Aftermath

I was talking to Kevin Saturday night. I was telling him that my list of dependents had now shrunk by half: I still had Psyché's Song to worry about. I pointed out that might be a good thing in my life, at this stage in my life, but that I wasn't sure. I said that I missed not having to take Bando into account whenever I left paper and plates around, whenever I went out the front door, took the trash out the back gate, collected the newspaper or mail, sat down on the couch, or budgeted free time at the beginning or at the end of the day. I said that that might be a good thing.

Kevin nodded and shared an experience he had the week he sold his Olson-30. The next weekend, a ferocious storm hit Santa Barbara with awesome wind and waves. He had an impulse to go down to the harbor and check his boat. He realized a nano second later that he no longer had that responsibility as a burden. And, seconds later, he missed retaining that burden. I told Kevin, as always, he got me completely.

Truth be told. I think it not too good an idea for me to shake off the burden of responsibilities. That bell does not sound a lusty, robust, or healthy ring to my ears. I can allow a certain interlude to pass so that I can appreciate and measure the added fullness Bando contributed to our lives. Life is a trade-off, as they say. There might be some positives to his absence. For one thing, Trophy Wife and I need to fully realize that we can and do have a life after Bando: that was an issue that concerned us as we tried to anticipate how his inevitable passing would leave us. We need to allow some time to have that settled. Certainly not before we get Bando's ashes safely settled on his beach.

At the same time, I am loath to allow and indefinite time to pass before actively considering hiring a new quadruped to serve as a watchman, exercise trainer, escort, winter blanket and couch companion. I do not want to procrastinate or wait too long. If I am inattentive on this point, before too long my energies and sensitivities could collapse closer around my self-centered obsessions and preoccupations. Diminishing energies and peripheral consciousness might be a fact of the aging process. In fact, there is no 'might be' about it. But what energies and consciousness I retain need to be exercised, or I'll just lose those capacities sooner. Use it or lose it.

Besides, who's to say that having something breathing beside you isn't more important than having something bobbing around, down in some slip in the harbor? Both are important, of course. One day I might have to choose one over the other. Certainly. But surely not now, eh?

For me, today began more than thirteen years ago and just last night.

Last night, in the midst of a patient's therapy session, Brandeis cried out as he tried to change his position from lying down to sitting up. Never one to complain, his expression of pain drew my immediate attention. He had celebrated his thirteenth birthday three months ago, and I had seen him losing flexibility and muscle control in his handsome lithe body; had known that he was losing weight; had seen the signs that his body was slowing down; had recognized that he was, undeniably, aging; had tried to think about the unthinkable. More cries during the night whenever he would try to change his position, and then this morning, cries of pain when he tried to get himself up on the couch; and yet more cries of pain when he tried to raise his head to receive his daily pills.Uncertainty slowly becoming certainty: it truly was time to give our beloved friend the last gift we had in our power to give: his release from growing disabilities and increasing pain. Had we not done so, I know with every fiber of my being, he would have gallantly tried to continue being right by our sides, no matter the cost to him.

Brandeis, our beloved red Dobie, with his "own" ears, as I would often note in describing him to friends, was a regal, handsome, friendly, loyal, and loving dog who always “played well with others”.

Now, not even twelve hours since his death, with the tasks of this day winding down, a realization hits me. Just how completely his presence filled my daily routines, and how gaping the hole left by his absence, is made clear to me when I consider my thoughts and actions since returning home from the vet's. Driving up the driveway, the wind whipping through the palm trees immediately reminded me of our gentle giant, whose anxieties always increased as the wind’s velocity rose. Walking into our home, the silence of the now utterly empty house was almost unbearable. No paws sounded, racing around the house to find just the perfect "choice" piece of paper, or the ripest of smelly socks, or the bounciest of tennis balls with which to greet my return home, all the while gazing at me with his impish eyes and wagging body to let me know how glorious it was to be together once again and how eager he was to play. Heading out to the garage from the kitchen, as I turned the corner, I realized that I was automatically reminding myself: "Now, watch out - don't step too closely here, or you'll trip" (on his supper bowl lying on the kitchen floor). And, suddenly, the magnitude of my loss is undeniable. Brandeis, and all his unique and endearing ways of participating in my life, is no more…no more…no more.

Brandeis, you shared our lives for more than thirteen years, becoming inextricably part of our daily joys and difficulties, a necessary part of the warp and woof of the fabric of every day that we shared together. You enriched our lives in ways small and large. I am thankful for all your many gifts to us and I miss you more than words can tell.

R.I.P., Brandeis

1 Oct 1994 - 31 Jan 2008
A.K.A. Diceman, Bando, Red October, Redoct, B-Dawg, Bandokins, Mr. Dawg, Special Dog, Alpha Dog, Marine.





This guy was a Dawg among dogs. In his day, he:

• Dominated different off-the-leash parks like a congenial and gentle bouncer in his immaculate, three-piece suit which no quadruped or biped would dare sniff or touch without permission.
• Made the Brown Trout Doberman Pinscher calendar three times in four years.
• demonstrated Frisbee and tennis virtuosity with breath-taking hang-times and over-the-shoulder catches.
• Learned how to swim and surf at the age of seven so that predatory Labradors could no longer steal his Frisbees or sticks.
• Serially killed intruders (no cats!) in home and yard, recording a two-digit body-count.
• Risked his life foolishly pursuing coyotes and Snowy Plovers for hours.
• Always welcomed grandchildren (6!) as a host, playmate and protector.
• Never lost a family wrestling match or game of 'lap-nip'.
• Maintained a perfect record as a watch-dog for one and a third decades, barking only at barkable offenses.
• Learned how to walk the neighborhood without no stinkin' leash. (the most reliable early morning, crack-of-dawn blogger in the neighborhood).
• Served as extra, living, and breathing bed-warmer and blanket in winters.
• Exhibited perfect table manners - always walking through the house after a meal to find and thank the cook.
• Enthusiastically washed dishes 24-7 (never drying!).
• Loved, parks, hills, forests, beaches and car rides - even if they were for errands - to the very end.

We aged and grew wise together. From where will my wisdom come now? In the end, the best we could give you is a comfortable, painless release from a long life, fully lived. No tears from here. Only cheers....