Want to have a real cry? Read my personal story about my relationship with my dog, Ruly, a great big yellow lab that I had from puppy to death last year. The dog saw me through good times and bad, through drug addiction and sobriety. If this story doesn't make you cry I don't know what will. This story was originally published on my political blog
iRant last year.
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Ruly was born way back in November of 1992. I first met him about four weeks later, nestled in the corner of a whelping box in a dimly lit garage. He was one in a litter of eight pups, and far bigger than the rest, almost twice the size of the second largest dog. While the other puppies busily crawled over each other, tugging upon ears and tails, Ruly passively kept to himself, barely reacting when a sibling climbed over him. He lay there patiently, enduring, yet immovable. Read More...
I brought Ruly home the day before Christmas. I had thoughtfully prepared the house with some dog toys, dog beds, and a large crate into which he would grow. I had read up on everything there was to know about labs, about their disposition, their training, and felt prepared to welcome the new puppy into my home. Ruly was to be my first dog. Oh sure, I had several dogs growing up. There was the mutt named Baby who one time had a litter of puppies in the middle of the front yard. There was the loyal and mournful basset hound Winifred who spent a lot of times standing on her own ears. There was the hyper-protective and possessive Shih-Tzu with the misnomer of a name "Spotty." He didn't have any spots, but my grade-school sister liked the name for a dog. These were all family pets, however. None were really MY dog.
As I drove Ruly away from his mother in my Jeep Wrangler, the terrified puppy climbed over the seat and into my lap, crying plaintively as he scrambled up my chest to get eye to eye with me. He covered one eye with his paw to support himself, and planted his snout over my OTHER eye, crying ever louder, shivering. As I swerved around the road, driving blindly, I pulled him down into my coat, and he quietened, comforted by being close to me.
I took him to work with me that first day. "Just today," I promised myself. There would be no one at home to put him out, and I wanted his first day away with his mother to be spent with me, as he transitioned into being part of my family. I remember him sniffing around furtively, anxiously, ass-end drooping as he looked about my office for a place to defecate. I quickly scooped him up and ran outside, laughing the whole way, my best friend Justin following closely behind. Ruly's first dump was a big one, and a scary one at that. He seemed to be having some difficulty. The feces was laced with what looked like thick writhing spaghetti. Upon seeing this, I immediately panicked, thinking the dog had shit out his insides. My heart racing, tears about to burst from my eyes, my throat tight, I ran inside, dialed the phone to my friend Scott who had several labs of his own. "Something's wrong with Ruly!" I blubbered through barely contained tears, and described what had happened. The laughter on the other end of the phone line pushed me into a state of confusion. "Skip, the vet must have wormed the puppy this morning, and he is passing them. This is normal. Relax, he's fine."
Embarrassing, to say the least. I didn't recall reading that in any of my puppy care books.
As I finished out the work day, the young puppy toddled around the office, but always came back to curl up on a towel by my feet under my desk. My promise of just bringing him into work just that day would be broken twenty-four hours later, as I carted him in with me yet again. And so on, into his adulthood.
The first night I had him home, my careful preparations turned out to be a bust. The puppy clumsily explored, but would cry the second he thought he was too far away from me. I would come over pull him onto my lap, and the little tail would wag, and the little tongue would dart out against my face. Bedtime approached, and it was Christmas Eve. I carefully wrapped Ruly in a blanket, and placed him in his gigantic dog crate for his first night in my home. The puppy looked around the cage, and then got a panicked, distraught look on his face as I closed the bars of the door. The second I was out of eye-shot this horrible crying filled the room. I felt awful leaving him, but he would have to get used to it. I had bought into the whole fad of crate-training, and thought that was the one RIGHT way to train a dog. I went to bed, despite the mounting cries coming from the kitchen. The dog sounded like he was being tortured, and the entire house was awakened.
I went out to the kitchen, grabbed the puppy out of the crate, and took him to my bedroom, setting him onto my bed. He was quiet, attentive, looking at me, tail wagging. I crawled into bed with him and he settled in close to me, and very quickly fell asleep. "Just for tonight, since it's Christmas Eve," I promised myself. That promise was quickly broken the following night, and every night thereafter. The crate was relegated to the garage to gather dust, unused.
