The King of All Dogs in Vermont...
Entry posted by Peter McCormick in Life
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It’s early Thursday morning as I write this, not yet 48 hours after our vet came to the house, sat on the floor with us and dispatched our much-loved Frosty to the Rainbow Bridge. It was exactly eight years after his Gotcha Day, a day when both his and our lives changed dramatically for the better.
I am due to record another podcast with Dave Wilber, but I’m sure Frosty will be a part of that conversation and I still can’t talk about him without getting sloppy. Writing is cathartic for me, so hopefully this will help.
Having just lost his buddy Bruce a few weeks ago, Dave counseled me via text that grief comes in waves, and to give myself space. He’s right. Just when I think I’ve got a grip, another wave hits and it crushes me again.
The triggers are everywhere. The pork tenderloin in the fridge that I was going to grill for him, the bin for his special neurocare kibble (he was epileptic), the fan that he liked to lay in front of, the dust bunnies of white fur that seemingly appear out of nowhere.
Every time we go through this — and this is our seventh — I reflect on why each one is so difficult. After all, they’re just dogs, a dime a dozen, right? Anyone who thinks that has never opened his heart to one, and had that love returned multifold.
After all, they’re just dogs, a dime a dozen, right? Anyone who thinks that has never opened his heart to one, and had that love returned multifold.
A diamond in the rough...
Frosty was a Great Pyrenees/Labrador mix who came to us as a two year old from a shelter in Kentucky. He was not well socialized and needed some work, We suspected he had been passed around a few times before we got him, but we could see the diamond in the rough.
Pyrs are working livestock guardian dogs, and as such Frosty was no nonsense, independent and stubborn, very different from all our other dogs. He didn’t see the value in obeying commands or doing tricks, so refused to learn them. Food and treats didn’t motivate him. He didn’t play fetch or chase frisbees, or play much at all other than zone out with his favorite Lamb Chop stuffies. He liked to run, by himself or with his partner-in-crime Marley, at times to our consternation. And he was always ready for a long walk with me.
Frosty was a snuggler and quickly became my afternoon napping buddy. Perhaps that was a throwback to his ancestors who would lie with the flock they protected. I’d lay down on our bed and holler OK!, and he’d come running from wherever he was in the house, leap up and burrow alongside me, propping his head on my chest. It was a special time for both of us.
Positive affirmations
Frosty inexplicably lost his eyesight about a year and a half ago, over a period of weeks. He did OK navigating around the house for a while on his own, even finding his water bowl. But, for our walks and lately inside the house, I had to guide him with a leash or by his collar: step up, step down, this way, over here. I’m sure he was confused about it and wondered where everything went and why, but we were quick to give him lots of kisses and pets and positive affirmations, telling him he was a good boy and that it wasn’t his fault.
Part of those positive affirmations included me anointing him the King of All Dogs in Vermont, which I later expanded to all of New England. A joke, of course, but he liked it. And he was regal. Maybe it was the fluffy ruff around his neck. He just had a special air about him.
In his waning months he slept a lot, up to 22 hours a day in 3-5 hour chunks. He had become somewhat incontinent, so we had to scoot him outside when he woke up — including in the middle of the night. Time was not kind to him in a lot of ways.
With special food and medication, we kept his epilepsy at bay for six or seven years. But it reared its ugly head again a few months ago. He had four seizures in one evening, and each one took a toll on his cognition. He had three more this past Thanksgiving weekend, one of which was particularly violent. No dog should have to experience those, nor anybody witness them. Horrible.
We were quick to give him positive affirmations, telling him he was a good boy and that it wasn’t his fault.
By Monday afternoon this week it was apparent that this last round of seizures had really taken its toll on him. He was only 10% of the dog he was and should be. Not wanting to risk another seizure, we knew we had to let him go.
We still have another dog, Ellie, a rescued Golden Retriever who has her own story of early abuse and neglect. Still very timid and prone to keeping to the shadows, she is also arthritic and can’t do long walks. She was with us when the vet was here, and has been by my side all morning today. I guess she now realizes Frosty isn’t coming back.
Kobe, inbound…
As fate and serendipity would have it, a couple weeks ago my wife received a text from a woman in Georgia who fosters shelter dogs, and from whom we got Marley six years ago. "I have a beautiful six month old Lab/Golden/hound mix here. Wondering if you might be interested?"
It was tempting, but bringing another dog into the family would not have been fair to Frosty. We asked the foster mom to keep in touch, and we’d let her know if something should change. Now that something has changed, we FaceTimed with her last night and met Kobe. Boom! Transport up from Georgia is being arranged.
Patty thinks it’s serendipitous that this woman should contact us out of the blue after six years. Part of me wouldn’t mind a break for a bit, but when opportunity knocks, hey. I would have a walking buddy again, and we could use the jolt of energy, joy and mayhem that a young dog would bring to the family. Life tends to contract as one ages, so it’s important to keep adding things in along the way.
My good friend Brian Flynn, a summer neighbor and Sunday morning Zoom buddy during the winter, texted me after I filled him in on Frosty. "You are wonderful pet owners. Seeing how you guys handle these things makes me even more sure I want to come back as a McCormick dog."
Strange aspiration, perhaps, but we'll go with it. It's not the first time Brian has said that. It's just what we do.
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