Happiness" in a way that words couldn't if we could have discussed her illness with her. This was a happy dog. This was a faithful dog. This was the dog of heroine like dimensions that I wrote about in picture books for my grandchildren. This was Millie's pal, and our best friend. I'd earned money that year before doing early Census 2000 work, and I could afford it, and I turned to Tom and said, "I'm going to help her to live as long as possible as long as she isn't suffering. She's family... She's worth it!"

Then we started treatments several times a week. I'd drive her back and forth to the Owego Vets, listening to the radio while she enjoyed the ride from the back seat. Millie sometimes accompanied us, and after she was left in the car, rather than go in the scary vet's waiting room, she decided she wanted to come in too. When she realized she wasn't going to be picked and prodded like the normal annual vet visit, she came out from under the chair in the waiting room, and enjoyed the scenery and the communication that wordlessly goes on between the varied animals on the scene.

Someone said through this course of treatments while we were waiting, "It's good to have two dogs. The older dog teaches the younger one, and the younger one helps us get through the grief when the older one dies." I always remembered that, and it was true. But, while Gayle was going through the treatments, she taught US how to face a fatal illness. She was always so glad to see the vet, Dr. Roberts. There came to be a relationship there between this friend of Gayle's she visited three, then two times a week. There didn't seem to be side effects to the chemotherapy, and Gayle just lapped up all the attention. While other dogs hovered between the legs of the chair where their owner's sat, Gayle sat forward and at ease. She knew she was in good and loving hands, whether home with us, or visiting her favorite vet. She was an inspiration. I thought how us humans are too aware of chemotherapy and probably have more side effects because of that. I know I'd be measuring the way I felt before and after. Gayle just enjoyed everything but the IV being inserted, but was more curious than flinching. The vet loved her too, as I guess she was the prime example of a good patient. Everyone who worked there knew Gayle's name better than mine, and those last nine months of Gayle's life, though poignant, were to me a lesson in what it is to be a hero. Gayle was my hero. She took her medicine like a champ. She was my good and faithful wonder dog for nine expensive month's which were worth that extra time ...And every single dollar.

It was that last trek to the vet's that haunted me for a long, long, time. We had already dug her grave in the woods between the main trail and the middle one. Though well into the woods, it was an almost rootless area, and I was lucky to find a good spot in which there were no big rocks impossible to remove. It was kind of eerie that she could be cavorting through the woods while I was digging her grave. Dogs have no perception of their own demise. They are alive; they are happy; they are miserable or sad; they are in the NOW. Though we can know things will get better when things CAN get better, I should be so lucky as to NOT know when they are only going to bet worse. I knew what this grave was for, and that her days were numbered. Though she acted happy most of the time, she was getting very lame... her bowel movements were diarrhea and she no longer had an appetite. I had to help her to her feet in the morning. She'd limp along the trail, as we'd walk to the lake... taking the lower path so she wouldn't have to climb the hill anymore. But when we got to the lake, she'd go in for her swim, and feel light and buoyant, like her young self again. She took a swim even on the day of the fateful appointment at the vets. The night before, I had my book club at the house, and they didn't know how sick Gayle was, and it bothered me afterwards when someone said, "Why did she have to be put down? She looked fine when I saw her." For a moment you doubt that you did the right thing... "Had I put her down too soon? ...Couldn't she have lasted a little longer? Maybe she would have died in her sleep." But our decision had to be made in a kind and rational manner. Gayle wasn't to be kept alive for us, but for her. This whole expensive treatment was for her, not us. If she was in any kind of agony, I couldn't have stood it, and she was as close to that point as she could get without our getting our emotions involved in keeping her alive because of our own fear of death.

That day was planned. The doctor was going to meet us in the parking lot. We'd take her into the vet's to have her leg shaved, and then the overdose of anesthesia would be given her in the back of my car, on the blanket in which she would be wrapped when we'd bury her. Our beautiful dog. It would be all overwith... but not until we had her home and buried. It went like clockwork, except after she was pronounced dead she gave a final sigh, making us wonder if she'd awoken. The vet was still standing by the car with tears in his own eyes. He kind of jumped when Gayle sighed, tested her for signs again, but assured us that it was a lethal overdose, and her fight for life was over. Our fight to keep her alive was at an end. We drove home, talking about everything else so we wouldn't have to pull over if our tears were blurring our sight. We talked about stupid things... turned up the radio... talked over the loud radio... somehow getting home, then carrying that dead weight that seemed twice as heavy as ever before to her final resting place. It was over.

