Steve Cotler

Steve Cotler

Dog Gone

My daughter recently put her 13-year-old cat down. Her post about it was heartfelt and touching. Today Lee Geiger, a chum from my Wall Street days, wrote about saying farewell to his dog. I reprint his goodbye below.

* * * * *

This is not a good day. The Fat Guy is driving me to the vet. At least he brought treats. The Pretty Blonde brought tissues. She’s got tears in her eyes. I wonder what for?

I feel old. My hips are killing me. I can barely stand up and walk anymore. My nose is shot. I can’t smell any difference between the kitchen and the backyard. Glaucoma’s nearly blinded me, and I haven’t heard anything since the last Super Bowl. At least The Pretty Blonde came with us.  I’m glad she’s sitting on the floor petting me. Helps calm my nerves. The Fat Guy is talking to the doctor. He says I’m fourteen years old, which is almost ninety-eight in dog years. I still look better than he does.

I remember the first time I saw The Pretty Blonde. It was almost ten years ago. I was five and living with an elderly couple who couldn’t take care of me. She brought me home to meet The Skinny Kid and The Red Headed Kid, only they were a lot smaller then. So was The Fat Guy.

At least The Fat Guy is coachable. It only took me one morning to train him to let me out to pee. One week later, The Fat Guy came home early from work because some planes flew into some buildings. Seems like yesterday. When was yesterday?

The doctor is giving me a shot to calm my nerves. This feels good. Calm is my mantra. That’s why I don’t chase balls. Or squirrels. And if you’ll excuse me for saying, barking is WAY overrated. I bark twice a year, just to let you know I still can. Give me some food, a Law and Order rerun, and a soft carpet, and I’m happy. Some dogs like to play, but not me. I’m a lay dog.

Darn, these hips. Walks are cool, or at least they were. It used to be fun to run alongside The Red Headed Kid and the Skinny Kid. They both got real good at running. Guess I taught them something. The Fat Guy and The Pretty Blonde used to walk me around the neighborhood, talking about their kids, their jobs, their dreams. Life stuff. I tried to listen, but mostly I peed on a few bushes, smelled the flowers, and flirted with that sexy Husky up the street. I miss it.

I’m getting really sleepy. So what else is new? I take a dozen naps a day. Life is good at home. All I have to do is eat, sleep, and wag my tail. I love these guys.

The doctor is taking out another needle. I don’t mind, though. The Pretty Blonde and The Fat Guy are both on the floor, petting me, telling me how much they love me, and what a good family member I’ve been. I may be a dog, but you can never hear that enough. How come The Fat Guy is crying? The World Series hasn’t even started yet.

Well I’ll be doggoned. Will you look at this? Nothing but green grass, sunshine, and all the doggie biscuits I’d ever want. Booyah!

So this is what Heaven is like.

One Comment

  1. Abi says:

    Oh, man. Yeah… I’m crying. That was beautiful.

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