A pet is not like a real child, I’ve had some of each so I
can say that with certainty. But anyway there’s
something special about your animals, maybe even more dear when you raise them with children because there are so many memories woven together. I’ll tell you a story about my dog
Anicca to commemorate her death on Nov 1 2017.
It’s actually a story of Anicca and her brother Cloud who
was a male kitten we acquired around the same time. Anicca was a Groenendael – a Belgian Sheepdog
– and she looked like any Groenendael, an unusual breed in the states. Something
like a collie/shepherd mix, long hair and all black. Agile, smart, devoted, sweet, and beautiful. In Chicago I used to run on the beach with
her and she would heel close on the sidewalk and sit at intersections with rapt
attention. When we hit the beach she’d be “on call” as I jogged down the shoreline.
It takes a little patience and training, but there is absolutely nothing like a well-behaved dog. I was a good dog owner, and she was certainly a good dog. Technically, I suppose leashes were required on the beach but we would go on off-hours and she was on a verbal
leash -- she’d come immediately when called.
All the subtle communication aside, if I were to simply count the commands I suppose it would be more
than 30: Anicca, hello, good dog, good girl, inside, outside, ok!, no, do you want?, I love you, bad/wrong, come, come!, wait/stay, lie down, lie flat out, where-is/bring me, toy, kong, sit, go over there, go way over there, hungry?, goodbye, heel, look around, you’re free!, treat, water, pee, hungry, cat, go for walk, beach, and more.
On the beach, because she really knew come, heel, sit, no, ok, and stay, I could also teach her “you’re free!” Then she’d explore, track squirrels and play with other dogs ... always with an eye out for my next communication. Even in the depth of
winter, 20 below, she would love to hear the word “Beach!”
In the house she would sit then hunt for treats, find her kong, fetch a toy … all the normal dog games, and she loved to play hide and seek. I’d throw a toy a few times for fetch and then suddenly hide – I mean really hide – like third floor in the closet hide … and she would not give up until she found me. What fun, for both of us!
One day, when she was about nine, I noticed she was
slipping in her responsiveness, not listening so well.
It was really a joke when I thought “what, has she gone deaf?” So I said “BEACH” just to test that ridiculous
hypothesis and to my amazement … nothing.
“TREAT.” Nothing.
She was deaf and I mean stone deaf.
For months I mourned the loss of my connection to this
wonderful creature until I suddenly realized ok she was deaf ... but she was neither blind nor dumb. Coincidentally, I had taken a class in American Sign Language just because it's wonderful. So I taught Anicca,
in ASL, all the commands she once knew. Inside, outside, come, stay, treat, walk, love you ... everything. She learned it all again, and fast. We were back in business!
Now a bit about Cloud, my son Aidan’s cat. One of the family ceremonies we created was the “big boy celebration” at the age of five or so when they could read, add, ride
a bike, etc. (we had a fun little list that included "going on a boat.") ... and then they got to choose a pet. Isaac chose gerbils so I built a little PVC track running
from their main cage to a vacation home mounted by his bed, and Captain and Cuddle-Captain would run
back and forth to get treats and such.
Aidan chose birds but a series of tragedies led to him picking out the next family cat. He selected a sick little white kitten which fell so ill we had to take it back
for transfusions. Anicca, a pup herself,
was concerned and licked and licked and licked this poor creature like a
mother would lick a pup. Cloud, a stoic little tissue of a kitten, leaned into the loving.
Cloud not only survived, he turned out to be an athlete and quite a character. There are so many, but my favorite story about Cloud is
when he prowled intently into the living room, tracking a fly that was bumbling
along about three feet off the ground. Cloud
leapt into the air, caught the fly between his paws and landed on his haunches. Staring,
he slowly opened his paws like a book. The
fly escaped. I wouldn’t have believed it
if I hadn’t seen it myself.
So Anicca and Cloud grew up together, nothing like
your normal cat-dog relationship. Two
free spirits and unlikely friends. When
Anicca went deaf it didn’t matter. But at 12 or so Cloud fell ill again and this time he was diagnosed with something more serious -- feline diabetes. The
vet gave him a week and a half to live, or we could admister daily insulin shots and blood draws to manage his blood
sugar. We discussed it and chose palliative
care instead. Too many shots, too much
pain.
Cloud stopped eating almost immediately but lasted more than a month. As he lost his weight he spend his days in
the yard under a large-leafed plant and then he’d come in for the
evening and sleep with one or the other of us. While he was wasting away, he was
always purring. Visit him under his
bush? Quietly purring. Touch him at night? Faintly purring.
So Cloud was prostrate on the couch, skin and bones and I was fixing a
screen when Aidan called from college. I
chatted on Skype a while and then asked if he’d like to see Cloud. Yes, of course ...
But Cloud was not on the
couch; he wasn’t anywhere. He was in no
shape to jump out the open window so I searched the house. Then I looked again -- I looked every place a
cat could possibly crawl into to die. Finally -- although I couldn’t believe he could get to the window then jump to the deck -- I
looked in the yard. The entire garden, under
every plant, every crevice and corner.
Twice. Then a third time with
Aidan, on Skype.
Cloud had simply disappeared. I scoured the chain linked fence to verify
there was no place to crawl through. The
only possible thing I could imagine is that Cloud had gotten up, climbed to the
window, fallen to the deck, and had been carried away by a hawk.
The next day was Monday, no Cloud still and I had to go to
work. As a last resort I turned to my
deaf dog and asked “where/find/bring me”
“cat” … “where/find/bring me” “cat," though "cat" was not a word she used often. To you that would just be palms-up-pulling …
pinch-and-pull an imaginary whisker … palms-up-pulling … pinch-and-pull an imaginary whisker.
Anicca got excited, she was on full alert! She scanned the yard and sniffed and then suddenly
honed in across the fence to our neighbor’s yard, like a pointer. And there was Cloud, struggling and stumbling
across the grass. Somehow he had climbed
to the window, survived the fall to the deck, clawed himself to and over a 4 foot fence, and survived all
the nighttime carnivores.
I jumped the
fence and scooped him up. Aidan got to say goodbye, and so did Nancy and I.
Cloud died in our arms that afternoon.
Then Anicca died, also in our arms, last fall.
