2nd March 2008

It’s Awfully Quiet Here

It’s 1:45 a.m.  It’s too quiet.  I came home from New York in the late afternoon, early evening on Saturday.  When I walked in the door, for the first time in 13 years, there was no black, furry, Cody girl waiting for me, wagging her tail, offering kisses.  When I would travel for periods of time, Cody would literally give me hugs the moment I walked in the door - Misha would greet me, Max would come running, and Monroe would appear shortly after. 

Now the entrance is different - there is Lucky bouncing on her hind legs with her front legs floundering in the air - there is no tail waggin that one can even see because this dog is so in your face that you let her out the door to use the bathroom, and come back in relieved to see she didn’t do anything she wasn’t supposed to, while I was gone. 

In 13 years, I have never had a bad homecoming - well, I should change that - minus Lucky, I’ve never had a bad homecoming.  Lucky has already given me many bad homecomings, but Cody, Max, Misha & Monroe - not one.  Even in Cody’s last months, when arthritis and cancer had taken over her body, and it was hard to get her hips in gear, Cody still greeted me the same way, every time, without fail.  Hugs and tails awaggin’.  I put down a yoga mat to make it easier for her to lift off the floor - today I came in and had to throw it away because I could tell that Lucky had urinated on it, without any of my pet sitters noticing.  As I threw it away and cleaned the floor on my hands and knees, I had visions of Thursday’s final moments with Cody in the foyer.  I came in to the living room, stared down at her new bed, and picked it up and placed it my bedroom, where she slept by my bed every night. 

I was relieved to see that Misha and Monroe looked pretty good.  Monroe has become increasingly verbal since Max died a month ago.  Misha’s fur looked groomed. 

I looked around, and wanted to cry, yet I couldn’t.  I couldn’t get my emotion out at all.  I walked Lucky, to get back into the game of taking the dogs for a walk, but I felt nothing, especially for Lucky.  I wondered if Lucky was missing Cody - so I referenced her name to Lucky.   I hoped she’s show some reaction, ears perking, head tilting - but not a chance.  Lucky just looked back at me with a blank look.  Cesar Milan says dogs live in the moment, but Cody could recall a dog’s name by perking her head up, turning around, and looking at the direction of the door where the dog would come to visit her.  I could say, “Zandar”, “Brutus” or “Nick” in the years that Cody would receive visits, and she’d perk her head up every single time. 

In Cody’s last hours, I asked her if she was going to see Zandar in heaven - there was no response.  I asked her about Nick.  There was some response, but very little.  I asked her about Brutus - that she responded to.  Nicole had told me to make sure to mention Brutus as one day they’d hopefully to get to see each other in heaven (thankfully Brutus is still alive).  She has not seen Brutus in years, as Brutus and Nicole moved away a few years ago.  But she loved Brutus - they had a special relationship - Brutus the bulldog used to stay for the weekend with Cody, years ago.  He’d talk to Cody in that special bulldog way.  They’d pal around - perhaps more than pal around if you know what I mean.  I took Cody all the way to Virginia to visit Brutus three or four years ago.  But they hadn’t seen each other since.  Despite that, Cody still looked out the door, as if Brutus might come to see her.  It made me smile wistfully.  With Cody, she got you - she understood.  With Lucky, there is yet to be a connection on any level with her.

I felt no incentive to cook or drink anything.  TV was of little relief tonight.  I decided to go upstairs and was relieved that Monroe came up to sleep with us.  In the past year or so, Monroe would come up, try to snuggle with Cody, but frequently Cody panted or growled at Monroe and perhaps he was unable to sleep either.  Tonight, he jumped up on the bed and slept at my feet, surprisingly, right next to Lucky who has taken residence on the bed as well.  Misha of course was on my pillow, happy his Mom was home. 

But here it is in the middle of the night - there is no noise - there are no furry black wags -  no hazel eyes looking up at me for a head pat, no paws lifting for an underarm scratch, no ears leaning in my direction for an inner ear nuzzle - nothing - just silence - and I can’t sleep.  I got up and let Lucky outside.  I fed the cats.  And now, Monroe is here sleeping by my side, Lucky as well.  Misha is upstairs.  Despite the feeling of emptiness, I do not seem to be able to emit a tear.

I resolved tonight that I’d give Lucky a year of focus.  But if I continued to see a void in her, and continued to deal with bad homecomings, I’d find her a good outdoor home and get another Chow mix rescue.  I will admit that while Cody never gave me a bad homecoming, in the first two or three years, I worked with her a lot.  She was scared, aggressive, a little overly protective, ocasionally a pain at the dog park - but I worked with her, socializing her, taking her for acupuncture, reading about dogs & fear of the car ride - shoot I even bought an SUV for that dog.  ;-)  I did a lot for her, and it was returned in kind.  Perhaps if I do the same for Lucky, maybe one day, there will be a connection there.  But tonight, I wonder.  I don’t think she has the same genes Cody did, in a less obvious way than you might think - and I’m talking about the accidents that I think are hardly that.  Cody was of a higher class I think  than Lucky - she was a true wise soul, and one that would never take advantage of a carpet floor in any other way than to lay on it. 

I am a complete insomniac tonight - despite having work I could easily do on the upcoming OSU spring syllabus, or marketing for seminars, or watching TV, or reading a book, or doing some laundry - none of this appeals to me.  I’m in no man’s land it seems.

I decide to Google some keywords and see that there is another blogger who is overly dedicated to the blog of another chow-chow mix.  Lighter reading indeed on an insomniac night. 

Here’s another great story about adopting an older chow, a 9 year old, named Brandi. 

A great chow rescue story, where a policeman rescued a chow, and is now a professional dog groomer.

Chow Welfare on Adopting a Chow Rescue

Reading these stories in my insomnia condition, in grief, reassures me that the chow is the difference - one reference above talks about a chow’s eyes, how they are literally born housebroken, how they are very perceptive, how they seem to need to mother you, how they are into people’s emotions - this was Cody to a tee.  It’s the breed, baby. 

Like Cesar Milan says, think of dogs in the following way, animal, species, breed, name - something like that - First it’s an animal, a dog, a specific breed, and then their name - as opposed to the reverse order.  Lucky is a dog, a whippet, lab, pit mix (unofficial).  She is mixed in the high energy breeds - whippet and lab - two different types of high energy dogs  - a hound dog - but one that must serve a purpose in some way.  Not only does she need to run, but she needs to use sight and smell in some useful way.  That serves her purpose - she is also easily distracted, and bores easily.  Cody, a chow, a very different breed, and one that I think I gravitate to over  a whippet, lab, pit mix.

As I write about her chow rescue story, for another entry another day, Monroe has come up on the couch, and has walked over to Lucky who is also sleeping on the couch.  Monroe is kneading his paws into Lucky’s fur - and she doesn’t seem to mind in her sleepy state.  They are right now, right beside one another.  Perhaps there is hope.  Monroe just wants to bond with this dog, which I noted increasingly, in the week before Cody died.  I figure Monroe knew Cody was dying and figured she’d better make peace with this dog, as Lucky had the breed tendency to chase cats.  I hear Monroe purring.  Lucky sleeps.  All is peaceful for the moment.

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