I remember my dad bringing home a 5 pound Lhasa Apsos puppy back home as my sister’s birthday gift. My first impression was “damn, more cleaning I’m going to have to do.” I really didn’t want to care for a puppy, especially a roly poly stubby one that fell over when he tried to stand. But despite the urine on the rugs, the destruction of shoes, and the inability to insure items damaged by ‘canine gnawing’, we fell in love with the dog instantaneously.
Waffles loved grapes as a pup. He had this routine where he would first stare the grape down, and the proceed to run around it like an MMA fighter circling. He would then pounce on the grape and lay on it and smash it with his back, rolling back and forth. You would think the grape would be turned into a pulpy mess, but Waffles developed a secret method where every time he got up, the grape would still be intact. Waffles would then pick up the grape and toss it up in the air, and try to catch it. I don’t think he had the best mouth-eye coordination, as he got pelted in the face about 99.999999% of the time. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever caught a grape EVER. But he enjoyed his crazy game, and we continued feeding him grapes on a regular basis.
One time I was at Petco with my sister, and picked up a book on Lhasas. The first page I opened to showed the top threats to Lhasas. The item that caught my eye was this:
Grapes – May Cause Renal Failure
He immediately retired from grape fighting that day with an impeccable, umblemished record of 812-0.
One of the few benefits at my old company was being able to work from home half of the time. Waffles was the perfect foot rug as I sat at my computer, wondering why my life could not be simpler like Waffles...eating, scratching, and sleeping. All of which I do, with ‘work’ thrown in.
I would wake up, and without fail, Waffles would stroll in a few minutes later and plop next to my feet and sit next to me. I would usually run to McDonalds for lunch, and grab 2 McChickens and a McDouble. Like clockwork, every time I got my food and sat down to eat, Waffles would remind me that I was working out and on a diet by pawing at my leg with his Freddy Krueger nails. As a reward for reminding me that I should watch my carbs, I would give him the burger buns. He had lost some teeth by this point, so he pretty much swallowed the bread…but somehow, he still enjoyed it, and kept coming back for more.
Waffles slowly built a compulsive need for human interaction. Thus, something was bound to go wrong when I left for school, and no one was at home. Without someone around him, he became lonely. From this, he developed vertigo, and a nasty case of pus and blood filled bumps all over his body. After taking Waffles to countless vets, we learned that he attached to the family, and did not like being abandoned. (Abandonment issues…really??) This would also explain why he likes jumping into duffle bags and luggage suitcases, as if to say “take me along wherever you go, you world traveling pricks!”. He was worse than a clingy girlfriend…at least you can lie to the girlfriend to get away for a night of poker with the guys. If I left the dog for the day, he would somehow know, look at you with a tilted head that implied ‘why?’, and would inadvertently lay the worst guilt trip on you, all without saying a word.
Unlike a bloodsucking gold digger (named Christine L.) who asks you for pocket money and a new Coach purse, dogs give you emotional love unconditionally, and have an uncanny ability for empathy. Even though they can’t speak, they know if you are heartbroken/sad/depressed/emo. They will sit next to you calmly and silently, as if to drain whatever negative emotion from you. Therapy at its finest, without the weird feeling of talking to a stranger who pretends to care about you at $125/hr not covered by insurance.
Cataracts set into one of Waffles’ eye when he was around 12 years old, but that did not stop him from enjoying his daily walks and his quasi-plutonic dalliances with, what we called his “girlfriend”, Ginger. This relationship reminded me of the strangeness of seeing Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, as Ginger was a 60+ pound, Golden Retrieving behemoth, and Waffles was the size of one of her turds.
In 2006, with my sister was locked up at a law firm working 20 hour days, me consulting in the armpit of California (aka Watsonville), and my parents traveling overseas, no one else could have taken care of the dog. So we did what any caring owners would have done; lock up their dog in a cold, steel cage at a kennel. A week of abandonment gave the dog vertigo again, a diagnosed case of stress (medically, this is somehow possible), and weakened him to the point where he looked thinner than Kate Moss taking fasting lessons from Ghandi. He could not stand, and simply would not eat. I thought that this was definitely it for him. Blind from cataracts in both eyes, weakened hearing, lethargy, no appetite, 13 long years…these were all signs of impending doom. I was preparing myself for the end.
However, I think Waffles may have been a fan of Blue Oyster Cult. In fact, he may have pissed on the Reaper. Like the 2004 Boston Red Sox, he miraculously fought back the stacked odds, and closed death's door. If I could quote barks, I bet it would go something like this:
"Sorry to disappoint, I’m not dying yet. Try again next time."
