RIP Pokey
Early Saturday afternoon, my 13-year-old German shorthair Pokey had to be put to sleep. Given his advanced age, I've been dreading this day for some time now, but it nonetheless snuck up on me in the past 24 hours as my dad reported him in high spirits as recently as 5:30 Friday afternoon. Prepared as I thought I would be to say goodbye to my second long-lived canine friend in 29 years, I still feel like I've been punched in the gut in the 24 hours since he's passed.
Pokey has lived at my parents' country place in rural Minnesota, and it just happened to be a weekend when I was making the 2 1/2 hour commute from my new home to visit. Pulling up the driveway just before 7:00 on Friday evening, I could see him sitting on the front step even though a steady snow was coming down. It was not unusual for him to be out in the snow or to be awaiting my arrival when my mom told him I was coming home, so it didn't strike me as odd. When I got to the first step, however, there was a spooky lifelessness in his eyes, and I could tell right away something was wrong. After petting him for a few minutes, I retreated indoors, but that look in his eyes haunted me all evening long and I just knew the morning light would bring something ominous.
Sure enough. I went outdoors Saturday morning to his doghouse inside the barn. He laid there motionless with an aggrieved look and dilated pupils. As I got closer, I could tell his breathing was labored, a nearly identical symptom that I witnessed when my previous dog, a 14-year-old Irish setter named Luke, passed on in December 1992. The writing was on the wall, particularly when I returned an hour later to find him in even worse shape. My dad and I were able to get him into a vet's office Saturday afternoon, and transporting a large and ill dog who desperately wanted to stay in bed was in itself no easy task. The look on the vet's face said it all before she even gave the diagnosis. He was running a bad fever and his abdomen was considerably swollen. We sprung for a final test and it came up positive for GDV, a common ailment in elderly animals where the stomach twists up in knots. It's an almost certain death sentence, usually within 24 hours. He was put down just before 2:00.
Needless to say, there have been alot of flashbacks in my mind over the course of the past 30 hours, dating all the way back to January 1995. I was a junior in high school, and my family decided it was time to get another dog in the hopes of replacing the seemingly irreplaceable Luke. We picked up the frisky, nine-month-old (and ironically named) "Pokey" from the local animal shelter and wondered if we were up to the task of breaking in this unbridled bundle of youthful energy. Within months, he had been trained not to chase cars, cats, or neighbors. It didn't take long to realize we had been blessed with another outstanding dog.
Pokey was an outdoor dog, as most rural dogs are, and I think he was better for it. Even though he had some cold nights enduring Minnesota winters, he always had doghouses filled with straw inside our barn that kept him cozy, and he had the freedom to run. Having had two outdoor dogs that have lived to a ripe old age, I'm skeptical that a pampered and relatively sedentary life indoors is preferable.
Considering that I only officially lived at my parents' place for three or four years since they've had Pokey, it's still amazing how strong of a connection I had to him. Looking forward to the year ahead, there are so many seasonal rites-of-passage that will be incomplete without him. No more long walks down our gravel road in the spring. No more drives to the lake in the summer. No more walks through the plowed corn field in the fall. No more "snowball fights" in the winter where Pokey would dive in the air to catch airborne chunks of snow in his mouth. I'll continue to come home a couple weekends a month, but at least this year, it's gonna seem awfully empty.
As heartwrenching as it has been, I'm glad I went home this weekend though. It was ultimately a blessing to have this happen on one of the four days per month where I visit "the farm". At least I was able to say goodbye. Had this happened last weekend, for instance, I would have heard the news by telephone and would feel even emptier.
Maybe at some point, a year or two down the road, my parents will decide to get another dog. I hope they do. I've yet to meet a dog that I've been unable to fall in love with after getting to know him or her, no matter how much I cling to the memory of the "perfect dog" I once had that was just put to rest. It's a safe bet that when the time comes, the next dog will be just as fulfilling as Pokey...or Luke before him. For now though, it's gonna be a very sad time for myself, my family, and my neighbors who have also grown to love Pokey.
Rest in peace, my good friend. You will never be forgotten.
Pokey has lived at my parents' country place in rural Minnesota, and it just happened to be a weekend when I was making the 2 1/2 hour commute from my new home to visit. Pulling up the driveway just before 7:00 on Friday evening, I could see him sitting on the front step even though a steady snow was coming down. It was not unusual for him to be out in the snow or to be awaiting my arrival when my mom told him I was coming home, so it didn't strike me as odd. When I got to the first step, however, there was a spooky lifelessness in his eyes, and I could tell right away something was wrong. After petting him for a few minutes, I retreated indoors, but that look in his eyes haunted me all evening long and I just knew the morning light would bring something ominous.
Sure enough. I went outdoors Saturday morning to his doghouse inside the barn. He laid there motionless with an aggrieved look and dilated pupils. As I got closer, I could tell his breathing was labored, a nearly identical symptom that I witnessed when my previous dog, a 14-year-old Irish setter named Luke, passed on in December 1992. The writing was on the wall, particularly when I returned an hour later to find him in even worse shape. My dad and I were able to get him into a vet's office Saturday afternoon, and transporting a large and ill dog who desperately wanted to stay in bed was in itself no easy task. The look on the vet's face said it all before she even gave the diagnosis. He was running a bad fever and his abdomen was considerably swollen. We sprung for a final test and it came up positive for GDV, a common ailment in elderly animals where the stomach twists up in knots. It's an almost certain death sentence, usually within 24 hours. He was put down just before 2:00.
Needless to say, there have been alot of flashbacks in my mind over the course of the past 30 hours, dating all the way back to January 1995. I was a junior in high school, and my family decided it was time to get another dog in the hopes of replacing the seemingly irreplaceable Luke. We picked up the frisky, nine-month-old (and ironically named) "Pokey" from the local animal shelter and wondered if we were up to the task of breaking in this unbridled bundle of youthful energy. Within months, he had been trained not to chase cars, cats, or neighbors. It didn't take long to realize we had been blessed with another outstanding dog.
Pokey was an outdoor dog, as most rural dogs are, and I think he was better for it. Even though he had some cold nights enduring Minnesota winters, he always had doghouses filled with straw inside our barn that kept him cozy, and he had the freedom to run. Having had two outdoor dogs that have lived to a ripe old age, I'm skeptical that a pampered and relatively sedentary life indoors is preferable.
Considering that I only officially lived at my parents' place for three or four years since they've had Pokey, it's still amazing how strong of a connection I had to him. Looking forward to the year ahead, there are so many seasonal rites-of-passage that will be incomplete without him. No more long walks down our gravel road in the spring. No more drives to the lake in the summer. No more walks through the plowed corn field in the fall. No more "snowball fights" in the winter where Pokey would dive in the air to catch airborne chunks of snow in his mouth. I'll continue to come home a couple weekends a month, but at least this year, it's gonna seem awfully empty.
As heartwrenching as it has been, I'm glad I went home this weekend though. It was ultimately a blessing to have this happen on one of the four days per month where I visit "the farm". At least I was able to say goodbye. Had this happened last weekend, for instance, I would have heard the news by telephone and would feel even emptier.
Maybe at some point, a year or two down the road, my parents will decide to get another dog. I hope they do. I've yet to meet a dog that I've been unable to fall in love with after getting to know him or her, no matter how much I cling to the memory of the "perfect dog" I once had that was just put to rest. It's a safe bet that when the time comes, the next dog will be just as fulfilling as Pokey...or Luke before him. For now though, it's gonna be a very sad time for myself, my family, and my neighbors who have also grown to love Pokey.
Rest in peace, my good friend. You will never be forgotten.