I can't attempt to explain how it feels to lose a pet to a person who isn't truly a pet lover. Having always grown up with a dog in the house (among other pets), I know the feeling of a home boasting a visible soul in it's pet.
My mother was always a dog whisperer in her own right. I know that no matter how much affection my sister and I could pour over our dogs, there was a special something that they would see in our mother. (She claimed it was because she was the one that fed them, but we knew better.) Absolute and un-tainted devotion seemed to bond my mother to her dog. This seemed to reach its pinnacle when we bought Gizmo in 2000.
The
devistation that rocked our home on April 15th, 2005 when we had to put him to sleep was unbearable. It turned the three of us against eachother, it caused immense grief and the joy had been lifted from our lives. Our home seemed to weep just as we did. It was time for a change.
On our limited budget of combined cash, Stacey and I decided to attempt to fill our dog-shaped void. We also opened our hearts to the idea of adoption for the first time. It seemed rash and uncomfortable, but it was all we could do to try and scrape our family back together. On May 7th 2005, we brought Murray home to my mother and presented him as a mother's day gift.
We had been told that he was about six years old based on his dental records, and that he was homeless for an unknown period of time. He had a
tracheal collapse, which caused him to honk like a goose when he got excited and breathed heavily. To us he was perfect. He was all we had.
Unlike the other dogs we'd owned in the past, my mother didn't bond with Murray initially. He barked a lot, stole food off of our plates, and didn't like to cuddle. He was acting as a constant watch dog, and he did not give us the affection we were so used to from our previous pups.
And then, on June 5th, less than one month from the day he arrived, something happened that changed it all.
I was leaving to run some errands on a Sunday afternoon and my mom had chained Murray outside on his leash. She went upstairs and Murray proceeded to bark at me angrily for deciding to leave. As I eased in reverse from having been parked in the driveway, my car stopped suspiciously and the barking had as well. What kills me to this day is that I almost hit the gas peddle, just thinking nothing of it.
Instead I put my car in park and ran to watch the end of Murray's leash lead directly under my passenger wheel. There he lay, lifeless. He had soiled himself and wasn't breathing. He was not under my tire, nor was there any blood on the ground, but I was convinced I had killed him. The next few seconds were a mess of tourtured screams... my mother ran downstairs to see me frantically running around and screaming as if volume could restore his life.
My mother lifted him and held him until he began to shake. He had a couple of short seizures but then became completely concious. I grabbed him and drove directly to the animal hospital, all the way feeling in disbelief that he was sitting up and looking around. He is alive I kept thinking. I could not believe it.
"Not a scratch" the vet told us, yet they reviewed him overnight in case of shock. I think in the hours he was away at the animal hospital changed my mom's feelings towards Murray. Having recently discovered a spiritual path, she admitted to feeling that he was here for a reason. She said that if she had lost Murray that day she would have thought she was not meant to have any more dogs. But there he was, in perfect health.
Over the next few months my mother went through an empty-nest transition on her own. Had Murray not been there with her through that, I don't know how she would have been feeling. They were growing to trust eachother and love eachother slowly.
This summer she moved into an apartment for the first time in her life. Murray was along for the transition, and it was good to see that they still had eachother. Murray's progression was so very slow and difficult, and I think that made all of this seem so much harder.
She showed him such a great life, and he lived like doggy royalty in his new apartment with my mom.
But on October 25th of this year everything changed. Again.
Murray lashed out and bit my mother on her hand when she was trying to get him to go to his crate when she was leaving for an appointment. He broke the skin on her pinky finger and cracked her nail in half. She said she backed away silently, shocked that he had now bitten her after being so tame for over a year. He ran to the corner as if he were punishing himself, feeling that he knew he had done something wrong. I received a phone call from Stacey and I rushed over to see my mom. She was crying in her living room with a police officer and animal control when I arrived. I know that she was crying because she was feeling betrayed, but more because she was nervous for the fate of Murray.
She was so frightened by him and decided she did not want him in the apartment. New York law requires a dog to be boarded for 10 days after a bite. Mike took him to a local shelter, and my mother decided that it would be okay if he would be released for adoption after his 10 days of boarding. In the time that he was gone, however, she decided that she wanted to go see him on November 5th (just after his 10 days expired) to see if he would react well with her, and if she felt safe bringing him home again. She placed call after call to the shelter with no response to her inquiries about him. She contacted the health department for information, only to find that he had been put to sleep on November 1st, before his boarding was even complete.
Again we felt the pain of losing a pet, one that we had been through so much with. Poor Murray had the job of replacing Gizmo who was helping us recover from Shadow, who had been with us for over a decade. The wounds just felt so deep, and now the grieving for Murray would begin.
I hate seeing my mother cry, and I really feel so powerless when she does. Stacey and I encouraged her to look at her opportunity to get another pug that she's always wanted, as if to try to blanket her pain with more puppies.
We let go of it and allowed her to make her own decisions and have her own time frame for recovery. It wasn't working out so well. But I waited to tell this story until I knew there was a new beginning. She has decided again
"to give her heart to a dog to tear".
On November 13th my mother bought an American Eskimo puppy from a home in upstate NY. Her name is Princess, and she is twelve weeks old.
I am so worried about my mom. I hope her heart is healing.
Rest in peace, Murray. I hope you were a happy boy.
We love you very much.
Tell Shadow and Gizmo we said hi.