-Waffles
Slowly, he regained his strength to stand, and his will to eat. The recovery was amazing; he was a rejuvenated dog. We should have just named him ‘Houdini’, given his penchant for being able to cheat death once again.
Waffles continued to live with my parents, and would have his daily walks, naps in whatever room he felt, and his gourmet dinners. I wish that I could have had some of the foods this dog ate when I was in college. Prime rib, filet mignon, chicken, liver…he had a smorgasbord of delectable delights on a nightly basis. However, he did have an uncanny voracious appetite, and consumed a lot of food. He would continue to make rounds in the kitchen, waiting for food even though he just ate. Also, Waffles began to lose balance and sense of direction, and would bump into objects and walk in circles.
It was a regular Saturday where my parents and I finished lunch and were hanging out at my parents’ house. I saw Waffles walking down the hall, when he plopped to his side and started rolling around. I thought he was itching his back as he has been known to do, but his limbs went rigid, and he started shaking. I then knew something was wrong. I ran over, and saw that his tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth, and that he was foaming. To watch a dog fall over, shake, and seize is a horrific experience, as there is nothing you can do. Once the seizures were over, Waffles laid there for few minutes, breathing heavily. We wiped his mouth down and hand fed him some water. But like he was playing a joke on us, Houdini stood up, shook it off, and walked away, like nothing happened.
Exactly 3 weeks later on Saturday, my sister witnessed Waffles experience another seizure yet again. Only this time, the effects lasted longer. The dog had become more disoriented, and exhibited a purple tongue from the lack of oxygen. I was in disbelief when I heard what had happened, and was in denial that my sister had made up her mind to put him down. What if he could get better? What if he had a few more years in him?
Maggie and I went to see him the next day. As I pulled up into the driveway, I saw him walking around the front yard in the warm Springtime sun without a care, sniffing the flowers and basking in the warmth. How unfair was this?? How the hell can we put down an animal that still seemingly enjoys life and has a healthy appetite? Sure, he cannot see or hear, but this dog cheated death several times on his own will, yet we’re going to ensure that he won’t live past today, possibly against his own accord?
Death row inmates that watch the hours slowly drain to midnight deserve to die. Those pathetic leeches of society earned the privilege of watching their life tick away second by second, as they reflect on the horrid, wretched actions and decisions they made in their useless lives to get them to that point.
Our dog has done nothing to merit the green mile. All he has done was brought joy and good memories to us and everyone that had ever met him. But Waffles had no clue that in 4 hours, his fate would be the same as a San Quentin resident, and that the notion of ‘waking up’ tomorrow would not be entertained.
His next nap would be the last that he would ever have. This is how we will repay him for the years of loyalty and unconditional love??? Is this human???
I spent an hour with him, talking to him, and convincing him that he’ll have fun chasing that big bone in the sky, roaming around the great big yonder. I laid there next to him reminiscing about the time he tried to make friends with an army of rabid looking raccoons, and the time he started eating my lunch when I walked away from my plate. He laid there quietly, still, as if he was actually listening.
Then something surreal happened. Even though he could not see, nor could he hear me speak, part of me believes that Waffles purposely licked my face and tears to tell me to stop crying, as if to tell me that he will be ok, because we have given him a great life already. It also felt like he was thanking us for devoting our years to HIM.
My sister called me at 4pm. I dreaded answering her call, if only because I knew her call would be finality on the matter. I picked up the phone, and she let me know that Waffles was a good dog on the car ride to the vet. He sat in my mom’s lap quietly, without fuss, all the way to the hospital. Perhaps he knew what was going to happen, and he was at peace with our decision. The vet told my sister that Waffles showed symptoms of a previous stroke, which explained why he was always so hungry, and had an unbalanced equilibrium. Although it was possible he could recover, chances were that the seizures would be more increasingly frequent, and become more violent, which could lead to paralysis. When I heard this, I had become more at ease with the decision that this course of action would be the best for him.
He went to the vet with his favorite sweater that my sister got for him, and laid on the Christmas pillow that Maggie and I bought. The process took less than 10 seconds, and was painless for Waffles. I wish I could say the same thing for my family.
Waffles’ ashes will be scattered out in a field in Napa. It is only fitting, given his penchant for running around in wide open fields, rolling in the grass and getting mud stuck in his hair.
It’s only been a day, but you are already missed. Rest in peace, Waffles, I hope you are enjoying all the grapes and steak that you want.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)