As Ruly grew up, he continued to constantly be at my side. He was a very quick learner as a puppy. He never needed a leash. He learned to heel on command from watching his dog friend Winston. I remember teaching him the concept of "stay." That was a hard one. His entire body would quiver in concentration as he would go through the very difficult endeavor of doing NOTHING, standing still. I spent a week teaching him the difference between road, sidewalk and grass. He knew that were he to come to a road, that he would have to sit down and wait. As years went by, my stepfather Bill would often take Ruly for walks. On more than one occasion he would look down at his side, and see that the dog was not there. Turning around, he would see Ruly sitting at the curb, crying. Bill had crossed the road, and forgotten to tell Ruly it was all clear.
As the days grew warmer, I often went down to the beach. Ruly was the quintessential beach dog. He just looked good sitting in the passenger seat of my topless Jeep, a bandana around his neck, tongue hanging out. The dog loved road trips. During one particular trip to the beach, when he was some eight months old, I stopped at a 7-11 in Dover to get some ice for the cooler. Ruly sat in his normal place in the passenger seat, just taking in all of the commotion. As I stood at the counter, paying for my purchases, the clerk asked me, "Is that your Jeep out there with the big dog?" Without looking up from my wallet, I proudly said, "Yes it is."
"Well, your dog is driving across the parking lot!"
I looked up in shock to see my Jeep rolling backwards. Ruly was sitting in the DRIVER'S seat. I bolted for the door, scattering change and ice on the sidewalk. The dog just happily sat there, tongue out. A scraping crunch punctuated the impact of my Jeep's rear bumper with a battered Nova parked at the gas pump across the lot. When changing seats, Ruly had knocked the gear shift into neutral, and as the car succumbed to the downhill tug of gravity, he took up a new vantage in the driver's seat, happily oblivious to the fact that he was quickly rolling towards a fender bender.
The policeman looked at me in vague disbelief when I described what had happened. "Please don't give me a ticket, the dog was driving!"
On another one of my ill-fated beach trips, Ruly and I were walking along First Avenue in Rehoboth Beach. I suddenly heard this low growl, and as I looked down at the big white dog, all of his hair on his back was up, and bristling. He was staring intently through a shop window of the Big Dog Beach Wear shop, situating himself defensively between me and what he saw inside the window. Confused as to what he could see in a clothing store that he would consider a threat that required me to be protected, I glanced into the window. There propped up was a life-size plush stuffed St. Bernard, surrounded by a whole cadre of smaller stuffed St. Bernards. They were VERY threatening dogs, at least in Ruly's eyes. I patted him, telling him, "Thanks, Ruly, good dog." It was nice that he had protected me from evil stuffed dogs, and their equally awful logo clothing.
Later that same weekend, it was late afternoon, and I was looking for something to eat for dinner. I parked the Jeep, and directed Ruly to stay and wait for me. I went into the McDonald's and it was very crowded. I settled into a long wait in the slow-moving line. Twenty minutes later, I came out, looking to the Jeep. No Ruly. Panicked, I threw the food down and ran up the street, screaming his name. Had he been stolen? He would never have run off... My throat tightened and I felt this awful chill in my heart as I ran up and down the street looking for this dog. I ran into a bunch of my friends, and when they saw my tear-streaked face and heard the panic of my yelling, the immediately joined the search, combing the surrounding area. I was making such a commotion, that I attracted the attention of a policeman. He pulled up in his cruiser, and asked, "You looking for a big white labrador retriever?" "Y-y-yes," I managed to squeeze out, my throat constricted as though in a vice. "Get in the car."
The policeman drove me to the station, and told me to wait. I was told that Ruly had been spotted on the street where my Jeep had parked. Apparently he had gotten a bit concerned that I had taken so long, and decided to go out LOOKING for me. The officer said that Ruly had walked to the doorway of the first store on the block, and waited for a customer to open the door. He then rushed inside, ran frantically through the entire store barking, then ran to the door to be let out. Then he moved down the block to the next store and repeated the same process. The shops staff were completely confused as to what this dog was up to, and just stood and watched as he ran around their stores barking at the top of his lungs and then ran out. As Ruly got to the end of the block, a policeman opened the door of his cruiser and called him. Ruly. ever trustful, jumped in, and was immediately subjected to canine incarceration.
