[Dailydrool] My parents' dog

[Elizabeth Lindsey]

On Monday I went with my mother to have her Jack Russell Terrier  
helped out of this life and into the next. Daisy was almost 15 and  
wasn't eating or drinking, was emaciated (down to 9.7 pounds from 16  
several years before), and just wandered slowly around the house with  
a vacant look in her eyes--when she wasn't sleeping, which was pretty  
much all the time during the last week. She really had become just a  
ghostly presence--silent and wraithlike. She wasn't having fun  
anymore, which meant that she was actually enjoyable to be around. No  
incessant, persistent yapping and jumping on people or just being a  
Jack Russell Terror in general. (I'm really, really not a terrier  
person!)

As I wrote in a Drool post last year, my mother consented to getting  
a dog during my father's last months with idiopathic pulmonary  
fibrosis twelve years ago. She didn't want a dog, but she loved my  
dad enough to do so for him. She hoped that, if the dog didn't give  
him a reason to live longer, at least it would make his last months  
happier. Thanks to the PBS series "Wishbone," Dad really wanted a  
JRT, despite the fact that breed wasn't at all suited to either my  
parents' lifestyle or their current situation. My sister found Daisy  
in a questionable rescue group, and Dad was delighted with her. Daisy  
seemed to know at once that her job was to be his company during the  
day. She'd spend all day quietly on his lap in the recliner, but when  
he went upstairs to bed, she'd suddenly turn into a ball of fire that  
tore all over the house and behaved like a normal JRT. It was as if  
she knew she was officially off duty for the night.

My sister and I had hoped that after Dad died, our mother would  
become more active in training Daisy. Alas, that didn't happen. For  
the rest of her life, Daisy remained unreliably housebroken and  
unaware of any commands other than "sit," which she would hold for  
just a few seconds while continuing to yap at my mother in a grating  
voice that sounded like a rusty gate hinge. In fact, what happened  
was that Daisy wound up training my mother by yapping for however  
long it took until my mother got up and did whatever it was Daisy  
wanted. This made being with both of them at the same time not always  
pleasant. Daisy was a great example of what can happen when you don't  
put the time and effort into teaching a dog good manners: people  
don't care to be around such a dog.

My mother loved Daisy despite her bossy, noisy characteristics, and  
over the years they developed into a good team that worked well  
together. It was hard for Ken and I to tolerate Daisy for more than  
about an hour at a time, but my mother saw only her good qualities  
and, after Dad died, came to really depend on her for companionship.  
Daisy was also a strong, living link to Dad and thus became  
considerably more to my mother than she would have been otherwise. My  
sister and I suspect Daisy's death has resurrected our mother's grief  
over Dad's death eleven years ago all over again. Our mother told my  
sister on the phone the morning of Daisy's death that she'd be "all  
alone now." It's going to be hard for her to not have the presence of  
another being in the house. My sister and I aren't encouraging her to  
get another dog, however, because of her health. A couple of budgies,  
perhaps, but not a dog.

Our Elsinore went with us to the vet's so she could lend some moral  
support and be a dog for my mother to pat on the way home. My mother  
thought that, since Elsinore and Daisy had a cordial relationship,  
Elsinore should be allowed to see what happened to Daisy. She didn't  
want Elsinore to end up searching her house the next time she was  
over and then being puzzled as to why Daisy was no longer in it. I'd  
had Daisy over at my house for one day the week before because she  
wasn't having a good day, and my mother had appointments to go to but  
was worried about leaving Daisy by herself. Normally Ken and I didn't  
let Daisy come over because she was so disruptive, obnoxious, and  
prone to peeing wherever she wanted. But by that point she was  
obviously declining and blessedly silent, so I figured she'd be  
bearable for a day. I also figured Elsinore, who's a very astute and  
sensitive hound, had a pretty good idea by the end of that day that  
Daisy wasn't long for this world.

But Elsinore went with us, and I explained to her what was going to  
happen. Young Charlie didn't come with us because he would have been  
one too many dogs to handle in addition to my mother, who doesn't  
walk well, and Daisy, who needed me to carry her. I suspect Charlie  
was really more fond of Daisy's toys than of Daisy anyway, especially  
her hedgehog. Immediately after Daisy died, Elsinore gave Daisy's  
rear end and head a cursory sniff and then didn't approach the body  
again. She and Daisy had always gotten along, but I wouldn't say that  
Elsinore had ever harbored any deep and abiding affection for Daisy  
the way she does for her basset friend Owen, for example, so I'm not  
concerned about her actually missing Daisy. In fact, we've all been  
over to my mother's house several times since Daisy's death, and  
neither Elsinore nor Charlie have shown any concern over Daisy's  
absence.

My mother tells me that five days later she still feels numb. She  
hasn't been able to put away Daisy's crate, bedding, or bowls yet.  
She's also hasn't been able to bring herself to talk on the phone  
with family and friends about Daisy's death, though she was able to  
write a short death notice for the people who knew Daisy and Dad.  
This week has been consumed by the construction of a wheelchair ramp  
in her backyard that's not going well and has had to involve a local  
councilman to try to get the historic zoning commission to relax its  
regulations so the ramp can be ADA compliant. In some ways this  
headache has been a blessing in that it's given everyone something  
else to focus on. But I think once the situation is resolved my  
mother will begin the real grieving of a rough-coated, pugnacious,  
high-spirited, irrepressible, and loving little friend who has left  
her to return to the man who loved her first. I wish there was a way  
to make this easier for my mother, but I know there isn't.

Elizabeth



-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.dailydrool.org/pipermail/dailydrool-dailydrool.org/attachments/20100130/16467ccb/attachment-0002.htm>