How to begin a eulogy for you, dear old dog, is something I never considered. I stood at the top of the hill, sled in hand, and watched you harass my siblings with playful nips at their well-insulated limbs as they flew across the snow. But those teeth of yours were still fangs, the
jaws of death to my 6-year old eyes. I wasn't ready to die, so I refused to sled down until you were chained up. But I couldn't imagine the day that jaw, those legs, that youthful recklessness would rest, chained to the ground for good.
Even now, it feels like a story to me. Something that happened while I was away at college. My 21-year old self had finally grown accustomed to your playful whimsy and selectively ignored your gray beard, your careful step, your meager appetite, your bowl
full of food.
You are four years my junior. How could this happen? Sure, I've discovered my fair share of gray hairs creeping from my head. Sure, I outgrew you, but I never outgrew the status you so graciously awarded me: lowest on the totem pole. Thanks for that. That always left me feeling like a kid. You certainly stole my pride. Perhaps that's just it.
From the beginning, and even in your last days, I was hard pressed to get you to do anything without a bribe. Laura and I spent many Friday afternoons avoiding our chores trying to get you to jump up on our bunk beds or do a trick; the stale,
very enticing leftover birdseed from our last pet endeavor as your incentive. You fell for it. Most of the time, I think you were just humoring us.
When I came to take care of you this summer, I had to wave a pretzel in front of your face to get you to do things on my time table. Though your stubborn apathy to my commands was frustrating, your stubborn loyalty was overwhelming. You could sense when I was crying that I was upset and would rest your ungallant, often slobbery chin on my bed in a sudden display of empathy. It was your welcoming howl that greeted me first after a long day at school. If I was locked out, I'd open up the mail slot and talk to you. Usually, it was a conversation about wishing you had opposable thumbs that could open the door. Sometimes it was a chat about my day. You were a great listener. It was your untamed growl that protected us from the intrusive mail lady, the paper boy and the Cutco guy (seriously, you knew we had enough kitchen knives). Though your senses dulled and you became oblivious to most exits and entrances from the house, your loyalty grew more acute. This summer, I could hear you making the sometimes ten minute trudge up the basement stairs to keep me company, your back legs trembling, your breathing heavy. My heart swelled for you, and I think, with you. I often prayed you would make it all the way up. You were changing, but refused to concede. You were winded, but refused to be broken.
I was going to condense my thoughts, but why? Aren't fifteen years with a creature, be it a family member, a friend, a pet, a tree, a passion, worth something? I think they have to be. I hope I will listen to, forgive, love, and humor others the way you have. Someday I hope I will lose my pride instead of feeling it's been stolen. I am older now. I think it's time.
Rest in peace, Zacky boy.