The officer led me into a small room, and told me to remove my hat and stand in front of the placard. He handed me a sign with a number on it. "What the fuck?" I thought, "Was I being arrested?" Sure enough, I was charged with letting my dog run loose without a leash. As he finger printed me, I argued, "Arrest him, he was the one running around causing the commotion." A couple of hours later, I pulled into a dark municipal lot on the edge of town, and welcomed a tired yet VERY happy lab into my car.
As the years went by, Ruly and I shared many more adventures. He loved to play fetch with anything handy, a ball, a stick, an entire tree. He quickly became quite proficient at frisbee. I had shared a house in the Florida Keys, and this was dog heaven to him. Sunning on the dock, swimming all day in the canal, tearing open coconuts for the milk and pulp inside, convincing a passerby on the beach to throw the ball into the water for him... these were all activities that occupied his days. He was an avid water dog, and loved being on boats. He accompanied me on hundreds of scuba trips, content to paddle along the top of the water around the boat while I swam fifty feet below. He liked to ride my jet ski with me. On our numerous beach trips, he would exhaust himself to the point of not being able to walk for two days, with his wild games of ball in the surf. If I would not play with him, it was no problem. He would grab up a stick or whatever was handy, and stand along the surf line until someone came by. He would then drop the stick in front of that person, asking them to throw it for him. If that did not work, he would carry the stick around to nearby beach blankets, sandy sloppy paws, eager eyes, drooling dew-laps, and drop the stick at the edge of the blanket, imploring the stranger to get up and play with him. There were no real strangers to Ruly. Everyone was a friend, or at least someone to throw his stick for him to chase.
Ruly was the ultimate road trip dog. In fact, he got to the point of expecting me to take him along whenever I left the house. If I did not do this, it was a great insult to him. Often, if I hadn't explicitly invited him, and he saw me packing the car, he would push his way out the front door, and lay in the grass between the front door and my car, so that I would have to step OVER him as I packed. He would look at me intently, accusingly, "How DARE I not ask him to come, you're gonna have to go through me or around me to leave without me." I would call him to come into the house, and he would on these occasions not comply. Nine times out of ten, I would buckle to his expectation and will, and ask him to come with me.
Ruly saved my life. I had moved to Florida, and had gone to a new pharmacy to have a prescription filled. The pharmacy was out of the particular milligram strength of pill that the prescription called for, so they gave me a higher milligram pill with directions for a reduced dosage. I didn't bother reading the directions, and took two. I woke up a couple of hours later in the emergency room. I had collapsed on the kitchen floor, unconscious. Ruly saw this, and when he couldn't rouse me, flew into a panic. He ran to the front door of the apartment, and tried opening the door, His teeth marks shown on the doorknob, and it was actually crushed. The wall and the back of the door was clawed as he desperately tried to get the door open. Failing at this, he began howling. My neighbor, a policeman who broke in and found me, said that he never heard a dog make this kind of noise before. He said that it was a long, mournful keen, and it made his blood run cold when he heard it. It alerted him to the possibility that there was a problem. When I didn't answer the door, he broke in to find me unconscious. The poor dog, in his devotion to me, was wailing at my possible demise.
As Ruly got older, the affects of his aging slowed him down somewhat, but his devotion to me only increased. When I was going through my issues with drugs and alcohol, he loved me even at my staggering sloppiest. At the point that I didn't want to live anymore, the steady love and devotion of this dog to me, despite how worthless I felt, was what pulled me through to get my life back onto the right track. It didn't matter how fat, how old, how terribly out of control or worthless I felt, the dog offered a steady, unwavering, unconditional love. At times during my rehab, and early months of sobriety, I would throw my arms around the big furry neck, my face against his, and just cry. Ruly would half close his eyes, his "sincere" look, and gently lick my cheeks, or look at me with concern, and put his paw on my chest or shoulder, or on my leg, as if to offer a compassionate and understanding hand.
Even as I got myself together emotionally and physically, another stroke of bad fate struck me, and I was laid off of my job. It wasn't the first time that I was jobless, but it was the longest, and the prospects for finding gainful employment in my field were slim to none, thanks to a rapidly tanking economy. Again, just spending time constantly with the empathic and sensitive soul that is Ruly, when all of my sense of dignity and self-worth has been whittled away, kept me sane, kept me anchored, and kept me secure.
