The Last One is Gone

[HeijoshinCool]

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Some of you will remember my posts a few years back when two of my dogs died. Dulce’s mom, Hipo, in 2012, and her brother, Dooley, in 2014. Both are buried in the rubber tree orchard behind my wife’s house in Nakhon Si Thammarat. Now the last one is gone. After the initial shock and sadness waned, I began to reminisce … with Dulce, it had been a rocky start.

 

She popped into my hands just after 2 a.m. on February 23^rd, 2002. I always believed she would die of old age in my arms. That was not meant to be, though.

 

Driving from Oregon to Texas in the summer of 2002, with Hipo (e-poh) and her two four-month-old pups, I passed through what Wikipedia calls a ghost town. Orla, Texas had one intersection with two stop signs, neither of which applied to me so I blew right on through. Orla also had two buildings—one being a dilapidated clapboard-sided edifice with, out front, an ancient hand-crank gas pump topped with a glass reservoir. (Wikipedia actually has a photo of this.) The arrow-straight never-ending ribbon of asphalt promised nothing but hour after hour of empty, sunbaked, mirage-puddled driving, in a bone-dry, desolate land sprouting rusted-out oil wells.

 

The middle of Nowhere, USA. A perfect place to safely water the mutts. What could go wrong?

 

Five minutes later I pulled onto the western shoulder and parked facing the barbed wire fence that lined both sides. Scant traffic. Over the next 40 hours, I would count perhaps ten vehicles per hour.

 

It had been a week since one of our daily outdoor hikes, plus the rambunctious pups had been stuck in the truck for three days, and I’m pretty sure they scented a jack rabbit amongst the tumble weeds and cactus. Only a moment after opening the door I stood blinking in disbelief while squinting into afternoon sun. On the bottom strand of wire, three chunks of black and tan hair dangled a yard apart from each other.

 

An hour of whistling and shouting promises of food went unrewarded. If I’d been flying, visibility that day was unlimited, but at ground level it was reduced to mere yards by chest-high clumps of sagebrush. Two hours later, voice shot, I backtracked three miles to the nearest gravel side road and followed it for a half mile, until sighting Hipo and Dooley lying very still in the dirt on the side of the road. Twenty feet off the road I’d never have seen them. Severely dehydrated, I gave them water and stuffed them in the back of the Bronco, setting the A/C to meat-locker. I spent the rest of the afternoon driving back and forth and up and down, looking for Dulce, until low on gas.

 

I returned to the original spot and waited. Dogs come back to the starting point, right? The triple-digit temperature fell with darkness. Drafts from a few dozen semis rocked the Bronco like a cradle through the night, but I didn’t sleep.  

 

From time to time I’d pierce the darkness with my headlights, or stand on the hood with my Streamlight, or toot the horn. Each time a multitude of beady eyes looked up, staring back. I wondered if coyotes hunted in packs, or attacked their domesticated cousins. Timid, I knew Dulce wouldn’t fight, just try to run and the coyotes certainly had the home team advantage.

 

In the morning I again walked deep into the sagebrush, eventually losing sight of the Bronco, Hipo and Dooley now glued to my side like little kids first time in a horror house. At noon I drove the seven miles back to Orla, surprised to find the dilapidated building occupied. No gas, but a fearless eighty-year-old woman eked out a living making sandwiches for the handful of oil workers still in the area. We talked a bit—until I choked up and turned away. I bought bottles of water and a sandwich for Hipo and Dooley. Then, still hoping, I bought two for Dulce and went back to my search.

 

Another fifteen hours in the original spot, I saw sunrise through the back window. Between the forty hours and the heat and the sun and the lack of water and the coyotes, no way Dulce could still be alive. Still, I walked into sagebrush one last time, calling her name. Backhanding away tears of guilt, I got in the Bronco and slowly drove away, eyes not on the road, but in the rearview mirror.

 

Arriving in Fredericksburg mid-afternoon, the motel manager immediately handed me a pink message slip. I saw your dog this morning eating the food you left for her. She wouldn’t come to me, but I left her some beef stew and water. Bessie.

 

Other than the unmanned, one-man post office, Miss Bessie was the only permanent human for miles. I had given her the phone number in Fredericksburg of where I’d be staying. Don’t know why. There really was no reason for me to do that, because I had sworn not to leave until all hope was lost.

