Remembering Rudy

Rudy at Lake Tahoe

            Yesterday was a tough one. Our family had to say good-bye to Rudy, our precious Chocolate lab/Britney mix. He had just turned eight years old, way too young to die, but he did of complications caused by lymphoma, another insidious cancer. He was diagnosed the end of August, started treatment on September 3^rd, and died on December 10^th, 2015. We are heart broken.

            We didn’t pick Rudy, but through a round about way, we were his chosen ones. In February 2008 we bought a German shepherd. She was delivered to us straight from the heart of Los Angeles. We named her Hallie. From the moment she was a puppy, Hallie thought she was “all that”, and that has never changed. She’s still in charge. But today she is grieving, just as we humans are.

When Hallie was three months old, our son, Alex, gave us a call and planted a seed. “Hey, Mom,” he said, “my friend, Darren’s dog had puppies . . . thirteen, I think. The mom’s a lab/Britney mix and the dad . . . well, he’s a full-bred, big, old, hunting lab. The female got in heat, the male jumped the fence, and a few months later . . . puppies! There’s one, Mom that I really like. He’s the only brown one; the rest are blond or black.”

“Sounds as though your friend has his hands full,” was my response. Though I sensed what was coming, we had a puppy and were in the midst of crate training. I didn’t want to commit.

A week later, Alex called again. “All of the puppies have found homes,” he said, “except for two, one black one and the brown one I like. Do you think you guys could take him? Hallie could use a friend. Darren’s keeping the black one.”

My husband and I have soft hearts. It didn’t take much convincing, and in a couple of days, Alex arrived at our doorstep, puppy in hand, all he way from Chico, in Northern California. The poor, little pup was quite emaciated with a big head that didn’t seem quite to fit his body. Clearly he was hungry and he obviously had worms. He was cute though and happy to be plopped down in a warm house with another puppy. The two smelled each other, he humped, she wrestled, both whined with happiness, and he ate and ate. We found out later that he and the other puppies had been left in a tuff shed competing for food. This little guy obviously had not fared too well. That predicament ended the moment we took him.

We named him Rudy. The name just seemed to fit. The first night he was with us, we put him in his own crate. He hated it! He whined and whined. Needing sleep for myself (I was a fulltime teacher and had to work the next day.) I finally got up, took Rudy out of the crate, stood in the middle of the family room, and rocked him like a baby. He grew quiet at last, fell asleep, and never again cried when he had to stay in his crate. I’ll never forget that bonding moment.

Hallie and Rudy became best friends and my husband and I grew to love them dearly. We walked them three or four miles a day for years. We hiked them in the Sierra, we took them out on our Ericson ’35 in the San Francisco Bay, and we went to the beach. Best of all for Rudy, however, was swimming in our pool. We’d throw a ball high in the air and he would leap to catch it before landing in the water. He would huff and puff, paddling around in circles until he was exhausted. Swimming for Rudy was pure joy and I am sure I never will sit next to our pool again without being reminded of him.

The fact is though that he’s gone. Yesterday morning he had trouble breathing, he would not eat, and he began to drool a thick swath of mucus. He began panting and was restless. He couldn’t seem to breathe lying down or standing up. Eventually he walked over to my husband and stared at him as if to say, “Do something, Dad. It’s time.”

I called the vet, we were scheduled at 11:30, and by noon it was over. Rudy’s passing was peaceful. He was given an injection that put him to sleep, and then a second one that stopped his heart. I sat on the floor beside him and petted him until he took his last breath. I won’t forget that moment either.

Losing a pet is so difficult. I’ve lost many dogs: Cinder, Star, Seurat, Comet, Quazar, Lupus, Max, Bummer, and now Rudy. And the cats: Micio, Madle, Patches, Soda, Smoke, Bernie, Sunny, Micio #2, and Poncho. All had long lives, all except Rudy, whose disease cut his short. Losing a pet is never easy. I have cried gallons of tears for the animals I have loved. This latest bout with grief, however, seems to hurt the most. Five weeks ago we lost Poncho and now, Rudy. It’s a bit much all at once, but I accept this space and ironically am guardedly content, and why? Dogs, especially offer companionship, loyalty, and love beyond belief. Cats can be a bit more aloof, but become amazing, loving pals. All of them teach us lessons about responsibility, caring, nurturing, devotion, and most of all love.

Rest in peace, sweet Rudy. You died with your “people” right beside you. No dog could have been more loved and we will remember, oh, how we will remember.