My dog, Oscar, died on Monday.
Actually he was my mother-in-law's dog; since she has restricted mobility, I was the one taking him for walkies. I didn't mind too much. It gave me an excuse to get outside and walk around. And it was about the only time Mom got some time alone - Oscar was attached to her at the hip.
Oscar was a stubborn little thing, and a big soul. Once he formed an opinion of you, he stuck with it. Mom was his sun, moon, and stars. His favorite place in the world was stuffed between her hip and the arm of her easy chair, like a limpet, and neither God nor money could ever get him down. He filled the house, whether he was barking at the doorbell, or staring at your burger with insatiable buggy eyes, trying to teleport your food into his gullet. He liked to sit at the entrance to the kitchen as Mom whipped up his slops, front feet planted obstinately over the line, and if he thought nobody was watching he would pad in silently right behind her ankles, a concerning development as she isn't too steady on her feet. Oscar was always about two steps from disaster, always underfoot, always wanting to be right in the thick of the most chaotic events. He had the manner of an aged security guard, checking every activity to reassure himself; living by routine; absolutely certain that only he knew the proper procedure, and his "employers" would get an earful if they thought they would dictate the terms.
Old soul (and old body) that he was, Oscar had the heart of a puppy. When Mom came in from the kitchen with her own food, he would run back and forth in fits of absolute ecstasy, zooming from the kitchen to the television, up and over the futon, and back out to the kitchen at least twice - no mean feat when his legs were four inches long! And invariably, despite Mom calling down all manner of invectives and threats and terrible judgments ("LAY DOWN. You're not getting anything!"), our Oscar would end up eating more off of Mom's plate than Mom would. On walks, Oscar loved to bound through long grass, and sniff and piddle on anything remotely upright and nonsentient. And God help me if any other dogs were in the vicinity. Oscar and the strange dog would stop and stare at each other, then whine and strain at the leash like long-lost lovers. Yes, our Oscar, despite his physical shortcomings in the overall body plan, was hung like a horse. He somehow projected a "stud field" over canines three times his size, male or female. Under different circumstances he might have been a world-champion breeder, if you like Pit-Daschhund mixes.
Life wasn't always easy with Oscar; with his big personality came a lot of issues. He'd been brought up in pretty wretched circumstances, stuck in a filthy trailer with no house-training - or training of any kind - neglected and at times outright abused. Soon after my mother-in-law rescued him, she had to have all his teeth pulled, and part of his jaw and palate were removed; sinus trouble would plague him all of his life. As evidence of some old torment, he would only stand to be petted for so long before his eyes went black and he started growling. His incessant whining could drive you out of your skull. I did my own clumsy part to train him, as best I could, but in a test of wills he simply could not be broken; I had to accept that on every walk he would stop to sniff and piddle on every goddamned tree, and that he'd rather pull himself into traffic than walk next to me. He had to be in charge, no matter what the circumstance, or he wouldn't go along with the program. Passers-by would only have seen a heavyset man engaged in a shouting match with a crestfallen-looking wiener dog, not a diabolical mutt triumphing once again over his walker.
But I only say this because I want to be honest about him. He was an honest dog, ultimately, and though he might have been obstinate and distracted he didn't have a deceitful bone in his body. Everybody who met the little guy fell in love with him. My one regret, having known him, is that I didn't get enough time with Doodle, and that he died before I could put up the fence in the backyard, to let him off the leash and run around as much as he wanted. Because I think freedom - doing whatever he wanted, and eating whatever he pleased - was the only thing little Oscar truly wanted.
We love you, Oscar. Rest in Peace, my little friend.
Love,
Rick.
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