 

I jumped back in the Bronco with Hipo (Dooley stayed at the hotel with a babysitter) and drove six hours in sunshine, then the final three through thunderstorms. West Texas gulley washers featuring a barrage of constant lightning bright enough to read a book. This created a new problem. Dulce did not like thunder and lightning. But if by some miracle she stayed at the spot, could I even find that spot again? At night, in a thunderstorm? There were scores of pull-offs with no landmarks. With nothing to do but drive and think, my hopes roller-coastered.

 

I arrived after midnight, sixty hours after the adventure began. The road was six inches under water when I pulled into what I hoped was the same spot and jumped out. But before I even could call her name, a black and tan mop scrabbled under the fence, rocketed by me, and leapt into the Bronco, whipping water everywhere, then jumping and spinning. Dulce kissed Hipo. Hipo kissed Dulce. I got in and Dulce kissed me and … well, it was a very wet reunion.

 

How did she survive two and a half nights and two and a half days in such conditions? And, on an infinite stretch of sameness, how did I unhesitatingly choose the right spot in a thunderstorm? And why did Dulce remain in that spot in such a storm, and not run in panic? You decide.

 

For the next sixteen years, Dulce stayed close by my side. She was a happy dog. A quiet girl who only barked twice in her life, one bark each time. Dulce—all my dogs—changed me. That is a dog’s true purpose, to slowly but surely make us better people, if we allow it. Her serene disposition slowly dissolved my anger at past transgressions. I stopped cussing years ago, because whenever I swore—even under my breath—she’d leave the room. And the things I gave up for her and Dooley and Hipo taught me sacrifice is not only a necessary component of love, it is love’s benchmark. Going back was the best thing I ever did.

 

I could say there are no others like her. But that’s not true. Your dog is special too. While Dulce was unique, like most things in life we get out of something what we put into it, and dogs can teach us many life lessons if we allow them to. But those lessons aren’t free. You have to make a sacrifice of unconditional love.

 

In the end it was cancer rather than old age that took her. But when it did she was in my arms. Had been constantly for the final two-and-a-half days.

But all those years, right up until those last sixty hours, it was never the rustling of a potato chip bag, or the scent of my cooking her dinner that would unfailingly get Dulce on her feet. She was too calm and trusting and patient for that. It was just a few simple words …

 

Hey, Dulce, wanna go for a ride in the truck?

 

Never failed.

 

Miss you, Dulce.

[meatboy]

I have got to post my feelings for you and your beloved,i am going through something simuler with my beloved and I can only imagin the hurt you are having.i have tried to read your story only for my eye's to fill up.

I have to call it a day right now as its getting the better of me.

love me love my dog. MEATBOY.forever a dogs best friend.

[HeijoshinCool]

1 hour ago, meatboy said:

I have got to post my feelings for you and your beloved,i am going through something simuler with my beloved and I can only imagin the hurt you are having.i have tried to read your story only for my eye's to fill up.

I have to call it a day right now as its getting the better of me.

love me love my dog. MEATBOY.forever a dogs best friend.

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It's not easy to lose a fine dog. But the last few days, even with her lethargy, and perhaps pain, in no way overshadowed the happiness she enjoyed and transferred to others all the previous years.

 

Broke my heart those last few days. But someone once said, Better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. I'll take the bit of pain and heartbreak, gladly, in exchange for those years together that changed me to the core.

 

The pain eases up.

 

[HeijoshinCool]

42 minutes ago, Arjen said:

Great story. Thanks for sharing! Wish you all the needed strength.

 

Arjen

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Thanks, man.

[meatboy]

anyone who reads this section will know I am a regular poster,but this last month I have unable to control my emotions

my wife and I are doing all that's possible to cure this terrible parasite disease he has. all my life I have never endured any such pain that I am going through right now so its rearly hard for me to do any postings.

so my heart goes out to you you not only loved them.they loved you MORE.

[HeijoshinCool]

21 minutes ago, meatboy said:

anyone who reads this section will know I am a regular poster,but this last month I have unable to control my emotions

my wife and I are doing all that's possible to cure this terrible parasite disease he has. all my life I have never endured any such pain that I am going through right now so its rearly hard for me to do any postings.

so my heart goes out to you you not only loved them.they loved you MORE.

