Unless you're a "dog person" this page probably isn't for you. Though I hope these thoughts and details will be interesting, my real reason for writing them is that I want to document the details I might forget over time, plus it provides a certain degree of therapy to apply structure and reiterate the events. Maybe it's also a way to gain a bit of immortality for Dewey, as anything tossed into cyberspace is apt to be there forever. I always knew this day would come and I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea how strong my bond with Dewey had become and just how profoundly his loss would affect me.
Dewey's major meal was dinner and that was the only "formal" meal he normally got. Every now and then he'd get some scrambled egg on a layer of crunchies for breakfast, but that was a rare treat. At bedtime we would put two small Milkbones in his crate for a bedtime snack. He'd gallop excitedly down the hall ahead of me, waiting to rush in and eat them as soon as they were placed. He'd then come back out for a while, hoping we'd turn off the TV and get ready for bed. If we stayed up later, he'd go back in the crate on his own. He was surprisingly good at prodding and rearranging his bedded to his liking and was the picture of cuteness through the wires of the crate. He also made quite a racket while readjusting things in the middle of the night. I'd often chuckle when I heard Jeannie "shush" him for the second or third time. He was crate-trained when we got him and we kept a large one in the master bedroom all his life. The crate door was only opened at night and the rest of the time he'd snooze in the hallway or living room. It was a rare thing that he was ever put in the crate and the door latched, but when Jeannie broke her arm the EMTs were no doubt grateful not to have a Beardie underfoot. There were a few other instances, like workmen dealing with the aftermath of the basement flood, though most now elude me. All dogs should be crate-trained and have one available.
I'd put a large Milkbone on my night table for morning. As soon as it was light, sometimes earlier, he'd put a paw up on my bed to wake me and have his Milkbone. Sometimes I thought he enjoyed breaking them up in sharp little pieces and scattering them across the rug more than he enjoyed eating them. That accomplished, he'd repeat the pawing process so I'd get up and walk him. If I didn't, then it was two paws plus a nose nudge. Often I didn't even remember waking up the first time, but the Milkbone was gone and I know he never took anything off a table himself. On our first walk of the day, a.k.a "the perimeter check", we'd also go down to the mailbox and get the morning paper. Often, much of our "walk" involved sitting in the front yard and smelling whatever interesting things were in the lake breeze.
Every morning when I got out of the shower we'd have "the morning bark-fest" He'd usually wait for me to bark at him, then we'd trade barks for a while. I'd put my hands out and he'd jump up and bark. He'd then turn away from me and bark at Jeannie for her to chime in. The three of us would then all bark in sequence. It sounds silly, but he absolutely loved it and I think it got a certain amount of barking out of his system for the day, as he was generally a quiet dog. It certainly solidified us as a pack.
Speaking of packs, Dewey loved to meet new people. Oddly, as soon as he suspected they were going to leave, he'd start barking at them like crazy. We suspected he had assimilated them into the pack, and was trying to keep the pack together. On the other hand, since he didn't herd or try to block the door, for all we knew he was encouraging them to get the heck out as quickly as possible.
Neither of us alone was sufficient for him; if either one of us were out, he'd have a certain low level of anxiety. He was a master of geometry and would generally find a spot halfway between us to lie down, form a triangle with us in the living room, or he'd guard a door so we couldn't escape unnoticed. When I went out to work in the garage or for firewood, he'd always have his nose right at the door, waiting for my return.
One of the classic cute/sad things all Beardie owners know is that unique Beardie face in the window as one is driving off. It's identifiable from hundreds of feet away and makes you never want to leave. Sometimes that same face will be at the window on your return, ready to deliver high pitched barks, scolding you for leaving, followed by barks of joy. I only now realize that I spent most of my time driving home from work eagerly anticipating being reunited with the pack, and that first drive home without his greeting started another flow of tears.
Dewey was a Luddite. He was highly suspicious of tools or machinery, particularly anything with a motor. We learned not to vacuum until after he was walked, as he might show his displeasure by "voting with his butt". If I was working on some small project he might lie nearby, but at the first mechanical noise of any sort, he was out of the room in a flash. I'm sure he thought a Mototool was a creation sent from hell itself.
