I lost fifteen pounds today.
My brave, strong, smart dachshund named Thibodeau was a fierce, loving, little guy who did everything in his life with a fiery passion. And today was the last of his days under the sun.
Today I lost fifteen pounds of heart. The fact that every potential attacker was a hundred times his size made no difference to my fierce defender. He defended his home with an unbridled ferocity that made even the biggest of people back up. Yes, some of it was that I did not train him, and a select few of you have marked up ankles where he did whatever damage he could do to defend Kathe (and once, when he thought I was being attacked, he made it all the way up to the calf of the wielder of a terrifying pool noodle). If Thibodeau thought for one moment that his humans were under attack, he was relentless.
That enormous heart has left me today. And my heart went with him.
Today I lost fifteen pounds of wigglebutt. The graceful line of his tail expressed the purest joy I have ever seen. When either of us came home, he charged the door, barking excitedly, enthusiastically, with unreserved joy at the sudden reunion. And that tail, which looked for all the world like the crest on a Roman gladiator's helmet, would pirouette in circles - not just a back and forth motion, but a full arc of joy. He could no more hide that excitement than prevent the sun from coming up.
That tail will no longer greet me. My heart is broken at the thought.
Fifteen pounds of love permeated that body. Thib might not have made up with everyone immediately, but once he decided you were ok, (and that you were no threat to Mom), he loved with a passion. He snuggled. He followed. He hung out. He'd offer licks, if they seemed appropriate, but his biggest gift was his need to be close to those he loved. I have never had a dog that loved a lap quite so much, and he would burrow in to be as close as he could.
That space next to me on my chair is empty tonight. Fifteen pounds lighter than it was yesterday.
He was fifteen pounds of eagerness to please. Every once in a while, something would happen, and he would squeal when his tail got stepped on, or when he tripped up one of us who was not looking where we were going. And invariably when he did, he would apologize with kisses, a wiggling apology for being in the way. Even at the end, when he could not see and his eyes hurt him to the extreme, when Kathe was wiping his eyes and he would squeak, he jumped up to reassure her. Licklicklicklick....
He was fifteen pounds of routine. Every morning he would greet Kathe with the most enthusiastic tongue-licking that was possible, and was not satisfied until she laughed and put him down to eat. He recognized the changes of Saturday and Sunday, and every other day he knew and loved having that play time between breakfast and work, and the time when mom would dry her hair to the music of his bark. And best of all, when he was let out for that last time of the day, and he would charge out from the back door, hoping that the rabbit that often shared backyard space would be there. And every time, he would almost catch him before he slipped through the bars. Every single time.
He knew the routine, and he knew when it was broken, and was on guard every single time.
...because he was a solid 15 pounds of observation. Kathe took greater and greater care to hide from him the bags when we were headed out the door. He did NOT like being left behind, and was keenly aware that when the bags came out, that meant that he and Lu were getting left SOMEwhere. And wherever it was, it was NOT going to be fun. To avoid his anxious stare, Kathe started packing the bag in the bedroom, but he quickly figured out what the closed door meant. She changed bedrooms. He recognized the signs. She shifted it upstairs. He sat at the foot of the stairs. There was NO fooling this dog.
That keen sense of observation is stilled today. Fifteen pounds of brilliant dog, attached to a nose that sniffed us out. And today, his body is no more.
That body failed him early, and often throughout his life. He suffered with bladder stones that made him miserable. He had stomach ailments that rocked him pretty regularly. And then, at the end, he had eyes that went blind when the tumors ate everything in their path. Within three weeks, he went from fifteen pounds of healthy, happy, loving, lionhearted dog, to a lionhearted dog, in the dark. In pain. And only able to express his love between whimpers and apologetic kisses for worrying us.
Thibodeau, you are a good dog. You join a few other good dogs in my heart, and I hope you guys have joy today. Please, greet one another with no suspicion, and let some solid butt sniffing let you know that each one of you was well loved, and then you can play.
These dogs have defined me, and I loved them all. And Thib, I loved you.
I lost fifteen pounds today. And I will miss that little dog for the rest of my life.
