We had answered an ad in the Sacramento Bee: "6 Black Lab puppies, both parents on site, great family dogs." They were barely 6 weeks old, a pile of puppies in the middle of their living room floor. We tried to decide which one we would take. In somewhat typical fashion I began to over-analyze each of their personality traits. Larry was much more direct. Ignoring all my psychoanalysis he simply asked which one was the female. The fellow pointed to the smallest one, being held in the arms of his wife. "We'll take that one", Larry announced without consulting. He got to choose since the puppy was a birthday present from his sister Nancee. We had to bribe the wife with an extra $50 to relinquish her grip.
Madison quickly settled into our routine. We were in the midst of remodeling
our house. She never let us out of her sight, never strayed too far from
the construction action. With pneumatic nail guns, framing hammers, skillsaws, sawzalls, and drills making loud noises just inches from her head she never so much as flinched.
She would have made some lucky guy a great duck hunting partner---but that was
not to be her fate.
At 3 months old she attended her first tool collector meet and was an instant hit with everyone there.
Her new buddy George taught her what would become one of her most endearing tricks---a full-on up-in-the-air "High Five!".
The following month she nonchalantly took her first swim in the river near our
house---just 4 months old, a natural born athlete. We're talking full body
propulsion through Springtime river current in water way over her head. My nephew Adam had taken
her down to the river that day, and realizing what
a momentous occasion it was he caught the whole thing for us on video.
Madison's first and forever BFF was Dixie the Dachshund, whose humans were
Andrew and Sandy. We went to visit them in LA when both pups were about
the same age and not that much different in size, although Madison's legs were
quite a bit longer. We left them alone together in the house while we went
out for a bite to eat, with two-foot high doggy gates guaranteed to confine
them in the kitchen. When we got back the gates were still standing
undisturbed, the dogs on the other side in the family room, sound asleep
together in the middle of the floor, surrounded by every throw pillow they
could gather from the sofas. We're quite sure the pillow part was Dixie's doing. But Dixie had never before,
nor
since, been able to scale those gates. That part of it might have been
Madison's doing.
Madison made friends wherever she went. She had a shiny blue-black
coat, a thick wavy ruff, and a lean and muscular body. Her heart-shaped
face was framed with ears like soft black velvet. She became our goodwill
ambassador, the proverbial "chick magnet"
and "dude
magnet" too. Invariably, and somewhat embarrassingly, after asking her name,
the second question that other dog people who stopped to pet her would ask was "Does she sleep
with you?". I often wondered how they knew.
Maddie grew quickly and in every way she was the perfect dog, even as a
teenager.......except for the times she ran off with her new boyfriend, who had
the head of a Golden Retriever and the body size and legs of a Corgi.
Fortunately he moved away before the romance got too heated.
Life went on, and at times it got complicated, and challenging, and busy.
Through thick and thin she always kept up her end of the deal. She was there for us in
good times and bad, and everything in-between. She always made us feel like we were all that
mattered, like we were her pack. She never tired of watching us, of being with us while we lived
our lives, going where ever it took us, however it went. As long as she
got to go along. She saw us at our
best and at our worst---she was our witness. She helped us have fun, and
keep it all in balance.
In turn we did our best to keep up our end of the deal. We'd take a break
from working and walk her down the
road so she could take a swim in the river almost every day. That became
our afternoon ritual. She inspired our trips to the Coast to explore all the best dog beaches
California has to offer---Fort Bragg, Carmel, Santa Cruz, and Del Mar. She
was an amazing swimmer, focused and fearless in her dogged pursuit of the frisbee, the
waves of the Pacific crashing down all around her. She swam in
the American River, Lake Tahoe,
Puget Sound, the lake in New Jersey, and even the Atlantic on a trip to
Massachusetts. We bought her frisbees in bulk---10 at a time, every year
for 10 years. It was a small price to pay.
Our "contract" specified we would do our best to never leave her home. For her part she just had to be well-mannered and polite. She shopped with us at Home Depot and Lowes. She loved the garden department. She went to UPS, the post office, the bank. And to countless antique stores. She went to antique shows and to auctions. Sometimes it was pretty boring, and she often had to wait in the car or truck. She never complained. She criss-crossed the country with us more than a couple of times, and up and down the West Coast from San Diego to Seattle. She dined with us at the nicest restaurants in Carmel, and hung out at our favorite beer joints with equal enthusiasm. But no question her favorite place to be was always in the water.
