Saying Good-bye

 

I cannot believe it is the end of the year and decade.  2009 has been full of ups and downs for all of us.  This time of year, I think, is also an opportunity to think of those who have had an impact on our lives.  So let me talk about my parents' dachshund mix, Indie, who passed away on August 4th.

 

One of the best decisions you can make is to adopt a pet.  There are some in the green community who disparage pets, screaming environmental and global warming nonsense.  To me, sustainability is about making the best possible trade-offs, and owning a pet--in my biased case, a dog--has many benefits for you and your family.  With all the foreclosures that are still occurring, there are too many abandoned pets, and adopting a dog or cat is one of the best ways to alleviate a horrid situation overwhelming animal shelters across the country.  And if you are a pragmatist, the statistics show that owning a dog can reduce the chances of getting burglarized.  When you are home, the evidence suggests that we are calmer and have lower blood pressure. 

 

Indie was one example.  My brother found him at an animal shelter while he attended college in Southern California.  When he went to the shelter, all the dogs leaped to the cage, screaming, "adopt me, adopt me!"  One animal just looked terrified and helpless and did not join the fray.  That was Indie, then named Opie.  My brother naturally chose to save the furry 2 year old.  Indie was a gift to my sister, who had lost our first family dog, Snoopy, a terrier mix who died at age 16 the year before.

 

This was not the most seamless adoption.  Indie (sometimes Indy, the spelling was never standardized) had been abandoned twice by the same family, and had never been trained.  He apparently was a nightmare the first several months, and my father threatened another sending to the pound several times.  He never did learn tricks or commands well, and had countless quirks, my favorite being his sprinkler fetish--he loved to drink out of them while they were on, though the sight of him licking sprinkler heads in operation sure looked painful.  We always wondered what kind of home he had lived in his first two years:  he had the worst separation anxiety, as he would chase you to the door, upset if you were leaving.  He hated fires, barking his head off when he saw anyone light a match or setting up the fireplace.  And he also had a vicious jealous streak--for some reason he had a visceral dislike of the sight of family members hugging each other . . . the sound of "my daddy" would set him on a frenzy.  Yet this jealous dog would also run away from you if given the chance, and would turn around at you almost mockingly . . . and would run away from you again just when you'd catch up to him.  He certainly was not the brightest, as he would charge a car, barking furiously at it as it whizzed by.  I doubt he would have been Best in Show, either at the Kennel Club of Philadelphia or the eponymous mockumentary.

 

But within a year Indie was part of the family.  He and my dad were almost inseparable.  When my parents purchased their Aptos house in 1997, Indie was my father's companion on the weekends when dad would fix up the new home.  Indie learned to love the walks along the beach, despite the fact that his belly would scrape the sand due to his short little legs.  That dog could walk and walk for miles, and he seemed to jump and jump a mile whenever he saw the sight of his little red leash.  In fact, Indie learned to game the system:  one family would take him for a walk in Aptos or Cupertino, leave for work, and my mother or sibling would grab the leash, not realizing Indie already had his walk in the park or around the block.  Indie would leap like a Mexican jumping bean, demonstrating that surely he needed a walk as nothing of the kind had happened in the last 30 minutes.  When he was not walking, Indie could be found in my father's lap or nestled next to my mother, fitting perfectly between her and the armrest on the sofa. 

 

Over the years, he gave the family countless memories:  the constant hunt for squirrels at the backyard woodpile in Cupertino; guarding the house from intruding mailmen by running to the cover of the clothes hamper, only to fall into the clothes pile one day when the lid was not closed; prancing like a rabbit in the yard, searching for the backyard sprinklers that we had turned on for a split second; managing to get lost under the Aptos house by finding a tunnel under the garage; never learning any commands but understanding "BIRD!"; running around the house like a madman, doing the figure-eight till he would hack as if he was losing a lung; and sleeping peacefully with his long red tongue, which never quite seemed to fit his mouth, sticking out as his eyes were drooped shut.  When he visited LA, he would steal Cosmo's Ikea sheepskin rug, which did not exactly endear him to our disgruntled shih-tzu.

 

The last few years had not been kind to Indie.  He caught the dreaded kennel cough, and his teeth problems led to oral surgery.  But even as he slowed, he was still a genuinely happy dog, always wagging his tail when my parents came home from an errand, and would still charge around the house doing his version of the Indie 500.  But then he lost his appetite, and his loving nature disappeared as he developed the canine form of dementia.  He was no longer happy, no longer knew where he was, and was not comfortable anymore.  Finally, my parents had to make the tortuous decision to ease his suffering.  So on a warm summer day, my parents said good-bye to their loving companion, and Indie found his final resting place in the Cupertino backyard, a few feet from Snoopy and the squirrels at which he used to bark incessantly.  They say a parent should never have to bury a child, but based on what I heard, the farewell my father had to give his pal of 13 years took a little piece of his heart out of him.  That day was sad enough.

 

Our pets really do become part of their family.  It is hard watching them grow old, even harder to see them go.  But the memories, as Indie gave us, are worth the lump in the throat when we reach that end.