[Dailydrool] Dog Memories

[Elizabeth Lindsey]

When my dad was dying of idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, my mother  
found a Jack Russell Terror, Daisy, for him. Dad was a huge fan of  
the PBS show Wishbone and of Ruby, a JRT who lived down the street.  
He thought they were "nice little dogs" and had wanted a JRT for  
ages. Mum did not want a dog, she calls dogs a ball and chain. But  
she wanted Dad's last months to be happy ones, and the hope was that  
if he had a "nice little dog" to live for, he'd perhaps live a bit  
longer. My parents were in no way suitable people for that breed, and  
especially one that came from a questionable rescue, but that's a  
gripe for another time.

Daisy seemed to know that her job was to be with Dad during the day.  
She'd lie quietly on his lap until he went to bed about 7pm or so.  
Then she seemed to know that she was off duty and free to be who she  
really was, which was a wild, untrained dog. It was like seeing a  
switch being flipped, the way her behavior changed after Dad was in bed.

Towards the end, Dad was in and out of the hospital. He'd go in for a  
few days with potassium deficiency or some other problem, and then  
come home again to Daisy. But one day he went to the hospital and  
never came back. I regret that Daisy was never allowed to see Dad's  
body, but he went straight from the hospital (no dogs allowed) to the  
crematorium, so I don't think it was an option.

Life settled down again (relatively speaking), and Mum walked Daisy  
several times a day (no fenced-in yard) around the neighborhood. She  
said that every time Daisy saw a stout, older man with short white  
hair (i.e., a man who looked like Dad) coming toward her on the  
sidewalk or even across the street, she'd get very excited and wiggle- 
waggly. Then the man would get closer and Daisy could see it wasn't  
Dad, and she'd visibly droop and look so disappointed that it made my  
mother feel even more sad. I find Daisy's looking for Dad on the  
street interesting because Dad was pretty far gone by the time Daisy  
arrived, so she really didn't get much chance to see him in street  
clothes walking on sidewalks. But apparently she kept looking for at  
least two years after Dad died. Mum thinks she stopped because even a  
dog reaches a point of realizing that someone really is gone and  
isn't coming back. When a behavior isn't positively rewarded, after  
awhile it stops.

To make this basset related, our late Jane Basset was with us when we  
made that fast, but not unexpected, trip from Indiana back to Philly  
at Dad's end. Jane tolerated Daisy but wasn't especially thrilled by  
her presence. By that point, Jane was about six or seven and  
beginning her decline into poor health, while Daisy was an overly  
excited two-year-old. Dad thought Jane was a "nice dog" but she  
wasn't "little" and ergo couldn't sleep on his lap. It's a shame he's  
missed out on young Charlie, who's the perfect size for laps and  
doesn't hesitate to climb onto them if he thinks he'd be even  
remotely welcome. I'll bet Charlie would've been delighted to keep  
Dad company on his recliner.

Elizabeth