I remember a poem that Jimmy Stewart wrote (yes, THAT Jimmy Stewart), and once read on ‘The Late Show with Johnny Carson’. It’s called “Bo” (or “Beau”), and it seems fitting to show here.Here’s my story:
When I was just a boy, our house was in the woods. It was a nice home and we had nice things, but one of the things I remember the most is my dog, Lizzie. Lizzie was a German short-hair. I don’t really remember her as a puppy, we got her when she was full grown. She was still a puppy, but in a grown-dog body. We adopted her from a neighbor who had taken Lizzie’s brother and her when they were pups.
She was dark brown and had a stub tail, as all German short-hairs do. She was a good dog, always good with us kids. Never mean, and rarely very brave. Whenever someone would come up our driveway, she would scamper to the back yard and bark from there until we coaxed her back to the front. Sort of a passive-aggressive doggy personality.
One day, we heard some whining coming from our back deck. When we went to check out the problem, we saw Lizzie sitting at the back door. Her snout was full of porcupine barbs. Some were barely sticking in, and others were fully through her snout. I am sure they ALL hurt. We were all worried about our dog, but she didn’t seem afraid of us. Our uncle told us that he could probably remove them, but if Lizzie was going to “freak out”, we were going to have to take him to the vet (over an hour away). Well, my uncle got some pliers and began the delicate procedure. Lizzie didn’t yelp, or pull away once. She just laid down and let us pull the barbs out, one by one. She was obviously in pain, but she trusted us to take care of her, even if it hurt her to do so.
She was sore for a couple of days afterwards, but no worse for the wear. I think we were all amazed by her, and we learned to love her just a little more.
She and I would play in the woods for hours with my sisters. She was always nearby, and came whenever we called. She would endure the pulling of the ears, and the tackles and all of the other things that kids put dogs through. She was a good dog, a good good dog. She was part of our family.
Fast forward 10 years, and I am away at college. Lizzie has grown old and blind. With a fully grey beard, she is severely arthritic and seems to get scared easily. She is becoming dangerous. When anyone new comes to the house, she becomes very aggressive and even lunges at a couple of delivery men.
She was in pain then. We had moved, and she no longer had the freedom she once enjoyed. She could no longer go on her runs; even if she wanted to, she didn’t have it in her anymore. Lizzie started getting seizures too. She would just plop over and start shaking uncontrollably. It was sad. My poor dog was slowly dying, I was told.
One day after classes, I got a call from my mom. She told me that dad had taken Lizzie to the humane society to be euthanized. I was expecting it. I knew that it was going to have to happen sooner or later, but it was probably easier that I wasn’t home. I felt bad for my dad though. It was his dog too. I was sad, but it didn’t really crush me. I was in college after all, and there are plenty of other things to occupy one’s mind while in college.
Quickly, I forgot about my late friend, or so I had thought.
About a week after the call from my mom, I awoke from a dream, with a tear soaked pillow. Lizzie was still young and happy. With perfect eyesight and no arthritis, we played and ran, and rolled around on the ground like we did when I was a boy. It was as if she was saying goodbye. One last game, one last romp, one last lick on the face. I get a little choked up just thinking about it now. Thanks again old girl.