It was September of 2002, I was unemployed save for a tutoring job that involved much travel and little money, and my unemployment compensation was about to run out. It was a particularly stressful day as I was anxious and upset over mounting bills. I took Ruly out to the park to walk around, clear my head, and just think. The old dog was walking rather slowly; I attributed this to old age, and perhaps a touch of arthritis. It was quite warm that day as we hiked. As usual, Ruly disappeared into the brush and emerged a few moments later with a small tree for me to throw for him so that he could play fetch. I broke the stick down to a manageable size and complied. That afternoon, upon returning home, Ruly collapsed, his gums grey and tacky. I assumed he was dehydrated, and took him to an emergency vet. They pumped him full of fluids and sent him home, much recovered.
Two months later, Ruly was progressively becoming more and more lethargic, and appeared to be bloating in the face and neck. A day later he wouldn't eat or drink. He was constantly coughing, and the exertion of this would leave him unable to move for many minutes afterwards. Alarmed, I took him to the vet, where he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and an enlarged heart. He was near death. I had no money, no way of getting any money, no unemployment checks left, and my savings were exhausted, but I could not bear to let my loyal and devoted friend die. Crying, I did the hardest thing, and asked my parents to please loan me the money, whatever it took, to save this dog's life. I had lost everything up to this point, I would not have been able to bear losing him; it would have killed me. At that point, what little pride I had after a year of not working, was pushed aside, and I turned to my parents and friends and asked for money.
Ruly was in the hospital for several days. I visited him each day, and looked at his weak form in the cage, tranquilized, IV's pumping fluid into him, heart monitors attached. When I brought him home, he was put on a regimen of heart medications. The vet was somber, as she asked me to come back in for a follow-up appointment in two weeks. This was a terrible time for me. With all of the terrible stuff going on in my career and financial life, my best friend in the world was on the edge of death.
Taking Ruly home, I began to do anything I could to help him get better. In order to encourage him to eat, I began cooking for him daily. I exercised him, but minimally, so as not to overtax him. Over the next two weeks, he regained his strength, the spark came back to his eye, and he developed a voracious appetite. As the vet walked into the room during his follow-up appointment, she stopped, drop down to her knees and hugged Ruly, petting him, with tears in her eyes. "This is the reason I got into veterinary medicine," she said, "I honestly did not expect him to live more than three days, he was on his way out when you last brought him in here."
She could never give me an exact prediction of when Ruly would finally succumb to his disease. It could be next week, it could be next month. For the next year and a half, Ruly continued living, my devoted friend. He became quite sedentary, not moving during the day much, and only perking up and showing great happiness each night when i arrived home. Then he would eat, walk around, wag his tail, and socialize. When I left the next day for work, he would lay facing the door, waiting. During this time, as Ruly's health improved, or rather stabilized, other aspects in my life did as well. I finally found work with a great company in Reading, and proceeded to rebuild my shattered finances. I started doing things to improve myself and fill my life with a few good friends, a couple of horses, and a newfound love of self, discipline and inner strength. I marveled a Ruly's health turn-around. I knew he would never recover from this, but I valued each additional day with him as a great gift, and used the additional time to its fullest advantage. All of the things I had lost in the previous year, I got back, and then more. I suddenly found myself approaching life with the same vigor, and confidence that I hadn't felt since my naive youth.
During this time, Ruly had his ups and downs. He began to lose muscle mass, and have trouble walking up stairs. He would retain fluids as his weakened heart struggled to pump the blood through his extremities.
A little over a week ago, it became apparent that the old dog was not feeling too great, and having a real problem walking up the stairs. His appetite became intermittent. He had gained some weight, but it was mostly fluid bloat from failing systems. I had an appointment with the vet for booster of his inoculations, so this would be a good opportunity to figure out what else we could be doing for his heart. I had a great sense of dread when I took him to the vet, because I knew it was inevitable that she would report his deterioration. This had happened in the past, and yet the old dog had plugged on for months until the next scheduled visit. The vet administered his shots, and was troubled when listening to his heart. His irregular heartbeat was even worse than usual. After a round of EKG's and blood tests, she grimly reported that it was only a matter of time. As was the norm of every vet visit for the past 18 months, I left depressed, and cried the entire way home.
Over the next few days, Ruly's condition worsened. By Wednesday, he would no longer eat. Some decision had to be made. My parents told me that I should put him down, but I was too scared to make that decision, too afraid to face what my life would be without this great dog, this constant companion through the ups and downs of my life for the past twelve years. I put him outside that morning, and went in for my shower. After getting dressed I went to the door, and Ruly was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, I went out to the back yard, and found him laying there, head up, as though just taking it easy. His nose twitching and sniffing, he looked over at me, pricking his ears, his eyes getting a bit of their characteristic sparkle as he looked at me, and his tail briefly wagging.
