III: The end of something, you can't put a word on it

I haven't talked about my dog in a while. Max. I've kept meaning to, I especially meant to last night but I guess I got really into my own shit last night. It's been such a constant over the last few months that it was really just one of the things I never had on my mind when I set down to blog. It has come up in recent conversations with Manda though, because they tend to be pretty all-encompassing.

Last week, he had a really rough week. Wouldn't move, or couldn't, but was eating. But you could tell, time was about up. We first talked about when it was going to be time to put him down like a year ago, maybe longer. I was the one who was most vocally reluctant. I mean, nobody was really enthusiastic about the idea, but I wanted to be sure it was the right time. I knew I could not bear it if we did that before we knew it could go no further. This morning I woke up and he was not in his usual spot. I knew what was going on, or sensed it. And I knew it was right. I got the confirmation via e-mail while I was in Toronto preparing for my exam. Mom had taken him to the vet, and he gave the word. Now was the time.

It was a very strong move to make the decision. We've owned many pets and never had to call it like that before. Tess, our first cat, just lay down and died one day. Chiquita ran off when we moved in 2000. Rocky did the same as Tess, at a far younger age. I think partly we all (or maybe just me) were hoping or expecting it would be the same. One day we'd wake up and he'd be done. But God bless him he was a fighter.

The story we got on him when we were first given him by an acquaintance of mom's was that he was rescued from some kind of breeding operation. This was in 1994 and to that point in my life I'd had a fairly intense aversion to dogs because I saw them as unpredictable and threatening. I was a cat person. But that first night (November, it was Christmas season) we took him for a walk and I immediately got to like him.

He was fully mature but young, maybe a year old. He had a stub rather than a tail and when he wagged hit his entire lower half shook. He could be intensely excited about things, especially about my dad getting home. Other adult males he hated, only mellowing in his later years. Barked fiercely at strangers, at any knock at the door, with disproportionate attitude for a small terrier dog. he was not a yappy little dog, he was a bona fide protector. I still remember his trumpet-like bark, which in recent times I mainly heard when he was older and he was outside and he needed to come back in.

Also, he was unpredictable and threatening. He never seemed to make peace with my best friend Drew, at least he would bark at him like a stranger every time he would come over, before eventually giving up. He had a couple of lingering problems throughout his life - a recurring rash that made him chew at his backside, making it often hairless back there, and eye-gobs that necessitated eyedrops sometimes.

For a while, we were not on good terms, because I learned the hard way not to engage in a staring contest with a dog. He was lying on my mom's bed, and I was in there with him and I decided just to get right in his face, and he responded by snapping at me. He was a fascinating study of rage. There was the warning barks he administered at strangers at the door (this made Halloween an unfortunate ordeal) this was not usually more than posturing. Then there was the low, sinister growl that let you know he fucking meant it. The top lip would snarl and bare that fang. He was usually quite docile though, so if it happened, you deserved it.

The big event of his live happened in, I think it was summer 2003, when some stupid lady didn't have a strong enough chain on her dog to keep it from attacking him, grabbing him by the backside and shaking him. After that happened there was some talk of hernias and ruptured insides that never amounted to anything major. I still remember Sunday mornings when he'd come into my room and we'd help him up onto my bed and just hang out. When he could still get onto the couch, I remember he used to be quite territorial, often settling on Eric's end, but one time I remember falling half-asleep on the couch and waking up with the dog on my chest.

I also remember his way of halting when on walks if we were going a direction he did not want to go. From 1998 until about 2007, my brothers and I had a rotation for taking him on walks, which was almost constantly bickered over.

Tricks in his repertoire at one time included shake (his trademark) sit pretty, and roll over. Then his back legs got a little weak and he couldn't roll, then he wouldn't sit up, and then he seemed nervous about shaking, so we just figured "fuck it, you're old, here's a treat for still being adorable and alive."

Then his vision started to go, he got dog-senile. Couldn't take him on walks anymore, over the last years we mainly let him out at appropriate times, and then as time went by, just got him out when we could and accepted there was going to be a certain amount of poop to clean up. When this became the norm, it was pretty clear the end was in sight. Except not, because, you know, he was blind (sorry, even when I'm reflective and sad I'm making with the jokes.)

He'd come downstairs and pat-pat-pat back and forth on the floor trying to nose his way around our messy living room down here... take forever to find his way to the exit, and then decide to turn back once he found it. It irritated me to no end as it was impossible to concentrate while this was going on. Often he'd find the stairs and wait for someone's assurance to go upstairs. Basically, saying "Go on, come on, Max, up, up!" I was better at it that anyone else, but my record wasn't perfect. For many months now we had been sure to keep the door closed, he couldn't do stairs. Yet he never seemed to have trouble finding his way back to the door outside even as recently as last week or so. Weird.

His lovehandles - which Eric had once irritated him by grabbing at playfully - disappeared, he started to waste away. It started slow, but sped up over the last few months. This is everything I think I will remember about my dog. I grew up with a dog, but I feel I haven't had a dog in months... just a pity, and a lot of poop... that's no way to live, you know?

I remember how much he liked his ears being pet. It would melt him into a little suck.

It's over. I'm glad about it, I'm glad I was right (or at least I feel I was right) a year ago when I said to give him more time. No more time was needed or wanted. I'm glad it has happened and can be put away. This one we were ready for. It was the right thing to have done. Before I knew it had happened I was thinking about it today - I thought about it often - and how much hesitation I would feel if it were solely up to me. It was a strong thing that happened, the way it did.

I was smart enough to take a few photos before he really started to lose weight, to remember him properly. Mostly they're of him poking around the basement, which is mainly what he did at the time.

I had the exam today in Short Story. I had read up properly, but there was too much of Jean Rhys in it. I read Rhys, but I didn't really engage with it the way I did Naipaul or even Beckett. I didn't necessarily understand Beckett a ton, but I engaged with it okay. Rhys just made my eyes glaze over the page and I hoped it would be de-emphasized, but there were more Rhys IDs on the test and both of the short answers were about her.

My essay talked mainly about Naipaul's Miguel Street before making some trite, obvious connections to Hemingway, which I'd feel bad about if she hadn't put it right there on the assignment sheet, and if my other options weren't trite, vaguely-missing-the-point observations about Beckett or out-of-context points about Munro.

I passed, and probably did better than my midterm, or at least as well. Not my shining moment, and it's a shame because I did try, to a degree. I thought I handled the "Ponzi Scheme Romance in Rhys" question well, or at least creatively; I don't think the marker will totally buy it though. More of a "You put down words and were on topic, pass for you." Nugh. I should be better. The weird thing is, I do feel like I have grown and comprehended the material... I'm just not fully capable of communicating it, which is of course the entire point.

In short: I only suck at not sucking.

That is everything. School is done, the dog is gone. The house will soon no longer carry that lingering odor of canine sickness and I won't feel too embarrassed should I want to have people over (for that reason, anyhow.)

Funny. 2009 has in some ways been a fantastic year, and yet with this so much death, and that I don't feel good about. Well as they say you take the good with the bad, and I've taken plenty enough good.

Tomorrow I have to myself, I can take to make sense of everything.

Who's a good boy?

You are.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto