When I wrote blog #2, I mentioned that Enzo is my second soul dog, and that I never thought I'd have another dog that I could possibly love or be loved by as much as my first soul dog, Kirby.
I wrote this story back in June, 2010, just a few days after Kirby died.... A tribute of sorts, to a dog that taught me how to love. Who saved me. When I wrote this, it was a catharsis. A way of grieving. And oh, did I grieve. To any of you who have ever had, and then lost, a soul dog....you will understand like no other.
I was so blessed to have Kirby for two weeks shy of 16 years. He truly was my soul dog. Incredibly, I can now say, sometimes lightening strikes twice in the same place. I now have a second soul dog, Enzo. He will never take Kirby's place. But I consider myself blessed, to have loved and lost, and now to be able to love again.
Join me, please, as I tell you the story of my first love, Heaven's Hound...
July, 1994 brought devastating news. The dreaded disease that seemed to haunt my entire family came to visit me. The Big "C." Cancer. I was living in Austin...far away from my family. I had been married only three years. My husband's job had moved us from the Midwest to his native state of Texas: a very foreign and lonely place for me...especially since Del traveled almost full-time with his job. He'd fly home on Friday night, and be headed out by Sunday evening for another week away.
There are many kinds of therapies one can choose when fighting cancer. I chose two. The first, chemotherapy. The second, a seven and one-half-week old miniature dachshund named Kirby.
Kirby was short, squatty, and full of personality. His head was too big for his body; his ears longer than he was. He fit in the palm of my hand, and molded to the shape of my heart. It was love at first sight. With Del gone so much of the time, facing cancer alone was daunting. Kirby made it bearable. No matter how low I got, Kirby made me laugh. Chemo took it's toll, and at times it was all I could do to crawl out of bed. Nausea came in waves, bringing me to my knees. I often felt like giving up. But then, there was that little reddish-brown, long-eared squatty body, eyes dancing, bouncing with life, little boy-puppy who needed me to care for him. He'd peer out of the netted playpen where I kept him safe when I couldn't keep an eye on him. One look at his sparkling eyes and the sound of his plaintive little squeaks reminded me that you can't lie down and welcome death when you have a little bundle of energy to walk, feed, play with, and nurture.
We bonded intensely.....so much so that my husband coined a nickname for him. The name? "Umbilical Boy!" He was my sidekick. My constant companion. Even my protector. At the tender age of one, while my husband was away, we were burglarized in the middle of the night. I was sleeping fitfully, and thought I heard a sound like a zipper being unzipped. It was my master bathroom screen being cut. A STRANGER WAS IN MY HOUSE! Kirby literally flew off the bed with and with a vengeance, attached himself to the burglar's leg. I rolled off the bed onto the floor. The 911 operator assured me help was on the way. A pungent odor of strong aftershave and cheap booze stung my nose. I thought the deafening beat of my heart in my own ears was going to give my hiding place away. I could hardly breathe. Kirby was shaken off and kicked repeatedly. Tenaciously he grabbed the intruder's leg again and again. His yelps of pain caused me to fear for my life, and for Kirby's. The 911 operator kept talking to me, encouraging me to remain quiet and still. Although it seemed an eternity, within minutes the house was surrounded and the robbers were apprehended. The police advised me that my little super hero probably saved my life. The men were high on drugs and alcohol and were known to be unpredictable and dangerous. Kirby limped over to me, blood seeping from his ear and nose. Even then, after sustaining four broken ribs and internal bleeding, Kirby brought laughter. When I let the police into the house, Kirby's greeting was to roll over and baptize the officer's shoe...and with more than a little sprinkle I might add. He had that way about him...always able to break the tension.
Chemo continued to ravage me - leaving me depressed and angry. Losing my hair caused me to feel ugly and freakish. I felt my dignity ebbing away with each clump left behind on my pillow. Then I found out that all those toxic chemicals assaulting my body had left me sterile as well. I would never hold a child of my own in my arms -- something I wanted almost more than life itself. At times I felt so hopeless and alone I wanted to die. But somehow, I found the courage to pray and ask God to give me the will to fight. He gave me that will in the form of my little wiener dog. In my moments of deepest despair, Kirby would sense my mood. At these times he would boldly demand my attention, distracting me from my emotional descent. He would bark, all four wrinkly feet lifting off the floor, as if he were saying "Hey Mom, Look at me! Come throw me the ball! Can't you see how adorable I am? Don't you know how much I love you? His zest for life - and love for me - gave me much-needed doses of hope and encouragement.