.

And mine to you.

[dick dasterdly]

My heart breaks for you, especially as I've been through something similar. 

 

i.e. car accident when I literally lost one of my much loved dogs a long way from home/a month or so spent looking for lost dog (the evenings spent roasting a chicken near the crash site in the hope he'd smell the food were particularly painful), plus putting up posters and pursuing all other media avenues advertising the reward (for an immediately recognisable dog) to no avail.  Sightings for three weeks, and then nothing - so I returned home a couple of weeks later.

 

My main regret (apart from the obvious 'I wish we'd never gone out that day'....) is that I accepted the advice given to reduce my intended reward from 100,000 bht to (from memory) 10,000 bht.  The reason given was vaguely understandable (in my distressed brain) insofar as it would encourage others to 'kidnap' his brother.....  Bad mistake as I lived a long way away, but was in too emotional a state to think logically.

 

Also similarly, I lost my 'baby' (his brother) 4 months ago tomorrow and can't bear it.

 

The only thing 'keeping me going' is that I still have two adopted soi dogs that would be in serious trouble if I gave up entirely.

 

Personally, I (largely) avoid thinking about it by reading and posting on this forum.  Anything to avoid thinking about the nightmare and loss.

 

[dick dasterdly]

I'm so sorry eijoshincool, we're distracting from your pain.

 

Hopefully you realise we understand your pain, and are just venting our similar emotions.

[HeijoshinCool]

7 hours ago, Arjen said:

We recently lost one of our oldest dogs, was a male neutered (our only neutered male dog) because neutering he was incredible fat. He was around 13 years old when he went. 

 

It started with loosing weight, loosing appetite for food, stopping with barking and fighting his place in the pack. We went to the vet, he got a few injections. We took him in the house, he drunk some water, he was eating a bit of his food, but further only sleeping. Also no suffering is our guess. But his last night with us, he was crying and screaming/ Sometimes the screaming lasted for 15 minutes. He must have had incredible pain. It was the kind of dog where you could cut of a leg, and he never should complained. It was Saturday night- to sunday morning. We called a few vets, but not one answered the telephone. Finally he became silent and a few hours later he died. I can tell you, I really was thinking of hitting his head with a stone to stop the suffering. The reason I did not do it....? scared, not brave enough? 

 

Seeing suffering a dog who you love, and who has showed his entire live affection/love for you is very, very hard....

His body is gone. The memories remain.

 

Arjen.

 

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That's rough. These things always seem to happen in the middle of the night, or a weekend.

 

When Dulce's mom, Hipo, died, that was something that really bothered me about vets in Thailand. Last time I took her in to see him (and he had a busy office with upscale clientele), I looked at his front door, then his card, and not seeing it like I would have in the States, asked what his emergency number was. He just frowned, so I asked what number to call off hours if Hipo was suffering and he chuckled at the silly farang and moved on to his next patient. Suffering is, apparently, a karmic requirement.

 

When Hipo died of congestive heart failure, she was terribly stressed, and no doubt my wailing and sobbing right next to her didn't help. She actually gave up the ghost once, but when I started sobbing again she came back to life for a few more minutes. What a conflict in my spirit that was.

 

I will always have to bear the guilt of knowing if I'd never brought them to Thailand, that Hipo and Dooley, with good medical care, would have lived at least another year.

 

So I have resolved that when I am in Thailand, with an old dog or young (young can be in an accident), I will keep an injection of pentobarbital handy, ready to administer to stop any pain. In fact I will get it here from the vet who cared for Dulce and will bring it to Thailand. That's if I ever have another dog.

 

[HeijoshinCool]

6 hours ago, dick dasterdly said:

I'm so sorry eijoshincool, we're distracting from your pain.

 

Hopefully you realise we understand your pain, and are just venting our similar emotions.

.

 

That's what this thread is all about. 

 

 

[Andrew Dwyer]

I'm so sorry eijoshincool, we're distracting from your pain.

 

Hopefully you realise we understand your pain, and are just venting our similar emotions.

Sorry to jump on the bandwagon here folks but i understand your pain too HeijoshinCool .