The back of our house has a wooden deck with sliding doors to the living room. It's only a couple steps up to the deck from the lawn. When we walked him around the house, Dewey would go up on the deck and look through the glass door to see Jeannie sitting inside. Once he knew he was being watched, he'd get a running start and make a great leap off the deck. In the wintertime it was a great leap into a snowbank! Jeannie had taught him the word "bigjump!" and he knew exactly what it meant.
After a big poo Dewey liked to run. Since he was at the end of a 16' retractable leash, we tended to fly him around a 32' circle like a model airplane on a wire. Eventually he learned the word "circle!" and could be encouraged to do several laps on command.
Winter, and the "mud season" that occurs on each side of it, is always a mess. We'd keep a bucket of warm water in the back room for clean-up after walks. Dewey would stand patiently while we dunked and dried each paw. He'd even lift the appropriate paw for the dunking. Anything below about 10-20F was too cold for his feet, so we used red vinyl "paw protectors" that fastened with Velcro. He tended to high-step and prance a bit when they were first put on, which was always fun to watch.
It's scientifically impossible, but I believe Dewey was capable of increasing his mass by at least a factor of two. If there was someplace he didn't want to go, or something he didn't want to do, he'd lie down, go limp and increase his weight to what felt like 100 lbs, making it nearly impossible to pick him up or otherwise move him.
We spent a great deal of time in the front yard, typically at the same time every day. I'm certain people driving by got used to seeing us, and sometimes I'd give directions to someone who'd never been here and they'd say, "Oh, you're the one out front walking the black and white dog."
For some reason, the bathtub was considered a safe hiding place. If there was a rumble of thunder, or if Dewey had been scolded for something (a rare event), we'd hear a distinctive "thump" as he climbed into the tub and hid behind the shower curtain.
Beardies have a stealth mode and you always have to be careful moving your chair back, opening a door or even where you step. They make a point of being underfoot. So many times, Dewey would appear or disappear from as close as a foot or two away, and I had no clue that he had moved. Jeannie and I both have some arthritis and I think both of us were terribly afraid of falling on him. He weighed about 50 lbs, a tad small for a male Beardie, and we always considered him quite delicate and small-boned.
I now look sadly at the empty places where he would lie- on the cool tile at the back door, in the bedroom doorway, on either side of the bed, against a wall halfway up the hallway, just around the corner to the hallway (probably his favorite spot), on the tile of the front entrance and in front of either half of the L-shaped sofa. Looking at that list, it seems to cover most of the available wall space in the house! Prior to our basement being flooded a couple years ago, he also loved to lie on the small sofa in the family room, with his chin resting on one of the arms. His philosophy was that there's no reason to sit up straight when there's a nearby wall that needs extra support.
All his adult life Dewey liked to ride in the car. Most Saturdays we'd load up the trunk with trash and make the short trip to the transfer station together. Even the long trips to Maine were little trouble as long as we walked him every couple hours. I don't think he ever took a single sip of water on a trip, though we offered it. Medium length trips on bumpy roads with a lot of turns were another matter. I don't think I ever took him to Rochester without him throwing up in the back seat just before we were about to arrive.
Dewey was Jeannie's alarm system, protector and companion when she was home alone and I know she misses him every bit as much as I do. When leaving for the day, I'd say goodbye to her and then tell him, "Bye bye Dewey, take good care of mommy and she'll take good care of you."
It's amazing the things Dewey didn't do. Unlike many dogs, he'd never consider taking a sip of water out of the toilet. He never chewed on anything except his toys. He never tried to bolt out of an open door. He never snatched anything off a table or counter top. He never got in the garbage. He never licked people, though he was extremely friendly and would sniff your ear. He never growled except maybe while playing tug-o-war in his younger days. If he did manage to commit some serious infraction, it usually took only one scolding for him not to do it again. He wasn't very obedient in terms of following commands. I think he knew exactly what they meant; he just had his own ideas about what he wanted to do. A large part of our success with him was creating an environment where it was easy to be good.