Often I felt myself nursing bitterness towards God because of the toll cancer had taken on my family -- on me. But each time my heartache and pain caused me to wrestle with these feelings, Kirby's unconditional love helped erase the bitterness. Kirby's ability to trust and love me so completely, taught me slowly over the years, to trust God, and to transfer my abiity to love to HIM. If a tiny barking bundle of spit and vinegar could trust and love me, how much more could I trust and love the Creator of the Universe?
Kirby's zeal and gusto for life won my heart...and not only mine, but everyone who ever met him. If there was such a thing as a dog smiling with his whole body...that was Kirby. This little pup didn't walk...he bounced. He didn't just greet you...he GREETED you. He was SURE that when you came to visit, you were there to see him.
Kirby loved people of every color, shape and size...his myriad of tricks entertained young and old alike. Children clapped their hands with delight, never tiring of his antics and arsenal of tricks. Seniors warmed their laps with him, and in the nursing homes we frequented, they eagerly anticipated the thrill of throwing him a ball to fetch, waiting with wide grins to watch him prance his way back to them, ball in mouth, eyes alive and tail wagging. He knew when to be calm and tender with them, and when to turn on his glorious energetic charm.
And he was never so happy as when he got to go car riding...folks always recognized my car by my license plates....WNRDAWG. THAT'S RIGHT.......D.A.W.G. He was, of course, a TEXAS wiener dog!
Little did I know when I got Kirby to help me fight that first battle with cancer, that he would help me fight that wicked disease two more times. He always seemed to know when the war raging within me was at its worst...he'd crawl up next to me and refuse to leave my side. Nothing could budge him. Not his favorite toy. Not his favorite treat. He knew his job was to love me back to health...and he did his job valiantly.
At age 14 he began to slow down. Arthritis brought on from all his bouncing and super-dog antics took its toll. But the cataracts shadowing his eyes refused to shadow his heart. He kept loving, touching every life he came in contact with, albeit a little less exuberantly. At age 15 I began to see more decline, and on three separate occasions I carried my little guy to my vet's office. Pam had been Kirby's vet for his last 12 years. She knew him well. On each occasion I sought her advice. Was it time? Each time Pam's response was, "No, not yet...he's still got some good quality of life."
Kirby was my life-gift. And I knew in my heart of hearts that I would not allow my own selfish desire to have him with me always, keep me from doing the thing any animal lover hates to do...put their beloved companion to sleep.
But then, he began to lose weight....rapidly. His spine began to protrude. His belly became distended. And he slept. A LOT. He no longer followed me from room to room, like my shadow. He stopped asking to go out. More often than not, he just piddled wherever he stood.
Two weeks before he died, he began to whimper. First a little...then more each day. With almost daily progress reports, Pam and I set up a time for her to come to the house to check on him...with a contingency plan for her to bring euthanasia supplies along, just in case.
The day before the anticipated visit, I stayed home all day. I refused most phone calls. Every minute was spent by my buddy's side, cuddling him, talking softly to him, telling him what a miracle and gift he was.
The next morning, while we were on the phone confirming the time she would come, Pam heard his whimpers. She could tell the difference between his "senile" sounds and these whimpers. These were cries of pain, she said. When Pam arrived, she didn't even have to touch him. She knew immediately that he had developed a mass in his belly....probably the big "C." She could tell by the classic signs...protruding spine, bulbous belly...drastic weight loss. Her exam confirmed the worst.
She looked me in the eyes...tenderly, tearfully. She said the words I dreaded most. "It's time, Peg. Kirby's counting on you to do the right thing. He was there for you; now you need to be there for him."
So, with daggers of grief ripping my heart wide open, I held my little guy in my arms as she gave him a sedative to make the passing easier. His little head draped over my arm. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes, and I could see deep into his very being...I could almost read his mind...."Mommy, I hurt. I'm tired. My job is over. I taught you to love and receive love. Now Jesus can do my job. Let me go to HIM, because now I need healing..." And so, in the end, though Cancer tried to take me, and ultimately tried to take my wonder weenie dog...Jesus won out.
As Kirby breathed his laslt breath and my ear against his chest heard the last beat of his heart while on this earth, healing became complete. We were both cancer free. Love was victorious.
I held his limp body in my arms. And though my heart was breaking, a scripture came to mind..."I make all things new."
I know Kirby is having the time of his life playing fetch with Jesus.
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I'll always love you Wiener Boy. You taught me so much. Thank you. You owned my heart. And because of you, I'm able to share it with another. I'll see you again on the other side. Be watching for me. Love, Mom.
<3 Such a beautiful tribute to your baby. I, like you, have a doxie and an iggy. They're wonderful little things. Thanks for sharing your story.
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