My brave, strong, smart dachshund named Thibodeau was a fierce, loving, little guy who did everything in his life with a fiery passion. And today was the last of his days under the sun.
Today I lost fifteen pounds of heart. The fact that every potential attacker was a hundred times his size made no difference to my fierce defender. He defended his home with an unbridled ferocity that made even the biggest of people back up. Yes, some of it was that I did not train him, and a select few of you have marked up ankles where he did whatever damage he could do to defend Kathe (and once, when he thought I was being attacked, he made it all the way up to the calf of the wielder of a terrifying pool noodle). If Thibodeau thought for one moment that his humans were under attack, he was relentless.
That enormous heart has left me today. And my heart went with him.
Today I lost fifteen pounds of wigglebutt. The graceful line of his tail expressed the purest joy I have ever seen. When either of us came home, he charged the door, barking excitedly, enthusiastically, with unreserved joy at the sudden reunion. And that tail, which looked for all the world like the crest on a Roman gladiator's helmet, would pirouette in circles - not just a back and forth motion, but a full arc of joy. He could no more hide that excitement than prevent the sun from coming up.
That tail will no longer greet me. My heart is broken at the thought.
Fifteen pounds of love permeated that body. Thib might not have made up with everyone immediately, but once he decided you were ok, (and that you were no threat to Mom), he loved with a passion. He snuggled. He followed. He hung out. He'd offer licks, if they seemed appropriate, but his biggest gift was his need to be close to those he loved. I have never had a dog that loved a lap quite so much, and he would burrow in to be as close as he could.That space next to me on my chair is empty tonight. Fifteen pounds lighter than it was yesterday.
He was fifteen pounds of eagerness to please. Every once in a while, something would happen, and he would squeal when his tail got stepped on, or when he tripped up one of us who was not looking where we were going. And invariably when he did, he would apologize with kisses, a wiggling apology for being in the way. Even at the end, when he could not see and his eyes hurt him to the extreme, when Kathe was wiping his eyes and he would squeak, he jumped up to reassure her. Licklicklicklick....
He was fifteen pounds of routine. Every morning he would greet Kathe with the most enthusiastic tongue-licking that was possible, and was not satisfied until she laughed and put him down to eat. He recognized the changes of Saturday and Sunday, and every other day he knew and loved having that play time between breakfast and work, and the time when mom would dry her hair to the music of his bark. And best of all, when he was let out for that last time of the day, and he would charge out from the back door, hoping that the rabbit that often shared backyard space would be there. And every time, he would almost catch him before he slipped through the bars. Every single time.
He knew the routine, and he knew when it was broken, and was on guard every single time.
...because he was a solid 15 pounds of observation. Kathe took greater and greater care to hide from him the bags when we were headed out the door. He did NOT like being left behind, and was keenly aware that when the bags came out, that meant that he and Lu were getting left SOMEwhere. And wherever it was, it was NOT going to be fun. To avoid his anxious stare, Kathe started packing the bag in the bedroom, but he quickly figured out what the closed door meant. She changed bedrooms. He recognized the signs. She shifted it upstairs. He sat at the foot of the stairs. There was NO fooling this dog.That keen sense of observation is stilled today. Fifteen pounds of brilliant dog, attached to a nose that sniffed us out. And today, his body is no more.
That body failed him early, and often throughout his life. He suffered with bladder stones that made him miserable. He had stomach ailments that rocked him pretty regularly. And then, at the end, he had eyes that went blind when the tumors ate everything in their path. Within three weeks, he went from fifteen pounds of healthy, happy, loving, lionhearted dog, to a lionhearted dog, in the dark. In pain. And only able to express his love between whimpers and apologetic kisses for worrying us.
Thibodeau, you are a good dog. You join a few other good dogs in my heart, and I hope you guys have joy today. Please, greet one another with no suspicion, and let some solid butt sniffing let you know that each one of you was well loved, and then you can play.
- Bean.
- Hippolyta.
- Doc.
- Pepe.
- Jassie.
- Jack.
- P.D. Rambler.
- Captain.
- Marney.
These dogs have defined me, and I loved them all. And Thib, I loved you.
I lost fifteen pounds today. And I will miss that little dog for the rest of my life.
