Eulogy for a very good dog.

Ringo

On our first wedding anniversary, Patrick gave me a dog leash.  Our landlord had consented, we could finally have a dog.  I have always lived with dogs and had been really missing that piece of my life. So, leash in hand we set out for local shelters looking for the dog who was looking for us.

Many visits later we came upon a big black and white dog, sitting in the far corner of a cage.  Not looking up.  In a high kill rate shelter, he was on the list for euthanasia the next day. He had a collar with a  rabies tag.  The shelter knew he was good with kids and that he jumped fences.  The vet on his rabies tag said they knew who he was and where he belonged but they didn't want him back.   His name was Buddy Bear.  He was trouble and he'd been dumped. The shelter staff put him on a lead and we walked around the yard a little bit.  Somewhere out in the yard he looked at me and I was sold. He was my dog.  He came meekly with us to the car and hoped in.   On the way home we stopped at a local vet for his post shelter physical,  after sitting bolt upright in the backseat of my lime green VW bug he was tired.  We waited for a long time at the vet, after about half an hour he sighed deeply and leaned against my legs  I scratched his ears and he sank to the floor and went to sleep. My dog.  Ringo.

Eventually we made it home, eventually he let us hear his giant bark.   The shelter said he was two years old and fully grown.  In the first year we had him he gained several inches and nearly 40 pounds.  He was a big, loud, very strong puppy.  But he was sweet and gentle too. Our little house was full up with dog. One uncharacteristic act of aggression  was aimed at our understanding landlord who responded in his usual understated way, " You  should have that dog insured".  Other than that one time he endured kids and parties and neighbor chickens with patience and general good humor.

Next door to our little house lived the owners of a high class nursery, their garden was elaborate and filled with exotic and expensive plants.   One day Ringo decided to pay them a visit.  He scaled the 7ft wooden fence like a monkey and landed on an expensive lily of some kind.  Another time he was accused of eating one of their chickens.  Lucky for us another dog threw up the carcass of the chicken a few days later.  I think Ringo  would have been very surprised to find his dinner still moving.  Not much of a hunter instinct there!  He ran away to eat garbage behind the local Teriyaki shop, he drug a heavily pregnant me to the ground on a walk, he escaped his leash to lead friends on a merry chase through the local cemetery, he jumped over the window/wall from our living room to the big room in the front knocking over dishes and knick knacks and scaring Auntie Lisa.  He barked too loudly, he scared all manner casual visitors and salespeople.  He hated the car, he loved the water but only if it came up from the bottom.  Showers and hoses were not welcomed.  He would play in the waves but would retreat to the edge if it got too deep.  Wading was fine, swimming not so much   Except for the time he took off across our lake after a duck.  Fearing that he would get tired and I would watch him drown I put the boys on the shore, threatened them with violence if they got in the water without me and swam out after him.  I caught up with  him about halfway across the lake, grabbed his collar and muscled him back to the shore.  I was covered in scratches from his claws and exhausted but I got him safely back to the shore where he promptly rolled in a patch of goose poop,   unimpressed by my heroism.

There is a large pink Camelia bush in the back yard, it was his favourite place to hang out on a too hot for the sun day.  He carved out a dog sized depression around the roots and would camp out there for hours, curled up in a shiny black dog ball.  Even the pesky visiting rabbits from next door didn't bother him.  He would sniff at them and then lie back down with a huff.  Silly rabbits.

Once on a weeks long road trip we stopped in Long Beach, WA home of the World's Largest Frying Pan.  Everyone needed a bathroom so we left Ringo in the car( doors locked, windows open a few inches)  and sprinted across the parking lot to the bathroom.  Unhappy with this situation Ringo put his paws on top of the  open window and pushed setting off the car alarm in the process.   After that we took turns in the bathroom.

Two years ago after my brain surgery he glued himself to my side for the  whole my convalescence. He was always present, he slept on my feet for weeks.  Carefully sniffing each new visitor and inspecting each delivered meal.  Convinced that he alone could cure me.  And maybe he did.

As his health declined I tried to return the favour. Part of me did believe I could fix him.  The right food, the right meds, enough love.   I couldn't of course.  Nature and age had their way at last.  He crossed the bridge here at home, sleeping on the rug in front of his beloved fireplace with his family. In a room filled with grief and love he gave us a final gift  a quiet sigh and a gentle sleep. Across the bridge to freedom, met I am sure, by a host of  previously departed very good dogs.  He is missed more than I can even acknowledge but the final worry and grief is a very small price to pay for the years of goofy, sweet, sometimes maddening doggy love.

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