Yesterday we put down Asterix - our first pet and the last to go. When my last grandparent passed, my mom remarked that the death of a second parent is more difficult than the death of a first. The same probably applies to pets. We are no longer dog owners. Our daily schedules no longer revolve around our dogs and whether they've had their dinner or afternoon snack or whether they've been out on a walk or whether the pet lodge has openings.
Letting Asterix go was in some ways an easier decision than letting Arthur go six months ago. Asterix had reached the ripe old age of thirteen and showed all the signs of age and weariness that Arthur never did. He had ceased running and playing for many years owing to a bad case of arthritis in his back legs. In his final weeks, Asterix could not get up unassisted and could barely walk ten feet at a time before his legs gave way. We have no doubt we have curtailed Asterix's suffering. We wanted to do it as soon as we could after his vet told us it was the end of the road, and we were determined to do it before Arthur's birthday (the ninth) - perhaps so that both of them could celebrate it somewhere.
It's a trite thing to say, but it seems like yesterday that we brought Asterix home as a not-even-one-month-old puppy in a little orange basket. All he did was sleep those days. We made an enclosure for him out of a large cardboard box on the first night, and he wouldn't stop wailing until we took him out and let him find his own spot to sleep in. We named him Asterix, because we had friends who had named their dogs Caesar and Obelix (and a friend of a friend who had allegedly named theirs Cleopatra), and Asterix seemed a nice addition and broke the mold of traditional pet names to boot.
When you become a pet owner for the first time, a section of society that was invisible to you before becomes visible - namely, other pet owners. The first time we took Asterix to the vet (in his little orange basket), I was fascinated by the variety of dogs and dog owners around me. There was a girl who couldn't get enough of Asterix and thought his name was the best thing ever. I talked to the owner of a nine-year-old boxer. I remember thinking, this dog hasn't got too many years left; we're so lucky Asterix is young and we have so many years ahead of us. Now all those years have been used up.
Asterix was always there. Other dogs came and went, but Asterix was a permanent fixture. Portly, quiet, and in spite of his impatience with strangers, very sweet. Archie's aggressive companionship and Arthur's hyperactive energy after that may have dampened his playfulness, but nothing could suppress his appetite. Asterix departed doing the thing he loved: eating. When we left him at the vet, we left a cookie near him, even as we had let Arthur's favorite ball with Arthur six months ago. Good night, Asterix, Asty, Puppy. (He had so many nicknames.)
1 comments :
You've been through a difficult year my friend. You've said goodbye to your two faithful, loving companions. Their departure leaves an incomprehensible vacuum behind, one that cannot be filled by any means. With time, you will learn to remember them, with fondness and warm memories.
Asterix, Archie and Arthur. They were your friends, your guardians and they brought out the best in you. There's a primal joy in running up to your dog and hugging him, your anxiety and worries melt away in the warmth of the embrace. I sympathize with the sections of the society that have never known and will never know the purity and sincerity of this embrace.
Goodbye Asterix, I still remember the day he came- unless I'm very much mistaken, you were at my house and were leaving early. When I asked why, you said "A four legged friend is waiting for me" to which I stupidly inquired "*insert your brother's name*?".
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