 

I lost one of mine 4 years ago ( 1 of 4 I had at the time ) Grandoo had an accelerated heart beat which caused him fatigue and complications later in life. When his time came we knew it was happening and so did he.

It was a long night as I sat on the floor holding him as he passed on , thankfully he didn’t suffer too much, only struggled to breathe at the very end.

 

But, I like to remember the great times and picture him at his best running round the garden with his sisters.

 

HeijoshinCool, try to remember the good times it does ease the pain a little, did for me anyway.

[HeijoshinCool]

30 minutes ago, Andrew Dwyer said:

Sorry to jump on the bandwagon here folks but i understand your pain too HeijoshinCool .

 

I lost one of mine 4 years ago ( 1 of 4 I had at the time ) Grandoo had an accelerated heart beat which caused him fatigue and complications later in life. When his time came we knew it was happening and so did he.

It was a long night as I sat on the floor holding him as he passed on , thankfully he didn’t suffer too much, only struggled to breathe at the very end.

 

But, I like to remember the great times and picture him at his best running round the garden with his sisters.

 

HeijoshinCool, try to remember the good times it does ease the pain a little, did for me anyway.

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It's good you were able to be with him when he passed. That's a blessing.

 

I've got photos of them everywhere. And lots of funny memories. 

 

I had a (tiny) Nissan NV, driving from Trat to Chiang Mai. Hipo in the passenger seat, Dooley and Dulce locked down in Dooley's massive kennel in the back of the truck. Along the way we stopped (first in line) at a red light in some town; lots of busy traffic. Clear skies, but out of nowhere a series of thunder booms.

 

I felt the NV shake and shudder. But it wasn't the thunder. Dooley, 110 pounds of puss, busted out of his kennel, his sister on his tail, and jumped from either side of the truck into stopped traffic. I saw them in the sideview mirrors, opened both doors, and shouted their names even as the light turned green.

 

Dulce jumped on my lap at the same time Dooley rammed into a stunned Hipo, then Dooley and Dulce butted heads, jumped out, ran around to each other's side, and jumped in again. Dooley's trembling 110 pounds, all focused on four paws in my groin, made me scream. Drivers, mesmerized by this canine Chinese fire drill ignored the green light and just stared. Trying to get his balance, Dooley moved one paw and it made me floor the gas pedal, and we shot off to CM, doors slamming all by themselves, leaving the head scratching Thai drivers behind.

[HeijoshinCool]

Dulce made friends easily. That's a baby bird in her hair that my wife is feeding cat food.

[dick dasterdly]

14 hours ago, HeijoshinCool said:

.

 

That's rough. These things always seem to happen in the middle of the night, or a weekend.

 

When Dulce's mom, Hipo, died, that was something that really bothered me about vets in Thailand. Last time I took her in to see him (and he had a busy office with upscale clientele), I looked at his front door, then his card, and not seeing it like I would have in the States, asked what his emergency number was. He just frowned, so I asked what number to call off hours if Hipo was suffering and he chuckled at the silly farang and moved on to his next patient. Suffering is, apparently, a karmic requirement.

 

When Hipo died of congestive heart failure, she was terribly stressed, and no doubt my wailing and sobbing right next to her didn't help. She actually gave up the ghost once, but when I started sobbing again she came back to life for a few more minutes. What a conflict in my spirit that was.

 

I will always have to bear the guilt of knowing if I'd never brought them to Thailand, that Hipo and Dooley, with good medical care, would have lived at least another year.

 

So I have resolved that when I am in Thailand, with an old dog or young (young can be in an accident), I will keep an injection of pentobarbital handy, ready to administer to stop any pain. In fact I will get it here from the vet who cared for Dulce and will bring it to Thailand. That's if I ever have another dog.

 

I sympathise and was also shocked when asking my vet for an emergency number (in case my dog suffered serious effects from the chemo treatment), he told me that 'outside hours' I should take my dog to another practice that was open 24 hours - even though I'd been using him for years (with a couple of traumas during that time necessitating (close to immediate) operations.  So he already knew I didn't panic unnecessarily.

 

On the plus side, he and the other vets in his practice, are otherwise kind, caring, compassionate and knowledgeable (by Thai standards).

 

Thankfully, he also understands that when a much-loved pet is suffering and has lost all pleasure in life, it's time to end their suffering .