R.I.P. my hairy friend

My girlfriend called me yesterday while I was on a short vacation in Duluth. She informed me she had to make the decision to put Jackson, the best Golden Retriever I have ever known, down.  She needed to do it sooner than later.  Just like Annie before him, he was recently riddled with health issues in his old age (over 77 dog years).  For almost two months, his health diminished.  He had lost about 20 pounds and over 70% of his hair.  We had already been medicating him for a few months, as Shelley took him to the Vet yesterday (the day after Thanksgiving).  He was having trouble breathing and, at times, standing.

She was told she could medicate him and maybe receive a few months, but the quality of life was highly questionable. We've been in denial for a few weeks. This is not an easy decision, especially for her, as this is the best dog she ever had as a companion. 

Shelley had gained her new friend, Jackson, a very short time after her divorce, 11 years ago.  He was just over six months old when I met Shelley.  Those who know me know I tend not to allow myself to be close to dogs, as I know they should die well before me.  I know from my youth that people and dogs die, so I protect my heart.  I had a dog I loved as a child die, and I had six high school friends die between the ages of 14-19 years old.  Death is inevitable and painful unless you're the one who is dead.

Jackson was no ordinary dog.  He always looked at me with the highest admiration and sought my appreciation.  He really wanted to be my friend.  For years, I was reluctant to show my gratitude to him.  Then, after 5 years, he became my buddy.  The love and appreciation grew.  Over the past year, he was just as much my best pal as my girlfriend's pal.  So putting him down hurt, but nowhere near as much as it is for her.

When it came to attention, love and affection, and a steady flow of dropped food, Jackson knew that sticking by me was a win-win situation.  He greeted me every morning when I woke.  His old eyes just looked at me with affection.  He met me at the door each night when I came home from work.  We would go outside for a while, then inside to get a treat and a good scratch.   

When I was at my computer, he would lie down next to me and sometimes me his wet nose under my arm to seek affection, which I continuously gave with the highest appreciation for being a great pal!

When we went on a walk, he had a unique behavior. He would put his leash in his mouth so he did not bark. He always loved to eat grass! At times, I thought he was more like a cow than a dog. He was also a protector—well, kind of, as he barked hard at anyone he did not know but then immediately became mush if challenged.

You see, all dogs are different.  I know Jackson was exceptional.  Even the same breed would undoubtedly have distinct personalities, quirks, and abilities.  Annie, my girlfriend's older Golden Retriever, was not the same.  I never grew attached to Annie, as she did not care if I liked her.  But Jackson wanted to be my best friend.  He never gave up, and now I feel the pain of the loss of a dog.  One I never wanted to experience again after my first experience at a young age.  I will get through this, I know.

I worry about my girlfriend.  She is really struck with grief.  I typically minimize the grief from pet loss, although I have read quite a bit as my own father once had more grief from pet loss than I understood.  I once thought if I died, my father would have fewer issues than if the dog died.

When we returned from Duluth, my son tried to get my girlfriend to smile, and he succeeded. This was a blessing to her—more than he will know. He made a snow dog for the front yard as a memorial.

Making the dog

Scratching the ear

In the mid-1980s, I never understood the heartfelt pains of a pet's loss. In fact, I thought it was a worthless emotion. My father caused this by kicking me out of the house when I let the dog out, and he ran away. He cared more for that dog than his children or his wife.

In 1989, I read a report where grief expert Kenneth Doka wrote pet loss (like perinatal death and induced abortion) was "disenfranchised grief."  This means a griever's relationship with the deceased, and therefore, the griever's grief, is not sufficiently recognized by other people. Pets, unlike people, are not publicly mourned, which means that grievers don't get the social support they need to recover.

I also read that pets are suitable for people and good for couples.  A 1995 study of couples' day-to-day interactions found "…couples with dogs had greater well-being, and those with the highest attachment to their dogs — and who confide in them — fared the best. Interestingly, talking to dogs — in addition to one's spouse — was related to greater life satisfaction, marital satisfaction, and physical and emotional health. Confiding in pets to 'discuss' difficult life situations greatly relieved stress."

A 2002 study measured the cardiovascular changes of 120 married couples while they performed two stressful tasks: "5 minutes of rapid serial subtraction by steps of three from a four-digit number" and a 2-minute hand bath in ice water. The study found that participants had lower heart rates and blood pressure when performing these tasks in front of their pets than in front of their spouses.

Pets, the authors suggest, offer unconditional support under duress, with no judgments. "While the idea of a pet as social support may appear to some as a peculiar notion, our participants' responses to stress combined with their descriptions of the meaning of pets in their lives suggest to us that social support can indeed cross species."

Digging into this research has helped me understand the value of having a dog and more fully appreciate the bond I had — and apparently still have — with the one I lost.

One question remains: How long do you wait after one dog dies before doing it again? Or is it better not to do it again? We can now leave for days, but who cares? We can go on a whim and not worry about dog care. There are benefits both ways.

I often wonder, for others, if you get the same kind of dog, is it comforting to have a similar set of dog traits in your life once again, or instead, just unfortunate?  I do not know, but I do know one thing.  I never wanted to become so attached to a dog as the loss, I know all too well, hurts.  Jackson was special.  Very, Very special.  He pulled me in and had affection for me.  He was happy to see me each day.  I will miss him very, very much.

RIP my friend, RIP!  You and Annie have a good ole time!