That night was the longest ever. I couldn't sleep, and found out how boring TV was in the wee small hours of the morning, but needed it on to distract me from my horrible grief. The next day I was on this computer letting everyone who was a part of Gayle's life know that her fight with her disease was over, and there wasn't a dry eye on the other end of my messages. I got beautiful messages back from friends and family, and will never forget how wonderful people could be when it was only a pet, not a family member...and they knew better, and were there for us.

I thought of putting a gravestone on the grave. It bothered me every time I walked by the grave. For some strange reason I couldn't stand the thought that my lovely Lab was buried there each time I passed that spot. At that time, because of my feelings, I decided for sure that I want to be cremated... and any other dog that dies is going to be cremated. I didn't need her ashes, but it just bothered me having her there. I can't explain it... I just felt it for years, and now, 11 years later, I'm more used to the fact, and I have trouble finding the spot where she was buried. We've lost two dogs since, and we had them cremated. Their ashes are not with us, but we know they are in Heaven. ...With Gayle.

The Last Chapter of Freedom and Animals

Suggestions from Experience When It Comes To A Puppy

My son August’s black Labrador dog just died after a long drawn out illness, and here is what I didn't send along with my condolences, as it’s probably too early to even think of getting a new pup.

Hello August,

I know it's early to be thinking of getting another dog. I'm not too much for replacing an irreplaceable dog, but most dogs are so different that there are no comparisons to be made, so it's more like getting another kind of animal.

But it's difficult when you have a new puppy no matter what breed. It means house training, and it's best if someone is home all the time. When having to be away for several hours, I recommend having a crate (or dog carrier for a crate until he grows out of it) if you don't want to cordon off a kitchen or other tiled floor and put down papers for the pup for those times and its sleep area. We've ended up having the pup sleep with us, as they will wake you when they have to go to the bathroom... in the middle of the night. It's a bit like having to get up for the baby, and then having to change the baby's diaper in the back yard. Many a shivery morning I've been outside with a pup saying, "Get Busy!" until he'd get busy, then lavish praise as if his accidental peeing on the grass was something genius. When you do get a pup, the schedule for his house training is first thing in the morning; after breakfast; an hour later; and before lunch... Sometimes for a young pup, you just take him out every time he gets restless. If you haven't gotten another dog in between, getting a new pup in between, you forget how difficult it is having a puppy. In fact, you forget all the bad stuff, but just remember how cute and lovable the little pup was. But there are many books and puppy guides.

I've sworn off puppies, partially because an older dog's personality has already developed, but mostly because I'm getting too old for all the ins and outs of house training a pup. I'm sure I can come up with a house trained really lovable mongrel from the Humane Society, and end up saving a dog's life as well as giving him a home.

Here's my run-down on breeds I've experienced, and I'll take it from my first home dog for whom I have a conscious memory:

Heather... Mongrel dog who wasn't spay. Get your dog neutered... not worth the trouble finding homes for the pups even if they were thorough bred, but not to the kids...they love puppies, and would be willing to keep every one.

Jeanie [...with the Light Brown Hair] Scotch Collie. [...AKC regis.] Mom going into pure bred puppy raising. The pure bred puppies money raiser didn't work out, but had a nice litter of Collie/Wire Haired Terriers. Would not recommend raising pups for earning extra money.
The collie has too heavy a coat of hair. Needs grooming when all the winter coat wants to leave at one time. Otherwise nice family dog that likes to keep the family together because of her herd dog tendencies. Not likely to roam. Females are notably smaller than males. I think miniature collies would have the same personality, and either sex would be a nice size.

Blitzen... German Shepherd. When that stray was found it already had distemper. As a result, lost his ability to find his way home when out wandering. Another dog later on had distemper and couldn't stand noise. Do not get a dog that is prone to get distemper (like...who would?) But, get his shots, and remember... sometimes there are dogs who get the disease anyway. As for the breed being kind, remember Claude... that breed has been bred to protect or as police dogs. Good with families, but not with visitors. Don't do it. Maybe a female, but why? They shed a lot also.

Toby....Miniature Spitz. Yippy little dog. Again, not neutered. [Probably would have been nice if neutered]. Toby used to hump everything in sight but a female dog, but did so only once, and it was to another miniature spitz; beautiful puppies resulted, but old Toby went home with your grandmother and died with a smile on his face. His work was done.

Kiyoodle...Wonderful Wiemaraner. Judge not by Kiyoodle, we had one later that couldn't stand being alone, and learned how to open every door in the house, and if you left it locked, you ended up sorry while repairing the damage... also couldn't be left alone in the car. But Kiyoodle was wonderful. We could leave him better than take him until he got used to riding in the car and no longer tossed his cookies each time. Great with kids. Big dog.

Pup-up...Weimaraner #2... not so wonderful... see Blitzen... was the other one that got distemper even though he got his shots. Died diving under a noisy milk truck...couldn't stand any noise as an after effect of its distemper.

