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| Howard Napping On The Sofa |
Dear Howard,
I am at a loss for words to describe the terrible void I feel in my heart with your death. At the point I am sure I have run out of tears, I manage to find more. It was after your death that a very dear friend suggested I write you a letter. I had no idea what to write. What could be written to show you how much you mean to me, and to our family? What do you say to a dog that gave unconditional love while never asking for anything in return, but maybe an opportunity to tenaciously lick an earlobe or some lap time? So, I figured I would just write about your eleven year life and how much each moment of it meant to me.
We bought you at a pet store in Southglenn Mall and fell in love with you the moment we laid eyes on your black and white Shih Tzu fur. We immediately knew you were meant to be ours. Your birthday was 2/3/04 and we found you on April 2nd; which is my sister's birthday. I know there were no cosmos in the universe that intricately planned two in love twenty-somethings to buy you, but it made sense to us at the time; and it still does. We brought you home and you immediately interrogated with great skill your older Shih Tzu brother, Arthur. After some lengthy stare downs and a few nips, you two were friends.
You were an adorable fur ball that pounced on everything, and had hair growing up over your eyes. It wasn't long after you came home that you broke your hind leg. We were not sure how it happened, but it didn't matter as we knew something was wrong because you were limping and hiding behind the toilet. We rushed you to the overnight emergency vet. We both agreed we would pay whatever it took to fix you all the while knowing we did not have "whatever" to pay. Still, you belonged to us and we belonged to you and we were going to make sure you were taken care of. Next thing we knew, you were home with a cast on your leg. As long as I live the sound of the three pitter-patters and one loud thump across the floor will never leave me. Like every other obstacle in your life, you overcame it and, in fact, you loved dancing on your hind legs and jumping up on everything.
You were always your own dog. Arthur and your younger sister, Mabel, would go one way and you would go the other. As long as you had the back of the couch to look out the window, or your favorite toy, "jack", life was good. You were a protector of our home and all those that lived in it, even if those living in it annoyed you. When "mom" was pregnant with our first child you always cuddled with her belly. If she sat down, you made sure to be right on top. When we brought the baby home, you would sleep by him and watch over him. As he got older, he would drive you crazy and you would snip at him, but we knew you cared about him. When mom was pregnant with our second, you did the same thing. Always protecting mom and the unborn little girl inside of her. As long as there was no thunder, you were steadfast and brave, but man did you hate thunder!
Howard, I could probably write a novel about your life's adventures; from fighting with Jo-Jo boy to loving on anybody that would look your way. I realize that to the outsider, you were not "remarkable" or "heroic." You weren't Lassie or a bomb sniffing dog, you were Howard Paul the Shih Tzu, but you saved our lives.
We knew something was wrong with you. You weren't yourself and we could tell. You had lost so much weight, you didn't want to eat and you would shake each time you took a breath. I will take this opportunity to apologize to you Howard. I was selfish. I knew that if I took you to the vet, I was going to get the answer I expected and that was you were sick, very sick. I did not want to let go, I did not want to make "the" decision. I prayed. I secretly hoped you would quietly go in your sleep. I finally realized it was time to get you to the doctor. I admit my hands were shaking when I finally made the call to schedule an appointment. Even then I was selfish. I probably could have taken you in that very day, but I made the appointment two days out. I explained your symptoms and the girl on the other end sounded disgusted that I was not rushing you in immediately. Maybe she wasn't disgusted. Maybe I was projecting her feelings because I was feeling selfish. I am glad I made the appointment for that Friday because your mom was able to be there.
On Friday, October 9th, 2015, we brought you into the vet. We both knew while walking through the parking lot that this could be it; however, for some reason, I could not allow my brain to believe it. Even at the very end, you were so sweet and it was almost as if you were making sure to comfort us. After some tests, the doctor advised us it was grim. You had a large tumor and your body was riddled with cancer. As we feared, you were in pain and there was not much to be done. There was an option for an extensive and expensive surgery, but with your age you would have had to undergo numerous tests even to find out if you were a viable candidate. Meanwhile, waiting in pain to undergo a painful surgery and a painful recovery. The other option was to relieve your pain. Allow you to take the next step. We both wanted to hold on to you, but we both knew it was not the right thing for you.
We made the horrifying decision to bring you peace. I never knew the pain that one could feel when toiling over that decision. Unless you have had to make that decision, you will never understand. I realize how ridiculous it sounds, but it was strangely familiar to making the decision to remove my own father from life support.
The procedure was explained to us. They would take you in the back and insert a shunt into your leg that would be used to deliver the medicine. We requested a tuft of your fur. You had the softest fur. They said an imprint of your paw would be made for us to keep. I asked if I could pay for this nightmarish experience before it occurred. I walked out to the front desk and was inconsolable. I cried the entire time. The staff could not have been more benevolent. Each made eye contact with me and expressed their condolences.
I made my way back into the exam room. Your mom and I cried in each other's arms. We could not believe that this was happening. We always knew it may come to this, but it always felt so far away. You came back into the room in an orange blanket and Dr. Coleman set you down on the table where the blanket we had brought for you was laid out. Once again you somehow made sure to take care of us. You pawed at our hands for what we knew was one last pet. We held you. We hugged you. We cried on you. I then gave the nod to the doctor to begin the process of taking away your pain and making our much worse. The first shot made you lethargic and you laid down. We looked into your eyes and continued to tell you how much we love you and always will. The second shot was administered and what seemed like the blink of an eye, the doctor said "he's gone." Our precious Howard was gone. We watched in agony as your limp body was removed from the room. This sweet boy that had given more than we could have ever asked for was gone. I am sure the doctor knew exactly what to say as it was her job to do that, but through tears she said, "you made the right decision for Howard."
Thank you Howard. Thank you for teaching us unconditional love. Thank you for loving your mom and me. Thank you for meeting my children. Thank you for being my good boy.
To those of you who have had to endure pain like this, I am so sorry. You have experienced an agonizing but albeit loving experience. To the parents of Rocky, Portia, Jo-Jo, Moo, Zoey, Olly and countless others, you know like I do that the pain will never go away.
We love you more than anything Howard Paul. I know you have a couch with a view and you are vigilantly looking out for everyone.
-Chester
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