Last night, Gina, the kids and I lost a good friend and a good companion in our dog Forest. His death was unexpected, as it was only 3 weeks ago that I had taken him to the vet, who told me that Forest really looked great for a dog his age. I remember bringing him home, and telling Gina about the good news, and Gina smothered him with praise, and said she was so happy he was healthy. We envisioned him being with us for at least a few more years, and perhaps longer. As most of you who will read this blog, already know, Forest was an import from North Carolina, who had survived a terrible accident that left him with a shattered right leg, a herniated diaphragm, and was for all intents and purposes, left for dead. We really never knew how old Forest was, since we were told when we got him that the vet who treated him, thought him to be between 5-7 years old. Of course, at this last visit he had with our new vet, he was estimated to be about 8 years old. All in all, I guess we took pretty good care of him, since after 4 ½ years of having him as part of our family, he only aged by 1 year. Ha! In any case, Forest was a survivor, not only of the accident that left him for dead, but he won a year long battle with valley fever, a few years back.
Unfortunately, last night was altogether different. I want to spare everyone the details regarding the final hours leading up to his death as both Gina and I have relived and rehashed them, over a steady stream of tears and a night with no more than 1-2 hours of sleep for both of us. Needless to say, I am running on fumes as I type this. At approximately 8:00 pm, my father, who has been visiting us for the past week, alerted me to the fact that while I was bathing the kids, Forest was pacing incessantly around the backyard, and seemed to be in obvious distress. He seemed to be trying to find a place to throw up, but when he’d open his mouth nothing would come out. I thought Forest may have had diarrhea and that’s why he was acting the way he was. It was not until I had him go outside in the front yard with me that I noticed his rib cage area seemed to have enlarged twice its normal size. I straddled Forest, and felt around his rib cage area, and his entire chest area was extremely tight, yet tender to the touch. I pressed in on his chest and waist area, and he let out a groan or snarl as though he was going to bite. He made no effort to bite me, but he was in obvious discomfort. Long story short, I took him to the vet, and after a series of mishaps at the Vets office (this is where I spare everyone the details), the vet told me that Forest’s stomach had gotten twisted, and that he had had a condition known as “bloat”; the only way to correct the condition would be to perform surgery, with his chances of surviving landing in the range of about 50% . Given the fact that Forest was in severe discomfort which the pain medications proved useless in helping, the fact that we were at the vets office late at night on a Sunday, with none of his nursing staff on hand, left me with little option but to have him put down. During everything that happened up until that moment, I remained pretty stoic, though knew I was about to lose my walking companion for the last 4 ½ years. Once the vet went to get the medication to put Forest down, I lost it. I just wept inconsolably. The depth of pain and expression of that pain was beyond anything I would have expected. Of course, once the medication was administered, he was gone, at which point I said my “good-byes”, and returned home with my father, who had accompanied me to the vet that evening.
I could go on an on about everything that went wrong at the vet’s office, and the pain I felt and feel right now, but for this moment, and after a long sleepless night, I want to remember what Forest meant to us. Forest was a constant companion to Gina and I. I often joked that he was a gentleman; he always stood up when one of us stood up, escorted us around the house or wherever we went, and laid down when we sat down. The fact that Gina and I have 2 very young kids has meant that both of us have taken turns over the years, bed hopping into the kids’ rooms whenever one of them is not feeling well, or have a particular need for extra attention. During those nights, Forest was every bit as active as we were, checking on each of us intermittently to make sure he knew where we were, before heading off to check on the whereabouts of the other. He was like the mother hen, not settling down to rest until he knew everyone was safe and accounted for. Forest was very much a people’s dog. Gina and I one time took him to a dog park when we lived in Avondale. He sniffed the premises, sniffed at a few dogs, and came right back to our sides, showing no further interest in the other canines. I also credit him for not letting me get beyond the 20 pounds I’ve gained since Gina and I met. He was my walking buddy. Over the course of 4 ½ years, we tracked hundreds upon hundreds of miles together, mostly during early morning walks. He loved his walks, as most dogs do. He had a great life with us, and I really believe he wanted for nothing. He had his food, he had his walks, he had plenty, plenty of rest, he had companionship, and above all he had our love and affection for him. The house is uncomfortably quiet this morning without his presence. Everything is otherwise as it was before I frantically swept him out of the home yesterday evening; his kennel and bed mat remain in our bedroom, his food in the kitchen, his water bowl outside (kept out there because he was a sloppy water drinker), and his rawhides in the laundry room. I loved his nature. I always said he never snarled at anyone, never barred his teeth, never showed one ounce of aggression towards anyone or anything, except his food. Even then, he was the type of dog that would allow you to swoop in and take or move his food if necessary. Right up until the end, and even when he was in the extreme pain he endured during last night’s ordeal, he never ever showed aggression. Gina and I informed the kids of Forest’s death this morning, but they don’t understand. So much the better I suppose, as they will be spared crying the buckets of tears Gina and I have cried together during the past 10 hours, with more surely to come. My eyes are still swollen. I miss my friend dearly. I don’t know what becomes of dogs in God’s great master plan, but I have to believe that all life returns to Him since it is from Him that all life has its beginning. I take comfort in knowing my life, my family’s life, those who I love, and yes even Forest’s life (a dog among many, but precious to me) rests in the Lord’s good hands. We miss our friend. Forest will always be remembered with much fondness and with much love. He was, and always will be, a member of our family.