Kaiser... Weimaraner #3... see above described as not like Kiyoodle and became a Houdini.

Wendy... English Springer Spaniel... field breed. Wonderful with children. Good all round dog. [Tip]: Friends got male dog because of liking Wendy, only the male smelled stronger... so they said. Think theirs went hunting by himself or otherwise got in trouble roaming. Any hunting dog is going to want to team up with another hunting dog and ...go hunting. Wendy teamed up with a beagle next door... would come home to eat, otherwise, out hunting, until the beagle and family who owned him moved.

Claude... Male German Shepherd. Great with family, but wanted to be King of the World. Wanted to be the only male dog, then only male anything. Only Muffin the cat could live around him, be a smaller male animal, and live. Make good guard dogs if that's what you want or need.

Gayle... Yellow Lab... bred to be a Guiding Eyes Dog. Was wonderful with everybody, and practically invited company to come in even if a burglar... "Come in... take anything... Here... Woof! Woof!... take my chewy bones even!" But, then, you know a totally other story on Labs.

Millie...English Springer... not so wonderful with children: "What the hell are those mis-formed humans... Yuck! Growl! Keep those midgets away from me...Grrrr..."

Polly... Beagle/Basset mix... good hunter until later became gun shy. Millie jealous of Polly and knocked a tooth out... later pierced one of her ears for same reason. Polly not jealous until after Domino, and we got Bear... The "Bad News Bear." Polly was great with children until she adopted Millie's attitude about children, but is coming around again because of Bear's saving grace... I'll get to that.

Domino... German Shorthair... think personality of Kiyoodle. The second most loved dog I've ever owned. Unable to get through writer's block to write about him. However, wanted to hunt and with the company of Polly. If let outside together, they'd leave for days. Wouldn't do that alone, so we had to let out separately, and had to have one or other leashed when taking walks. Definitely needs confinement... But, a shame not to use for hunting... bred for that. Domino made a perfect retrieval of a pheasant when he went hunting with Tom.

Bear...English Cocker Spaniel...Good dog if you don't mind having a ONE PERSON dog around. He'll fixate on one person and hardly let that person out of his sight. Bear is a bit hard to bear. He's very wound up. Cannot control his zeal if he thinks I'm going outside. Always tries to get ahead of me, sometimes tripping me up. Likes to bite the outside doorknob for good luck when leaving the house. Don't let him bite your hand if you are coming in and he's going out. Don't have to worry about this dog's wandering, as he's so obsessed with me, he stays close to home. Good on walks, but likes to dig, dig, dig. Also thinks his job in life is to carry an 8' stick through the woods without getting stuck between close set trees... and has been quite adept at doing so. He was so excitable and zany I was worried about how he'd be with small children, and he turned out to be absolutely enchanted with small children...especially infants. It was his saving grace. If he is teased by older children...or me, he'll sometimes growl. He has never snapped... at least not without giving a really good growling as a warning. They have to be groomed and have their hair trimmed about three times a year. Their hair tangles terribly. They have a top notch of curls on their head that kind of gives their clownishness away. Should take care not to ever let him get fleas. That's how he got so impossible for me to groom. He always blamed me for the problem, as if my grooming him gave him fleas and made him itch. It's also how I know that he'll snap after a really good growling warning. However, he's never purposely connected and bit me. Only time bitten, by which dog I don't know, was when in a battle for my attention in the middle of the night when both Polly and Bear wanted to accompany me to the toilet and jealously fought for my attention. I tried to break up the fight. Still have the scar. Don't know which actually bit me. Bear likes to get all the attention. Poor Polly, having loved Domino so, hated Bear from the beginning... And still does. They fight quite regularly like competitive kids. Bear likes to challenge poor Polly, and Bear always has the upper paw. Though the younger dog, he's the Alpha dog. Both Polly and Bear are good riders in the car, and it's the ONLY place that you can count on Bear to be quiet and placid. But he's king of the back seat, and unless Polly gets in first, she has a hard time taking her side in the back seat without Bear challenging her. [Maybe I should have called him Fluffy or some other wimpy name...wonder if that would have made all the difference. Oh, if it were only that easy.]

So... there is my experience. I think next time I'll get a Shiatzu or however you spell it. But it will have to be able keep up with my few brisk walks a day... so, I don't know. We'll see what the Humane Society has to offer if that time ever comes.

Good luck with your next dog.

Much Love,
Mom


NOTE: This was to be the last chapter of the book, but somehow this chapter, or my mood lately has loosened up my writer's block, and I can now face writing about the end of the lives, and the short but beloved life of some of our recent favorite pets of the last 11 years.