By Icy Frantz
I wasn’t a dog person growing up.
We always had one or two in the house, but as a young girl, I spent my time concerned with other things – friends, sports, and even schoolwork – took precedence.
For me, the animals in my childhood home were like furniture – a part of the scenery, a fixture to relax on at the end of the day – and I developed about as much emotional connectivity with them as I might with a dining room chair.
Then I met Buddy.
Buddy was a wonderful, loyal Golden Retriever who was at my husband’s side for 14 years. They grew up together, and although I wasn’t there for all of it, I heard the tales of countless escapades and witnessed the special bond they had.
Buddy spent time at business school in New Hampshire, on boats on the Long Island Sound, and, later, accompanied us on ski trips to Vermont – once taking on a porcupine (and narrowly escaping with his life). He walked down the aisle at our wedding and waited until our first child was born to know that it was okay to move on.
In the end, we sat by Buddy’s side when our vet put him to sleep, and I heaved and sobbed with a pain I had never felt.
And although Buddy left very big pawprints to fill, eventually we got another dog.
Our three boys picked out Skyscraper from a litter of Golden Retriever puppies in Guilford, Connecticut, and quickly “Sky” became an integral part of our family. There are few photographs from that decade that do not include his sweet face.
He stood on the sidelines of countless sporting events, kindly tolerated the many Halloween costumes and football jerseys that the boys dressed him in, and his name was listed alongside ours on our annual Christmas card.
But with time, Sky’s puppy energy subsided and his face grew white, and the boys started middle school and our daughter was born. And although our home was already chaotic, we got Maui, the cream-colored Golden who inspired this piece.
We were excited about Maui’s arrival; Sky, on the other hand, was not. Or at least not at first.
He found him bothersome and annoying and needy, and Maui was all of those things. But the two of them forged a relationship – mentor to mentee – sprinkled with a healthy dose of nightly roughhousing.
At the age of ten, Sky developed bone cancer, and after a short period of time, the right course of action became obvious.
I sobbed when our vet put Sky down; I wasn’t sure I would ever get past the pain of losing this amazing dog. Weeks went by, and yet I remained stuck.
I remember a therapist suggesting that perhaps the grief I was feeling was misplaced, and I was actually feeling the grief of other significant losses in my life.
I considered that. Certainly, a new loss can bring up memories from prior losses.
But maybe it was less complicated – I simply missed our dog. I had come a long way from the young girl who didn’t care much about animals.
And then, Maui (AKA Mau Mau).
He saw the children into the next decade. He watched sadly as bags were packed and the boys left for school and college, and then to begin their work lives in New York City. He saw our daughter off as well.
But when the kids returned, Maui’s excitement was at a high. He loved a full house almost as much as we did.
Maui was a great student. He learned tricks, like swimming deep down to the muddy floor of the Sound to retrieve a rock. And he learned to run swiftly through the invisible fence to go on what we called his walkabouts – he would find his way home, but only after a visit to the neighbor who gave him treats.
And Maui also became a teacher to Sailor, a young, energetic puppy (not the sharpest tool in the chest) who joined our family five years ago. Maui offered to Sailor what Sky had once given to him.
If we are lucky, we will foster a very very special bond with a dog or two in a lifetime.
For me, it was Maui.
He seemed to understand that as I became an empty nester, I might need a little extra support. And he was right.
So, he walked me to bed every night, even when his hind legs started to fail and the climb up the stairs was a challenge. When I came home, he greeted me faithfully at the front door with a big smile and a gift – a used tissue from the garbage or a pair of underwear from the laundry. When I cooked, he laid at my feet (hoping for a little something) and he sat with me on the couch in our family room and by my side in my office.
And all the while he was looking after me, Maui’s health was deteriorating (oh, how I hate that word).
Defined, it means “the process of becoming progressively worse”. And yes, to an outsider, Maui may have looked like an old dog with sour breath and a matted mane. He no longer garnered the same attention that a puppy does, but to those of us on the inside – his family – he was precious and wise and loving and loved.
And maybe there is something so special about the unconditional love we receive from our dogs; it is the healing touch on a rough day and a moment of joy in the early morning. And no matter what is happening in the world, our dogs give us their all, no questions asked. I would like to think we do the same for them, but I am pretty sure they love us harder.
A few weeks ago, Maui died of respiratory failure.
I had been away when he developed pneumonia, and our vet brought him to a local clinic for an IV and nasal oxygen. I returned to be with him, and when I arrived, he greeted me with his usual big smile.
I sat on the cold floor of the clinic with his head in my lap. I told the vet that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. We never are, she said.
I read somewhere that the fact that we fall madly in love with dogs – although we know that their lives will be short, and then do it again and again – is the perfect example of hope.
And hope is where I want to leave us.
Because although I am feeling crushed from the loss of Maui, I also know that I would do it again and again – not to replace Maui or Sky or Buddy, but to experience once more, something I did not understand as a young girl, that wonderful and unique connection we can have with our dogs.
RIP Maui Frantz.
Icy Frantz,
The Icing on the Cake, Icy@Icyfrantz.net
