One of the simplest yet purest joys in life is the love shared between man and his best friend. (Yes ladies, this goes for you as well.)
I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't have some furry friend running around, laying at my feet or cuddling up to me in bed. Perhaps that's part of the reason I thought I wanted to be a vet. Animals are a huge part of my life. But they are so much more than animals, they become a part of the family.
And so when one passes, it's like losing a sibling or a child.
We had an original little pack of pets who were around for most of my childhood.
Whiskers was the first. Followed by her daughter Soukie, Bowie, Smoke, Bear and Patches.
They all lived fairly long lives, with Whiskers living to about 16.
But one by one, they started to pass away, leaving only a memory. It was almost like they were all a packaged deal, and it just wasn't right if they all weren't together.
Bowie was my mom's dog. When he passed it was exceptionally hard. He was the last living link to my life with my mom. He really was the best dog.
Eventually it came down to Smoke and Bear. The final two.
I remember I named Smoke when he was just a baby because his eyes looked all smokey. He was a lover and a cuddler, always wanting to come inside when it was cold.
He was my first kitten.
Smoke passed away just recently, leaving behind a bit more empty space in our hearts and a few more tears to shed.
Unfortunately I wasn't there for his final moments. But I will always remember little Smoke and his bedroom eyes.
This is an account of Smoke from my Dad. He asked that I share.
Be sure to have your tissues near by. It's a tear jerker.
I had to have Smoke put down the other day. He was my cat. He was 13. I had had him since he was a kitten. He had been quite a scrapper in his prime, although he was always affectionate. He would never miss the opportunity to rub up against me and purr out his emotions whenever I was outside. He would always be waiting for me in the driveway when I would return from my evening walk with my chow mix Bear. He’d walk back to the house with me, expecting his required daily dose of my affection.
But he developed cancer of the jaw some months ago. When the vet diagnosed it, he told me that Smoke wouldn’t have a lot of time. His chin kept growing, stretching the skin, I suppose, to the point where it was always raw. Over the last few weeks I noticed that he was eating less and less from the plastic food bowl that he had always used. I would notice him jockeying around the bowl trying to get a better vantage point for getting at his food, so I replaced his bowl with a small flat ceramic dish from my kitchen with a gay little illustration of bunnies with the inscription “Happy Rabbit Family On A Picnic.” I thought he might more easily be able to negotiate his food into his mouth from a flat surface. I would mound up his food to make it as easy to get to as possible. It helped for a time, but he continued to eat less and less, and I noticed that he would end up pushing a good portion of his food off one side of the dish in his struggle to get the food into his mouth.
With each day he appeared thinner and more haggard. He finally stopped eating entirely. At meal time he would be waiting and mewing, and rubbing against my legs as he always did, but he wouldn’t touch his food, hungry as he was, because he could no longer move his mouth properly. His tongue and his teeth were being contorted by the abnormal growth of the underlying bone. I couldn’t let him go on like that. He was slowly wasting away.
When I carried him into the vet’s office, one of his assistants, seeing the emotional mess that I was, quickly ushered me into a little examination room directly off the waiting room that I had never been in before. The thought occurred to me that this must be the killing room. Smoke quietly purred on my lap, and occasionally looked up at me, as I gently stroked him, and I wondered if he had any inkling of how little life he had left. After several minutes the vet and his assistant came in and the vet, upon seeing Smoke’s distorted jaw, remarked “Oh, I can see right away, it’s his time.” He told me that he would give Smoke an injection that might sting a little, and that in four to five minutes, he would fall into a “deep slumber”. They placed him on the stainless steel examination table and administered the shot without so much as a flinch from Smoke. They gave him back to me, and, as he quietly laid on my lap, with tears streaming down my face, the life slowly and peacefully flowed out of him. After a few minutes he gave a slight little gasp that accompanies the transition from life to death. I kept trying to close his eyes, but they refused, staring blankly, wide eyed. I placed him on the exam table, and I waited for the vet to return while Smoke continued to stare at me through unseeing eyes.
When the vet’s assistant returned she asked me if I would like a little box to put him in, and I told her yes. She took him into the adjacent room, and, after several minutes, she returned with a small cardboard box that still had the UPS label on it addressed to the vet. The box was neatly taped shut, and it struck me as rather too small to hold the body of my little friend. I thanked her, and, as I left, she gave me an assuring pat and told me that she was sorry.
As I drove home with my little parcel on the floor next to me, I thought about how we all end up in the same place. In a little box. I anguished over the decision that I had had to make over his life or death, and I considered how pointless and insignificant are our grievances and jealousies, our imagined slights and resentments, our grasping and lusting and envying with which we waste so much of our energy, emotion, and precious time. Death can have such a clarifying quality. It can so sharpen perception and perspective. Follow your passion. Live life to its fullest. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Love, and hopefully, find love. We have so little time.
I buried Smoke in the little patch of ground behind my house which has become the little unmarked cemetery for the many dogs and cats that have shared my home over the years. I’m left with just Bear. He’s a digger. I’m always having to repair areas of the yard that he’s dug up. He’s an escape artist too. I have two acres of fenced ground for him to run around on, yet he runs out of the front gate every chance he gets. He’s a pain in the butt, but he’s a good dog.
He’s about ten years old now. I wonder how much life he has left. I wonder how much life I have left. I hate to think about his death. When he dies, I don’t think I’ll have another pet. It’s too painful when it’s their time.
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I have my babies now, Dakota, Lily and Mistofelees. Occasionally it will hit me that one day they too will pass, and I start to cry. But we can't live life that way. So I cuddle up to Lily at night, snuggle with Bug on his pillow, and let Misto sit on top of my computer while I type, no matter how in the way he is. And I cherish every moment.
If you have never experienced the love of a pet, you haven't experienced unconditional love. It's the purest form of love you may ever know.
So here's to our friends, family and loved ones, furry or not. May we always remember what is important and not take anything for granted. Life is precious, sweet and so, so short. If you leave nothing else behind on this earth, leave behind love. It's all that really matters.
Rest In Peace Smoke.
I'll be watching for your smoke signals.
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