For the Love of a Great Dog; My Tribute to Kit

 11/19/02 – 8/6 16

Our loving family:

       

The word void has a whole new meaning now.

The range of thoughts and emotions I’ve gone through over the last 2 weeks is as wide as it is taxing.  And, it carries with it much testing, effort at rearranging, coping and processing.

There are millions of dog people and there are millions of dogs.  I find myself trying to put into perspective the loss of a dog like Kit.  But, there is no perspective on this.  It is just plain beyond bounds – what she gave to me and to my family can not be quantified or properly described.

Years ago my kids began to clamor for a dog.  From the beginning, I said I would not get a puppy and, knowing a fair share about The Seeing Eye, I knew I could put my name on the list and that would delay the time of bringing a dog into the household.  My Mom was going through her long battle with dementia and I had more than enough on my plate.  We had been on the list for a dog for 4 years when I got the call about Kit.  The four of us drove over to The Seeing Eye and we went through the prerequisite interview.  We were screened and evaluated and stared at.   I remember them going out and then bringing her into the room.  A beautiful and somehow unassuming puppy-like “person” with an underlying reticence who would turn out to change my life forever.  I had a lot of trepidation about whether I would care for her properly, even if I had enough love and energy to go around.   I could feel the significance of her presence and value immediately and it was somewhat overwhelming.

The first several weeks were a pensive process of getting to know each other and integrating her into our home.  She had been thoroughly trained, had none of the disinhibited behavior of a puppy – in fact, she sat and waited for us to tell her how to behave, what to do.  That barrier that they are taught so carefully and diligently is awkward for someone who is used to engaging in that unbridled communication and playfulness of person and “pet” – a world without emotional barriers.  Over time, as I like to joke, she regressed to the level of behavior of my kids.  That, of course, is a great insult to her, for she never, ever tried my patience or behaved in some of the ways that my kids have.  All of the virtues of her breeding and her personality and heart and soul were innate and grew and blossomed as the years went on.  And, they passed all too quickly.

Having a dog as part of your home is a life-expanding responsibility.  They become a member of your family on the level that you choose to allow.  This is a very personal decision and it either occurs as a chosen level or they just meld into the natural flow of things, some even into the background.  To say that Kit grew into the very fabric of our lives is just the beginning.  Her arrival and life with us was a destiny that I can not adequately be grateful for.   Among so many other progressions through our family life, she sustained me through the loss of my Mom and gradually we became the fastest of friends on a multitude of levels.  She, and knowing I had the daily responsibility for her, helped me to process the grief of my Mom and other losses and changes.  The kids grew, challenged and left.  Kit was a constant presence that anchored me as everyone else’s lives evolved and spun around and outward.

In my case, Kit became a constant nurturing presence in my life.  She gave more than she ever asked for.  She listened, accompanied, played, tended, elevated and soothed me.  When, several years ago she developed some health problems, I became the vigilant advocate for helping her.  My instincts had been well-honed by other family issues and years and years of combing and questioning the illnesses and conditions of other family members.  It was purely instinctive of me now to go after her problems with relentless fervor.  We got to the bottom of her issues and got her back to good health for a few years.

Her last bout with illness resulted with her having her kidney removed last June. At the time I was told that with Labs, if they get to 9 without cancer you’re lucky.  That was an astounding comment.  She had a large tumor which was thankfully removed and because she was so fit at the time, she recovered well.  We were told she would probably have 6-12 months to live.   The months progressed and Kit did remarkably well with only some minor ups and downs.  I watched her with the eye of a hawk and I could feel the tentacles of love and devotion deepening each and every day.  The thought of losing her haunted me and I gradually allowed myself to deceive myself into thinking she was going to go on much longer than predicted.

Over the past week I have asked myself how many signs I had missed or chosen to minimize.  She struggled when jumping up into the car and going up and down the stairs.  Her gate faltered ever so slightly and intermittently.  He developed a very slight head tic.  Her appetite was ok generally.  She slept more and more deeply.  She wasn’t as alert as she’d always been or interested in chasing animals, playing old games or chewing on bones.  I told myself this was all part of her natural aging process.

She remained constantly under my feet, most often when I was cooking or baking.  I had to tell her “scuzi” a million times when I had to open the oven door or get into the sink.  She was always game for finding crumbs or little handouts of apple pieces or carrots when I cooked.  Our lives were melded in ways that were unimaginable to me until this week, when each and every daily interaction, anticipation, thought and deed have become completely glaring in her absence.