Those middle years went quickly---they always do---and before we knew it our black dog was into her golden years. If anything she just got sweeter. And wiser, with just the right amount of gray hair starting to grace her muzzle.
Two years ago she convinced us to get new bicycles. In turn we found her a doggy trailer so she could ride along. Arthritis was starting to set in. She was a great biking partner and she loved it. Sitting in the trailer, face to the breeze, ears flapping in the wind---it's every dog's dream. We retired the frisbees---the impact on her joints was too much. We put throw rugs on the hardwood floors so it wouldn't be so slippery. We devised a step to make it easier for her to get into and out of the bed. We bought her a "float coat" for the river---a canine version of a personal floatation device. It helped keep her buoyant so her back legs didn't have to work so hard. We took to boosting her in and lifting her out of the car and the truck.
She took it all so well, accepting the changes life threw her way, willingly taking her cosequin, her rimadyl, her salmon oil, her brewer's yeast. She never wavered in her resolve to continue the adventure, or in her devotion to us.
Our dogs' lives are never long enough. We know that from the start.
And that perhaps our biggest responsibility---the hardest part of the deal---is
the inevitable decision we have to make on their behalf. I had thought
about it a lot. I had read about Merle, and Enzo, and Odie, and Dante, and
the dogs at Bedlam Farm. I hoped that when the time came I would have the
courage to do the right thing, knowing that in some cases the right thing means
helping them go, and other times the right thing means helping them live to a natural death.
I knew when we had entered the final phase. During her last month she struggled
more to stand up and lay down. She panted more and spent more hours
napping. But she still wanted to go everywhere we went, still wagged whenever
she saw us. At my brother's invitation we all spent a day at Lake Tahoe.
Maddie always got excited when she was him and that day was no exception. Cindy bought her a Donald Trump doll at the pet store that she
carried while we walked around town, and she had her first Puppuccino while
sitting outside at Starbucks.
The following week she biked the Tax March in Sacramento with us, the Turmp doll
fastened to the front of her trailer. On what seemed like a particularly bad morning a
few days after that she amazed us in the afternoon by joyfully running down the
driveway to greet Bryce and Gertrud, and Lana, our friends---her friends---who happened by for a
visit.
But I knew she was getting worse, and the tramadol I had started giving her only
seemed to help a little. You know she's never going to complain, Larry
told me. I knew he was right, but I also knew she would let me know if she
needed my help. I wasn't ready to give up on her, and I didn't think she
was ready yet either.
On what would
end up being her final weekend we took her on one more trip. That Saturday
night we had pizza with Joanie and Cheryl in Sacramento---she thought the crust was
just delicious. From there we went to Petaluma for a Sunday morning
antique fair. She snoozed in the car while we scouted around, and
afterwards on the
drive down to Santa Cruz as well. But she led the way through the front
door when we arrived to visit George and Nancy and their Great Pyrenees Zoe,
just like she had so many times
before. That next morning she happily joined in for our 10-mile bike ride
along the ocean, from West Cliff to Wilder Ranch and back. Larry had
extended the base of her trailer so she'd have room to lay down if she wanted.
But she sat up most of the way, taking in that sweet salty air.
The next day it was time for us to leave. She only ate a little of her
breakfast, and then vomited a little while later. We let her sleep a few
hours to
recover. We loaded up the car---our bikes on the bike rack, her trailer in the
back, our suitcase and lastly her bed. She walked to the open car door,
put her front paws on the seat and waited for her boost. Just like she had so
many times before. She snoozed on the way home.
I had made a deal with myself that I would call our vet the next morning. But in
the end I didn't have to. When we were almost home we pulled off the
highway to pick up a few things at the supermarket. I looked over my
shoulder to check on her and I realized we had reached the end of our journey.
With Larry on one side of her and me on the other she took her final breaths.
I felt her heart make its final beat. Larry closed her eyelids and I
buried my face in her ruff.
In time we plan to spread her ashes in all of her favorite places. Her dog
beds are still on the floor, her leashes still in the car and the truck. I
still fill her water bowl in the kitchen. Her float coat is still on the
hook by the front door. Larry still has a biscuit or two in his pockets.
I've vacuumed the floor, making sure to leave a few piles of black hair to blow
around. I like these reminders of my dog. We used to always tell her
that she was a lucky dog---but really we were the ones that were lucky.