"Come on Ruly," I called. He looked at me, tail twitched a bit, but with a resigned and sad look indicating that he just wasn't going to be able to comply. He could not stand up. I bent over, and gently scooped him up, gingerly carrying him into the house and plopping him on the living room floor. I got down on the floor with him, face to face, noses touching, and looked into his tired eyes. His breathing was labored, his pulse thready, but the only thing in the room he seemed to lock onto with his eyes was me, as though he were trying to tell me something. I kissed his nose, his face, stroked his fur and told him everything was ok, that I was ok, and would be back for him soon. With a heavy heart, I went to work. I cried the entire trip to work as I made the hard realization that the old man was not going to come out of this. I somehow just knew it. I called my mother, and burst into tears at the sound of her voice. I could barely get the words out as I said, "Mom, I think I have to have Ruly put down today. He was outside and he couldn't get up!" She cried for a few minutes before choking out that she thought that was probably best.
The rest of the day, I was totally distraught, crying, hurting, afraid. I called several times, asking my mother, asking my father, "How is he? Has he moved?" I was going to leave work early to make arrangements to have the vet come out to the house to euthanize my friend, but I couldn't summon the courage to make that decision, I couldn't get past the pain in my heart to pick up the phone and do what I felt had to be done. Could there be some small hope he could pull out of this? But then I thought of those tired eyes, that tired old soul peering out from within, looking at me, suffering.
He wasn't going to pull out this time.
As I drove to the barn after work, I was so upset but I had to do it. I called the vet and asked her to come out to put him down. She couldn't make it out until the following morning, and cancelled a previous appointment to do this for me. "And don't wear your lab coat," I begged as I cried into the phone. "I... I just don't want him to be scared, and he's scared of that coat."
I then called my house to let my parents know I had made arrangements. Ruly had not moved. I was completely incoherent at this point, but the thought of Ruly laying there all day, unable to go to the bathroom or move was horrible. "Bill, PLEASE help him to go out... I can't stand to think of him laying there having to go, unable to do it, because he doesn't want to go on the carpet." With that, I hung up the phone. I had made the hard choice, I was willing to let the old boy go.
The phone rang not five minute later to my surrender to the reality of the situation. "Skippy, please get home as soon as you can. Ruly just passed away." I was blinded by tears, and the pain just clutched my throat and chest. I drove home, numb. I cried so hard that I could barely see the road.
As I got home, the path from the car to the front door seemed to get longer and longer as I approached, I could feel the thud of each step as I approached. Bill opened the door. I didn't see Ruly in the living room. "Where is he?" I whispered.
Bill had helped Ruly out the back door, in the hopes of getting him to urinate. As he set Ruly down, the old dog wavered for a moment, his back legs useless and unsteady. He sniffed the air for a moment, then suddenly gasped, collapsing into Bill's hands, and slowly sinking to the ground, gently rolling onto his side. It was this way that I found him an hour later as I slowly, fearfully walked through the back door. For months, I had played over in my head this scenario, wondering how I would react, what would it FEEL like to see him dead, or to not have him there with me anymore. And now that moment had come.
As I look upon his body laying peacefully there, he almost looked asleep. I stroked his fur, crying gently as I closed his eyes and mouth, and arranged his legs so he would be comfortable. I spent the next hour just talking to him, telling him the stories of his youth, the very stories that I told here, and many more. And I thanked him, thanked him for saving me, in more ways than one. This one special being had shown me the most devotion, the most consistent love through the roller-coaster existence of the last decade of my life. He had been there for me unconditionally when my life was at its darkest and I needed him the most. He was there for the happiest moments of my life, the catalyst for most of these. He was there when I lost everything, and despite terrible health concerns, he hung in there. My mother often told me that this dog was living for me this past year, that the only time he perked up or showed the most happiness was the moment I walked into the door.
And then, as I have my life back together, have success, have stability, feel joy and love, well, perhaps Ruly knew somehow that I was ok... I was going to be ok... and it was ok for him to let go of me, as I should inevitably have to let go of him. He had done his job, he had been a good dog, a loyal dog. The best dog in the whole world.
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