I am not sorry for loving this dog as much as I have.  I am not sorry for changing my plans a million times because of her.  Kit gave me a welcomed source of constancy when the rest of the world was spinning out of control.  They ground you and have you return to the most basic and rewarding of endeavors, devotion.  They are nothing short of a wonder.

I am not sorry for anything but losing her at such an unexpected time and so quickly.  I was not and am not prepared for this.  And yet, I wonder, just as I did long ago for the reason that she came into our lives, and at the timing of her need to depart.

When I walked out the door on July 27 for the airport she was on the rug in the entryway, calm, composed and seemingly fine.  And yet, I wonder now if she had something to tell me in that last moment.  I left her to accompany Ryan to California.   Almost as quickly as I left, she fell apart.  I had labored for days writing out instructions for her daily care, confirming and re-confirming everyone’s dates and times of duty.  I had placed all of her meds and food diligently in its place on the counter.  And, I had reassured her that I’d be right back.  I was certain that she’d be the same when I got home 10 days later.  The only thing I am thankful for now is that I did indeed believe that to be true in order that I could leave to help Ryan get settled as I’d promised.  Not being able to have gone would have left me feeling beyond awful.  As it turned out, I had to make the choice to come home 6 days early.  I’m thankful that I could get here in time.

The details of the last week are too many and not necessary to elaborate here. I am left with the memories and the caustic burning of the decisions we had to make. Was she waiting for a time to go when I could not bolster her along any longer? Was this break the needed moment for her to let go? Was she fighting much longer than I knew?

There is nothing I can do now but honor her. I can honor her memory and every single day we had her. The unconditional love of a great dog is perhaps one of the most valuable experiences in life.  It is an anchor in unchartered seas.

People come into our lives and have a completely different dynamic in our orbits. There is a reason for the love of a great dog.  There is a reason that people seek and find this. There are rewards in life that are unforgettable.  Life with Kit was one of those rewards.  She came here serendipitously. She loved us and sustained us and we loved her. She brought the deepest quality of devotion to us. She gave to us daily. She quietly sewed the fabric of our homes. She participated with the dignified presence that is incomparable – instinctively supportive, centering, nurturing and devotedly. The worst part of this experience is having it taken away.

After these last several days, I can see that Kit was a gift so completely calculated that you have to reconfirm your faith. She is the ultimate reason that I know it is better to have loved and lost.  Many people will not understand this level of feeling. To many she was just a dog.  I learned at the foot of Morris Frank* many decades ago, what the value of a dog could be to someone. I watched him and I watched his dogs over the years. Perhaps that is where I first sensed and learned of this kind of bond.

Life presents us with a multitude of challenges and seeming injustices. I can cry now for the loss of Kit.  I am stung beyond belief with her absence in my days and nights. But, I am not sorry for anything except the reality that I would indeed have to lose her one day.

If one can believe in the equilibrium of life, I am as deeply grateful for the gift of her as I am in pain for her loss.

And so, Kit, I say to you with the greatest love and respect, for every blueberry muffin, bagel, piece of pizza or cheeseburger you grabbed off the sidewalk or out of a bush in Basking Ridge and for which I admonished you, I hereby retract each and every single bit of each admonishment.  I hope you are happy and feeling fine in heaven and I hope they serve you a bit of each one of those favorite treats each and every day forever and ever (not to mention the lamb chop bone from the yard at Nauset Marine).  If God has seen fit to take you from us at this time, he will surely love and care for you in every way.  You were a great blessing to me and to our family.  I will treasure your memory and all you gave to us every single day of my life.

and, just a very small collection of some of my favorite pictures:

 

*Morris Frank was one of the founders of The Seeing Eye in Morristown, NJ.   The Seeing Eye, founded in 1929, is an organization which breeds, trains and places dogs with blind people.  Those who live around us are thoroughly used to seeing them training along the streets of Morristown.  I worked part-time for Morris Frank when I was in high school and college.  I had the privilege of getting to know him and his dogs, all named Buddy.  I also had the privilege to visit his home and meet his lovely wife.  I sat in his kitchen one day and watched him snap the ends off a colander of green beans.  I learned a lot from him and from his bond with his dogs.  I have carried a long-time admiration for him, his courage and for the wonderful mission of The Seeing Eye.  Having gotten Kit from their program was just the icing on the cake, a grand tribute to the wonderful success they have in their breeding program.  I am forever indebted.