Everybody loved Teller.
Dalmatians have been described as “aloof” and “polite but reserved with strangers”. Teller never met a stranger and thought reservations were for snobby restaurants. My wife called him “the social butterfly” because he loved being in big groups of people and going around saying hello to everyone and telling them how happy they were to see him. It’s why people were happy to see him, though it helped that most of the people he was around were dog people. We had a neighbor who was indifferent to dogs. He didn’t dislike dogs but he wasn’t interested in them either. Teller would stand at the fence and stare at him and wait to be acknowledged and after a few minutes of being ignored Teller would give a disgusted snort and wander away to do other things. On the other hand when we took him to the vet’s office people in the back would literally come running when they heard Teller was in the building. He was just as happy to see them. If they had treats that was a bonus but if they just wanted to pet him and tell him what a good dog he was that made him happy. He was that way right up until the very end, which made it hard to say goodbye.
Early in October we took Teller for a routine check-up and one of the veterinary assistants greeted him with, “Hey, old man!” Because Teller was, mostly, still his funny, outgoing self, I had managed to ignore the toll the years had taken. I knew he slept a lot more. I knew he’d lost weight. He’d always been slender but as he got older he lost muscle, as most of us do, though he always had a healthy appetite. I knew getting up in the bed wasn’t as easy for him as it had been even just a few years ago. Sometimes laying down wasn’t easy for him either; arthritis splayed out his hips and going out into the yard he didn’t always run so much as bumble along. He was still a mighty pursuer of squirrels, though, and always a clown who’d go around and mark several trees and wait for me to say, “Are you finished?” before he’d give me a wry smile and stand in one spot and pee for what seemed like half an hour. I’ll always believe he did it because it made me laugh. Teller loved laughter.
He was also an intense dreamer. Most dogs twitch, shake, and even occasionally bark in their sleep. Teller, especially as he got older and his sleep got deeper, would lie on his side, usually taking up half the couch, and go at a full gallop, maybe chasing imaginary squirrels. Fortunately I’m a heavy sleeper so if he did it in the bed he rarely woke me up. When I did wake up he was right there next to me. Sometimes what woke me up was that he’d pulled all the covers off of me to build himself a nest. And his head would be on the pillow next to mine. Half my body would be cold. The other half would be warm, Teller pressed up against me.
The end was also full of surprises. Teller had a heart condition that we’d managed for years, but the last check-up revealed a tumor on one of his kidneys. If it stayed it could rupture and cause a massive hemorrhage at any time, so of course, in spite of his age, it had to go. Things seemed fine for a couple of days after that, then he started panting heavily after we’d gone to bed. My wife took him to the pet emergency clinic where he, of course, was a favorite of all the staff. And things seemed fine after that. He didn’t seem to mind wearing a canine onesie to keep him from chewing or licking his stitches. It was better than the big plastic cone of shame. When my wife took it off he had bruises on his chest that were initially diagnosed as a clotting issue that could cause internal bleeding. We were told he had a matter of days, maybe hours. That was early November. He seemed fine so we took him to a dog agility event where a couple of vets said any dog with the clotting issue would be lethargic, but Teller was his usual self, wagging his tail as he made the rounds, saying hello to everyone. After a few more days the bruises disappeared and he was still a happy dog.
As long as he was happy and able to get around everything was fine. Well, not fine, really. He refused food more and more and he spent more and more time asleep. He had to be helped off the couch, and onto the bed. As long as he was able to amble around the yard, as long as he still ate string cheese out of my hand, as long as he wagged his tail and smiled at us, we let him be. Keeping a dog in pain alive is a selfish act but it would be just as selfish to deprive Teller of one happy day, even one happy hour. And then came the day when it was obvious he wasn’t happy. Teller, named for the silent half of the magic duo Penn & Teller, told us when he was ready. From the moment my wife brought him home as a puppy, when he popped out of the pet carrier and licked my face, I knew we’d have to face this point eventually, but there was no way to know when. There was no way to know we’d be lucky enough to have him for thirteen years.
Even though I’ve dealt with it before every loss is different because every dog, every cat, and, for that matter, every person is different. There are some things I’ve learned are true in every case, though. I know this is going to hurt for a long time. I know it’s going to still hurt even after I stop looking for him, even after I see things that remind me he’s really gone, after those reminders send me into a breakdown. I know that every loss leaves a scar.
I also know that, even though I’m dwelling on the end now, it’s going to be the first thing I forget. A year from now, maybe, his last few days won’t be as clear in my mind as they are now. What I’ll remember are all the things he did that made me laugh: the time he pulled out a dog toy he’d ignored for years and destroyed it, how he’d paw at the quilt on the couch to make a cozy spot then curling up on the opposite side, how he leaned sideways to listen when my wife talked in the other room. I’ll remember how happy he made us. That’s what Teller would want. That’s what Teller deserves because he loved us.
Oh Christopher, I’m not much of a dog person, but I don’t dislike them. I lean more to the feline species. But as an animal lover, this breaks my heart because our pets are part of our family. I’m so sorry, he looks like he was the goodest boy ever.
The Huntress recently posted…Hot Off the Press: New WordPress.com Themes for December 2024
Thank you so much. I’ve had and loved cats too. It’s just as hard to say goodbye to them, isn’t it? They really do become part of the family.
So sorry for your loss. I know first hand the pain of losing one of your fur family. My thoughts are with your family during this difficult time.
Arionis recently posted…I did a thing.
Thank you. I thought of you–I’ve had Sawyer’s Run on my bedside table, and how you’ve probably been through this too. It never gets any easier but one thing I’ve found that helps is sharing with people who understand, and I knew you’d be one.
Oh Chris, this is so heartbreaking. It never gets easier as well I know. But you did the absolute best for him and he passed knowing he was loved so much😢
mydangblog recently posted…It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like…?
Thank you. I can honestly say he was loved, and loved us, so much, right up to the very end. They’re all special and I wish we could give all of them the love they deserve, but I can take some comfort in the memories of what a wonderful dog Teller was.
Your writing and your love are so heartbreakingly beautiful, Chris. My deep condolences for the loss of the wonderful, magical Teller.
Thank you. And I don’t know if you remember but Teller was thrilled to meet you. He liked everyone but he was still a good judge of character.