Dewey was extremely intelligent and that was one of the things that made him such a joy to have around. He was curious about everything going on around him and he communicated often using a variety of sounds, body language and the occasional paw on the knee. We tried to keep him thinking and entertained, rather than requiring some rigid standard of behavior. After his walk I'd often offer him a choice from several different dog treats held between my fingers. He knew he could only choose one. Though he had his favorites, he'd sometimes surprise me and take the unexpected.
He had a large vocabulary. We can't remember all the words he recognized, but here are some:
There were some commands used mostly by Jeannie. When dinner was ready and I was in the basement, I couldn't hear her call. She'd tell Dewey, "Go get daddy!" He would then either stand at the top of the stairs and bark, or come all the way down and stare at me, bark or, in his earliest days, even pull on my sleeve.
Beardies are said to be one of few dogs that recognize their own breed. Based on his interactions with Ken and Linda German's Beardies, I'm convinced this is true. They seemed instantly comfortable with each other, formed a loose "pack", decided who the leader was and then followed each other around and around the house until everybody was tired enough for a good nap.
I'll always remember our first trip to the Germans with Dewey. He and the other two dogs were in the back yard running around and playing. Dewey was still really a puppy and hadn't been with other dogs since we picked him up at the breeders. At one point he was rolling around on his back in the grass, with the other dogs sniffing and nosing his tummy. I could tell that he was in a state of the most absolute ecstasy a dog could be in.
We often referred to Dewey as "the ambassador for the breed" because his good behavior impressed almost everyone he met. From the earliest we could take him to other peoples houses and he'd usually lie quietly, observing whatever was going on and never get into anything or cause any trouble. He was excitable at first with visitors here, but after the initial greeting he'd usually go off someplace quiet until it was time for them to leave.
I did almost all of the morning and evening walks, and often the mid-day walk on weekends. In our time together we probably took more than 7500 walks around the house. I fixed him something like 3800 dinners. The routines are so thoroughly ingrained that it's no wonder I miss him so much.
Our good friend Tim, who was there in Ohio when we got Dewey as a puppy, said "...you can surely take comfort that Dewey won the dog lottery, as far as finding a wonderful home with great humans." Nice of him to say but I think the truth is really the opposite- we absolutely won the dog lottery by finding a perfect Beardie with a temperament ideally matched to ours.
Our good friend Ken, having been through this too many times before, says "Beardies are great friends and it hurts a lot to loose them. But it would be worse to never have had such friends at all." Wiser and more comforting words have never been spoken.
These last events are painful to write, but needed to be documented.
On Thanksgiving day I showered late, sometime after noon. When I came out Dewey was ready for the usual bark-fest. He seemed fine, just as he had been for our earlier walk, but I think there were only a few barks when he turned for the hallway and his back legs collapsed. I don't know if he turned to the hall for Jeannie or if it was the result of the seizure. He appeared to be trying to get up, but was unable. I cried out and Jeannie came from the kitchen.
We had no idea at the time what was happening, just that he was kicking and seemed unable to lift his back end up. Shortly he was in full seizure, head arched way back and eyes misdirected. We were in a panic, were trying to keep him from hurting himself, and weren't sure how to get him to the doggie ER. Though I could easily lift him if he were standing, it was much more difficult to get him off the ground from his side without hurting him or me. Finally we just had to move, so I scooped him up and we made the long drive to the 24/7 Animal Emergency Hospital in Henrietta.
They did blood work, x-rays and, I think, an ECG. There was nothing abnormal except for a low potassium level which they thought was the result of the seizure, rather than a cause. Their best guess was a brain lesion, probably cancer. The doctor didn't think he coult see, as he didn't blink or react when a finger was brought up to his eye. The three options presented were an expensive MRI that wasn't immediately available on the holiday, probably followed by $10k of brain surgery if it showed something, a moderate treatment with medication to lower brain pressure, then watch and wait for some improvement, or euthanasia. Regardless, his prognosis was not good.
