Saying Goodbye to Willie
The Best Dog I Never Wanted
He unexpectedly came into my life almost 14 years ago.
I was offered an opportunity to rescue a puppy that would be sent to a shelter the following day. It had been a rough day at work, and I almost blew it off. I nearly just said, “No thanks.” I’m so glad I didn’t.
The first time I saw him, he was being passed around by a group of elementary school students. Having just been removed from the relative safety of his cardboard box home, he made eye contact with me as I peered over the shoulder of one of the children to see him.
He never stopped staring me down as he was passed from one child to another as they handed him to me.
He was a runt. A scruffy little brown dog with an underbite, who was having a bad hair day, was resting comfortably in my open hand with his tiny head on my wrist. As he continued to look up at me, he crawled forward and buried his head behind my elbow.
As I held him at arm’s length, trying to discern his breed, he gave me that look again. In that instant, I knew he was going to be my dog.
As I left the school with him, he whined while riding in the small cardboard box on the truck floor. I pulled over and placed him in the hand-warmer pocket of my hooded sweatshirt.
That did the trick. It would be the beginning of years of him always wanting to be close enough to touch me or, at a minimum, be able to see me.
Before you get a dog, you can’t quite imagine what living with one might be like; afterward, you can’t imagine living any other way. — Caroline Knapp
I have many stories about him and his antics, but I want to share one from the early days. I made the mistake of sitting a beer on the patio floor next to him while going inside to check on something I was cooking. When I returned, I found he had knocked it over and was lapping up the last of a nearly full bottle.
He started howling and walking in circles. The beer erased his fear of the dark; he raced deep into the backyard, yapping at … nothing! He was fast. I finally caught him. I called the veterinarian, half-scared, half-embarrassed, to explain how my seven-month-old puppy had managed to drink a Negra Modelo.
After getting him to stay active and drink water (which he would only take from a Modelo bottle), he finally returned to nearly normal. He punctuated the night’s adventure by falling on his side while attempting to pee. He had just gotten the hang of raising his leg, and all was lost after drinking one beer!
He saw no need to stop peeing even though he was horizontal. I rushed out to pick him up.
A word of advice: Don’t wear flip-flops when attempting to rescue a beer-drinking puppy.
That was the beginning of his quest to be a beer connoisseur. After years of sampling, he came to be a Stella Artois fan. Good choice.
He was an excellent big brother and held the newly blended dog family together. Add one Pomeranian Poodle and one bossy little Shih-Tzu puppy; then you have a party! Don’t they look thrilled to have a puppy in the house?
Here he is in all his Willie-ness.
His Cushing’s disease and diabetes made him drink a lot and, subsequently, pee a lot. I take a diuretic BP medicine. We were on the same pee schedule! It seemed like a nonstop drink/pee loop during his last days.
The two jokes that came from that were:
“Willie pees more than any old guy I know, including me.”
“Don’t get into a pissing contest with Willie; he wins every time!”
My scruffy little friend, who had never met a stranger, crossed the rainbow bridge on December 21st after being my partner-in-crime for 13 years and nine months.
I know many folks who have lost pets, and we have one thing in common. Even though we thought we fully appreciated their place in our lives, we were wrong.
We gave them their props, but we were wholly unprepared for the Grand Canyon-sized hole they would leave in our world when they departed.
I miss him so much already. When cooking, I instinctively look down to the corner of the kitchen where he would sit. A worn spot on the wall marks where he would sit and wait to offer his services should any food be dropped. I miss talking to him while I cook. He liked all my recipes!
He was so smart, and he was a much better judge of character than me. That is for another story altogether!
I am so glad I got to be his human, although he would leave me whenever my wife called him. I did mention he was a good judge of character.
Many people won’t understand mourning the loss of a pet like one would a person; after all, animals don’t have souls.
I call bullshit on that because this little guy took a piece of everyone’s soul who loved him!
Here’s to you, Willie! May your Stella flow freely and your dog biscuits be gravy-coated!
Thanks for reading.
© Claude Lyons Jr. 2023 All Rights Reserved.
