2) An Unexpected Turn for the Worst

I had another post ready to go and then this.

I didn’t want a dog. I am a cat person and I thought it would be too much work. But I reluctantly said ok and we adopted a 10 week old puppy in 2010. He went to work immediately proving to me that my worries were unfounded, that he’d not be too much work, that he would, in fact, be the best dog in the entire world. Everyone says that or thinks that about their dog, but truth is what is relevant to your own existence really, and my truth is that this little dog—we kept the name the rescue place had given him—this little Tux, filled our life in the most enormous way imaginable.

Tux was the scruffiest of the scruffs—all too often we were a nearly a match in scruffiness. I loved seeing the smile break across a strangers face who caught sight of him at the park or on walks,  Occasionally, he’d get a finger pointing and a laugh, and Audrey and I would be so indignant that someone could make fun rather than see the majestic soul that inhabited his proud and jaunty little self.

That’s not to say he wasn’t funny looking—he was ridiculous. That was the multitudes he contained, to be sporting absurdly big bat ears, horseshoe bow-legged front legs, brillo pad hair that was completely un-groomable—and yet have such dignity and spirit that it all worked. It worked perfectly

Tux loved cuddling on the bed, on the couch. He loved sitting on my lap while I worked on my computer. He loved chasing balls and never, ever understood he was supposed to bring them back, so I always got as much exercise as he did. He loved playing, being chased, chasing me. He loved his Audrey and he loved Melessa and Amy, and if you spent a little time with him and loved him, he’d love you right back.

His pack was small: a couple of female humans and two male cats, so he was always super happy when a guy walked in. He loved to supervise workmen that came, and to be a little policeman when the kitties, Rocky and Gingerman got into a scuffle. He also loved licking the floor, a neurosis that always made me feel like I’d done something wrong in raising him.

Tux was wise, and I took heed of the life lessons I learned from him. His enthusiasm for each day, as though it was a great adventure about to happen, fed my optimism. His curiosity and friendliness and total belief that the world was his friend couldn’t help but affect his humans in the most positive way. He taught me patience and nurturing that also spilled over into making me a better mother. More than anything he showed us what it is to carry and bring joy into a room, into a life, just by existing.

I am grieving in the most ugly, broken, way today, nearly 13 years later. Saying goodbye in my mind, in my heart, from thousands of miles away. He had a heart murmur and was on medication, he had the collapsing trachea problem that plagues many small dogs, but his demise today is due to injuries from a coyote attack in his favorite place, our big back yard. We’ve lived here four years and were always mindful and careful because Westlake is notorious for coyotes and predatory wildlife, but we usually felt he was safe to run out for a wee, sometimes even in the earlier evening hours with his human standing watch.

Tux loved making a mad barking dash and telling some critter to get the hell off his yard, but this time it went terribly wrong. Miraculously, due only to the bravery of his caretaker Amy, he was saved from being carried off by the coyote. But he spent about 20 hours in critical care at the vet ER before it became apparent that along with his pre-existing conditions, the injuries and shock were too much for his little body.

The thought of going home in 5 weeks and not having him there to greet me is unbearable. I don’t know if my home will even feel like home ever again. With Audrey at college, my mom passed away this summer, and now our precious Tux gone, I am even more adrift, further untethered.