The first choice was beyond our means and the third was unthinkable without at least trying to save him. We chose the middle path and they achieved some improvement while we were there. His eyes were more normal, though I couldn't tell if he could see us or not, he was conscious, but had no mobility in his rear legs.
When we returned the next day, they had him on a nice large cushion in one corner of the hospital, with a small bell in his hair so they could tell if he moved. They treated him so well and I was pleased he didn't have to be in a crate during such a tramatic time. He appeared to recognize us and seemed significantly improved, but he had a disturbing low frequency side to side motion when he lifted his head. I don't know if it was a balance issue or tremor. He still had no mobility in his rear legs. It was reasonable to give him another day and see if he improved any further, though the prognosis remained unfavorable at best.
When they wheeled him to us the following day he started to lift his head briefly when he saw us, but we already knew from an earlier phone call that this was likely the end. He seemed to have given up and they had been unable to get him to even try to stand up. He recognized us and was comforted by our touching, stroking and talking to him, but he didn't have the strength or ambition to lift his head. I cradled his head on my arm for the entire time we spent with him. I think he even relaxed and fell asleep for a bit as we stroked and petted him. He opened his eyes and looked at us again and then it was time. We continued to pet him and talk to him while the doctor gave him a peaceful release from his misery.
In hindsight, I have to wonder if some things we attributed to normal aging were subtle clues that something more serious was going on. Or, they may indeed have just been part of the normal aging process. For the last six months to a year we noticed that he had an occasional slight limp with one rear leg. It was usually fine in the morning and more noticeable later in the day. Every once in a while he'd stumble over a step or obstacle because of it. It was so slight we simply wrote it off as arthritis. The next symptom was his coat. Dewey was beautifully marked and had a two layer hard-to-groom coat. The undercoat was dense. He'd always developed an even thicker coat for the winter. This year his coat was thin and easy to groom, a bit too thin. Nor did we see any additional coat growth for winter. He tended to get bug bites easily because the undercoat was so thin. A final clue was that his hearing seemed to have deteriorated significantly. I attributed this to a combination of age, possibly recent antibiotics for a bout with hemorrhagic diarrhea and the use of an ultrasonic de-scaler to clean his teeth (the risks of that method aren't well known). Yet, on our walks he sometimes seemed to hear my quiet directions without problem; or maybe he was just reading my body language after so many years. After experimenting with high and low pitched voice, it seemed his low frequency hearing was worse than his high. He certainly wasn't as sensitive to low frequency outdoor noises as he used to be. His cues to bark at things were now mostly visual, like car lights through the front window. I now wonder if the problem was related to what was going on with his brain, as opposed to a problem with his ears. I blame myself for not putting these things together sooner, but they were subtle at best and developed so slowly that they were hard to notice. Sadly, even if we had suspected a problem at the first onset of these symptoms, little could have been done. At the end, all his test results were still normal and he had no obvious health problems. An MRI might have revealed something, but the cost of that and subsequent treatment would have been far beyond our means.
We had been so proud of ourselves for never using chemicals on our lawn, for only feeding Dewey quality food and for keeping him at the correct weight. Reading various Beardie books and seeing lifespans well into the teens, I had convinced myself that even though he was slowing down, Dewey certainly had a couple more years with us. It was not to be. On the other hand, I worried about him from the day we got him. I knew this day would come, and I tried never to turn away from a chance to pet him, play with him, bark with him or love him.
To end on a brighter note, a day or two before his seizure, I came home from work and Dewey greeted me with what seemed like more than his usual enthusiasm. He was a bright eyed and happy Beardie. He tried to gain top dog status with a bit of humping, and then wanted to play chase-the-tennis-ball-down-the-hallway. We did that a good number of times, more than we had in a long while. He played like a young dog and a grand time was had by all. A warm feeling had come over me as I thought about how happy he seemed and that maybe age wasn't bothering him as much as I had feared.
It seems such a simple thing but his happiness was key to my happiness; that little romp told me that his life was happy and good right up until the end- a few minutes of play I'll always remember and treasure.
Conrad