I feel empty. Lonely. And sad. The build I had going into the Boise 70.3 race this coming weekend seems meaningless. I have little if no inclination to even go, let alone race, even though I am probably well prepared to race on this fast course. If you have any inkling of what is coming it would serve you best to quit reading this now… because it’s only going to get worse. But for me I think this will be cathartic.
This is about a dog. A little dog with a huge heart. He didn’t run with me, he didn’t swim very well at all, and in fact I had to save him from drowning once, but he had a penchant for making a shitty day into one of abject joy. He was a pug and his name was Otis. 15 years ago I brought him home in a towel lined laundry basket and he became a member of our family. He was not just a pet. He was not just a dog. I look back and smile at the way we treated him. When we sat down for thanksgiving dinner we made sure he had a plate also. Just like ours, except a little smaller, but still just like ours. When we grilled burgers there was always a small one just for him. Lamb chops were his favorite. As was roast duck from Chinatown. He loved hotels and would march down the hall to the door of our room without hesitation. He had this ability to sense human frustration and would climb up onto your lap, lick your face, and “tell” you things really were not that bad. What he did worked. Countless times his little influence served to calm an argument. I miss him.
I brought Otis home when my son was 9. He’s 24 now. Otis waited for him after school. He watched him go off to play junior hockey and waited for him to return at the close of each season. He watched him go off to college and waited for him to return. My son always returned to him. And Otis always returned to us. He had a seizure once, from something he ate we thought, and we rushed him to the vet. He spent the night in the pet hospital and when we picked him up the next day was as cheerful and chipper as ever. A few years ago he had his gall bladder and spleen removed. He spent a few more days in the hospital. I remember this well. He was in the hospital recovering and I was in Las Vegas for a race. I raced, threw my bike in the back, and raced back home to see him. He would come out to see us with tubes in his nose, IV lines in his little legs, and a bandage over his body but the joy in his eyes when he saw us, and the joy in ours when we saw him will be forever burned into my mind. He would spend yet another few days in the hospital for some elevated liver something or other. He went in lethargic and came out his great little self. Eager to jump into the car, take his place on my wife’s lap, and look out the window on the ride home. He was diagnosed with bladder cancer a few years back and was taking meds that stemmed the growth of the tumor he had. But he was back with us. He gradually lost his hearing and his eyesight faded to where he could just make out shapes. He recognized us by smell and would lift his nose into the air when you would walk through the front door to see who it was. Last year he fell off the bed and suffered some nerve damage to his spine. The vet told us he might not walk again. We would take him outside and hold up his rear legs with a towel sling and let him sniff around in the grass. 3 days later he was walking around, albeit a lot slower, but still he was walking. When his legs would stiffen up a bit we’d put him on his back and move his legs back and forth for him. Doggie physical therapy we called it. It seemed to loosen him up a bit and then he’d trot off. He was a little slower in his old age but there was still that excitement in his eyes and a joy in his bark.
For the most part he went everywhere with us. He’s been to his share of races and while he was never a fan of the early starts he was always right there at the end excited as ever to see me like I was some long lost friend. We loved taking him to races because I think he truly loved it. I got the biggest kick out of knotting up those finisher medals and putting them around his neck. I took him quail hunting once thinking that all dogs had this innate ability to sniff out game birds. Otis ended up locating turkey shit and scarfing it down with reckless abandon. We took him hiking quite a few times. He would walk for awhile and then we’d carry him for awhile. He was never that heavy now that I think back on it.
Friday afternoon we took him into the vet because he seemed really run down and not himself. He wasn’t eating normally or drinking. The vet did her exam and came back to tell us his kidney numbers didn’t look good. We ordered an ultrasound. She came and told us that it appears that the mass in his bladder was now obstructing his kidney functions. We ordered a dye test. At 9:00 that night we found out that one kidney had completely stopped functioning and the other was shutting down. This time Otis would not be coming home. The drive down was in silence. When we got there I told the receptionist we were there for Otis. She asked if we were here to visit. I responded, “sort of.” And I think she knew. We were instantly led into an exam room and a few minutes later they carried him in on a bed with a pillow and a blanket. He perked his head up a bit. With tearing eyes my wife picked him up and held him. He lay in her arms. “We can take him home,” she said, “he’s OK.” And I knew that this was not going to be good. We all held him, stroked his head, looked into his eyes. I signed the paperwork and awhile later another vet came in. His “this is the right thing speech” was perfectly logical. I knew it was right but I didn’t want to believe it. Otis left our world quickly, painlessly, and with ease. The drive home was equally as silent.
The adage “man’s best friend” has real meaning now. Friday night and into the wee hours of Saturday I sat on the edge of the bed staring out the window into the darkness and broke down. Saturday morning, on about 2 hours of sleep, I climbed on my bike and headed out in the early morning. You all have been there. There is a quiet calm in the early morning before the rest of the city wakes up and is consumed with the hustle and bustle. I usually relish these moments. But that day it was a ride viewed through a constant fog of tears. I pushed it harder thinking that would help. It didn’t. I actually thought at one point that if I pushed it hard enough my heart would fail and then I’d see my dog again. I tried. That didn’t work. 3 hours later I tied on my running shoes and ran on dead legs. It was then that I decided I’d find all of the pictures we had taken of him over the years. I went home, changed, and bought one of those portable hard drives and a digital frame. From our three computers I gathered 921 digital pictures. There are even more on our 2 back up drives and then more from the pre digital days. It felt good to look at his pictures and to see his life, and ours, through the years. I bought the extended warranty for that frame. I intend to run it as a slideshow 24/7/365 until it gives out and I’ll go back and exchange it for another and then start over again.
Sunday was a little better. I swam until my back and shoulders were sore. I tried to run but just didn’t have the drive to push it like I usually do. At home I began to start to equate places and things around the house with Otis. I have a pair of these DeSoto fleece tights. They fell onto the closet floor and Otis had taken to them as a place to nap. I saw them there yesterday and didn’t want to pick them up. I don’t want them anymore because they were his. Illogical, I know. I do not know why this loss is so much greater than any other. But it is. At about mile 8 yesterday I realized that my dog, unlike any human, loves unconditionally. There is solace in that I think. We have another pug. His name is Ernie. He was a rescue and has a few separation anxiety issues. I thought he would take the place of Otis. But he is not. He has his own personality and is distinctly different. I really liked Ernie when Otis was here. Now I want him to take his place and realize that it’s not to be. I wonder if I’ll love Ernie for Ernie. Ernie knows Otis is gone. He won’t drink out of the water dish we had for both of them. We had to set a separate one out for him. He won’t lie on the bed where Otis did in the kitchen. When Otis was here they would vie for that spot. Now Ernie won’t come near it. My father in law passed away last year. I felt a sense of loss. But the loss I feel now is magnitudes greater. I don’t know why. I’m an intelligent, successful, motivated person… and I’m at a loss.
