A GOOD DOG

Rufus is no more. 

Today I rolled up his outdoor leashes.  He had two of them, two ropes, each attached to a 20-pound weight, one for the front, one for the back, that we would move to different places on the grass.  I picked up one remaining poop.  I haven’t yet put away his food dish that still sits on the floor next to Harry’s.  The collar that said “Rufus” along with our phone number and his license is still around his neck, in the ground.  I have a hard time looking at his harness, the one we used to ease the pressure on his neck, so I put it down in the basement. When I touch it, or touch his bowl it’s as if he’s still here, alive, somewhere.

A remarkable thing, the attachment you can have to a dog, even a dog you’ve only known for a short time.  Maybe because there is a perfect innocence that dogs–animals–possess.  Combine that with an awareness of you, you their master/pack leader/guide/food supplier, a relationship that is at its best a warm, even loving, interaction between species.  We see a lot more in dogs, I think, than they see in us.

Harry and Rufus atop Buck Mountain in the summer of 2012

Rufus wasn’t a beautiful dog.  And I don’t think anyone would have called him cute.  He was a nice dog, a good dog.  Big for a beagle, he had lovely soft ears, bowed front legs that splayed outward, a nose that was a bit bulbous, a midsection that was a bit too large, and clouded eyes.  All in all he looked his age.  His adoption papers gave his age as “8-plus.”  We put the question to our vet who guessed “maybe 14?” 

We adopted Rufus in December of 2011.  There was a sweetness about him that was evident as soon as we saw him.  He wagged his tail at Harry and at us right away, and seemed at ease with our taking him to a new home that he would share with another dog.  He adapted to his new circumstances with an easy nonchalance.  He never growled at anyone, was never aggressive, even when he was around other dogs.  He got along with everyone.   He was respectful to Harry.  He didn’t spar with him for the best space on the sofa, or expect first dibs on the dog bed.  He took what was available both in food and love.  He was a beagle, though, and I know his conduct would not have been sweet when it came to rabbits, chipmunks or other small mammals.  His eager sniffing suggested what he would do if he could.  We never gave him the opportunity to demonstrate those beagle abilities with chickens, or any small creature for that matter.  I know this sweetness had its limits.

Not the most beautiful, nor the cutest dog, but the most sweet

Rufus’ beagle nature meant we would not be able to let him run loose.  We found this out after letting him sniff around the pond one afternoon, unmonitored, for some fifteen minutes.  I realized he had disappeared only moments before a car packed with family and children came down our driveway.  The car door opened, and out popped Rufus.  He had been found wandering, they said, about a mile or so up the road.  Beagles can move fast, we learned, when they’re on a scent.  That’s when we got him a collar with our phone number on it.

Walks in the field with Ken and Harry gave Rufus a chance to enjoy culinary treats like deer poop

There was one problem though:  his eyes.  He had incipient glaucoma, and cataracts in both eyes.  We decided we could fix that for him.  And for several thousands of dollars we nearly did.  After laser surgery his eyes began to look clear and he could see better.  But it was not to last.  Despite numerous eye procedures and eye medications Rufus remained stubbornly in the category of dogs with complications.  By this past winter it was obvious he was nearly blind.  By early spring he was totally blind.

There was one problem though:  his eyes.

Of Rufus’ early life we knew nothing.  He was found as a stray some ten or so miles away.  He was not neutered until he arrived at the local animal shelter.  Given his poor vision he could easily have sniffed himself far away from home and then, unable to see his way back, simply wandered.  He wasn’t in good shape when he arrived at the shelter.  Like any human being who spent time living on the streets, he was a mess:  he had broken teeth, an ear inflammation, one red eye, and his coat was dull and dry. There had once been a time when someone had cared enough about him to teach him some commands.  He knew the usual ones (sit, lie down, stay) that any dog needs to learn whether he’s to be a working dog (people use beagles for hunting rabbits) or a pet, but he also knew a few that were surely taught him just for fun:  he knew “paw” and he knew “roll over.”  If there were other words he understood––maybe a few words related to rabbit hunting?––we never learned about them.  What, we wondered, was his original name?

 

One of Rufus' favorite locations in winter.

In his final weeks we found we would have to put him on a leash and lead him up or down the stairs to keep him from bumping into things, or to help him find the front door, even to find his water dish.  His nose was sometimes bloody.  We might see him standing immobile in the middle of a room or facing a wall, appearing not to know where to go. Outdoors he often walked in circles and might eventually bay at the wrong door to be let back in.  His hearing seemed to be going as well, as he no longer reacted to our calls or to his name, or to our leading him by making sounds as we had gotten accustomed to doing.  Occasionally he would pee or poop indoors, probably because he was confused about where he was.  Other times it was because he couldn’t last through the night, so we took turns getting him outdoors as early as 4 or 5 in the morning.  When he was being fed he began to eat more and more desperately, almost charging the wall in a panic to get to his food bowl.  It’s as if food is the one sure thing he can do something about.  He began to have trouble even finding his favorite spot on the sofa.   He was lost.  Yet with all this, he wasn’t actively dying.  This made our decision to bring his life to an end so wrenching.

Rufus, recently

The vet came to our house.  After so many dozens of visits to doctors’ offices there would not be any more.  Dr. Mark gave Rufus a sedative.  While that took hold we gave Rufie as many treats as he was interested in eating, what he liked most, until he was just too tired to eat any more.  After Rufus was fast asleep our vet gave him a second injection.  And that was the end.  It was a good death.