After 13 years, 9 months, and 2 weeks, we had to let go of our dog Hobo today. We knew this day was coming. Hobo's heart and spirit were in much better shape than his ailing body. Today he was released from that prison. Under a warm morning sun and surrounded by his loved ones he slipped away from our embrace. Our tears glistened in his fur and our hearts ached as the part that loved him realized he was gone from our touch. We knew this day would come, we now look forward to the day we will see him again.
My Last Week with Hobo
Saturday, March 5, 2005
Barbara and I came home from our conference. Hobo was lying in his own poop again. I helped him up, but he kept falling on the tile floor. He walks so unsteady and falls frequently. We have been putting off this decision, but I think it is time. His mobility is dwindling, and he makes messes routinely. The poor dog’s quality of life amounts to lying around, needing frequent help to stand up, and tenuous steps punctuated with frequent falls. The decision was made to take him to the vet next Saturday to be put to sleep. This will give John the opportunity to come home and say goodbye to his furry brother of nearly 14 years.
Hobo was out of food so we went by Petsmart after we grabbed a bite of Chinese food. The reality began to hit me at the store because we did not need the large bag of food, just enough for a week. I had a lump in my throat and the tears welled up. People were in the store with puppies and frisky dogs. We were carrying a last bag of dog food. It is just our turn I suppose.
Sunday, March 6, 2005
After running in the morning, I was having second thoughts. “What’s the rush?” I told myself. I looked on the Internet and found a website that talked about making THE decision. Reading the accounts of others on this site helped. They grappled with the issues I am wrestling with now. I read a poem, “The Rainbow Bridge.” It talked about a place between heaven and earth where pets wait for their masters. Throughout the day I petted Hobo and thought about what I was planning. I felt like Judas. His looks are so trusting and I am going to take him to his death.
I told John of the plans and asked if he wanted to come home to say goodbye. He will come from Baton Rouge Friday and we will take Hobo to the vet on Saturday.
I BBQ’d hamburgers tonight.. Hobo loves to be outside when I am grilling. He walked out once, but due to his waning mobility sat in the house. His strength must be gone. Under normal circumstances he would be supervising every aspect of the event.
Monday, March 7, 2005
We are keeping Hobo in the kitchen and block off the rest of the house when we go to work now. This is a measure to spare the carpet a bit. We set out throw rugs and lay a big comforter on the floor for him to lie on. I pet him every time I think of it and look into his brown eyes. I feel guilt even though I know I am doing the necessary thing.
At work, I took time out to call the vet. I almost hung up before the receptionist answered. A lump in my throat was interfering with my voice. She explained how the vet gives the shots and we could either bring Hobo home to bury or have him cremated. The cost was $55 for cremation or $200 for a private cremation, which would have his ashes returned to us. I did not want to pay $200 and I did not want him thrown into a furnace with a whole bunch of dead animals, so we will bring him home and bury him in the yard. I will wrap him in his blanket along with a toy and find a nice spot in the yard for him.
I am continually surprised by the strong emotions that hit me. This is a hard thing. It hurts and I am choking up almost every time I think about him.
Tuesday, March 8, 2005
Today was easier. Maybe because I have made the decision and I have a few days, but I was not as emotional or depressed about it. In the evening, I threw Hobo some extra meat and treats. If I stay this nice to him, he may figure things out.
I decided to bury him in the front yard where we anchor his rope. Hobo was hooked to a rope that stretched to our front door. It worked well, because we could hook him to the rope and he could stay out as long as he wanted to. When he was ready to come back inside, he would bark. He quit barking a while back though. I don’t know why, but he would just stand there looking at the house. Anyway, I will bury him there and make a round garden about 6’ in diameter. I will put a birdbath in the center. I think this will be a fitting memorial.
Wednesday, March 9, 2005
Friday night, John plans to have a few of his friends over for a goodbye party for Hobo. He will be really spoiled that night with food and lots of petting and loving. In Louisiana, we have a party for everything. If it were me, I would want the same thing.
As the reality of losing Hobo tugs at me, my heart aches. I know it is his time, but it is hard to let go. That sweet face and those brown eyes are killing me. He is so innocent and trusting. He does not know his fate.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
When I let Hobo out this morning, he did not come back. Usually by the time I have the coffee started, he is standing at the door. I stepped out into the cool morning air and began to look for him and listen for the clanking of his dog tags. I found him across the street in a neighbor’s yard. He had fallen and was waiting for me to come get him back on his feet. This is the kind of thing that helps me realize I am doing the necessary thing.
In the evening I got Hobo to chase me around the couch like we used to play. When he saw me make my move, he perked up and took off. His front legs work much better than his hind legs. The poor dog knew what to do, but his body wouldn’t permit it. He fell. Still, he had a moment of sparkle in his eyes, one last game of chase.
Friday, March 11, 2005
While I was getting ready to run, Barbara came in the room from taking her shower. She read my post, “Good News Bad News.” She knelt down to pet Hobo and began to sob. This is his last day. Seeing her cry, I began to cry. The feelings are circular. You look at the poor dog and feel all kinds of love for him. You allow him to bathe you in his stare and you become tearful to think such a sweet life is about to end.
I came home at noon to begin digging his grave. The weather is beautiful; it was sunny and 70 degrees with a gentle breeze. Hobo sat outside with me while I dug. It took nearly 2.5 hours to dig a proper hole for my pup.
When I was finished with the hole, I sat down with Hobes and a nice cold beer. It would be one last time to sit with him after a task. Many times we have enjoyed some rest and a beer at the completion of some work. While we sat, Marty called me, as we talked, two men in suits approached. They were from the Church of Jesus Christ of Ladder Day Saints – Mormons. I told them I was kind of busy so they offered me a card and told me to give them a call. When the young man approached me to hand me the card, Hobo began to bark. This is significant, because he rarely barks anymore. His voice was hoarse sounding. Once they left, I told Hobo it may not be a good move barking at religious folks, given his present situation - just in case they are right. I guess Hobo is satisfied being a Southern Baptist.
People were coming by to say goodbye to Hobo throughout the day. About 4:00 PM John got home from Baton Rouge and immediately began petting Hobo. Shortly after his arrival, Heather and Justin stopped by. We shared our favorite Hobo stories, like the time Hobo almost killed John. Not really, but that is how we tell it. Hobo grabbed the cape of John’s Dracula costume one Halloween and began pulling. John was being choked and overacted just a bit, but the legend has grown ever since. Most folks have a memory of Hobo stealing their food. It only takes a moment of inattentiveness on the part of someone to give Hobo the window of opportunity he needs to feast on the goods.
By the end of the night, Hobo had a houseful of company to tell him goodbye. John’s three friends, Josh, Ben, and Will spent the evening with him. Will brought a bone and some flowers. We ate out with the Murphy’s and after that returned to the house where we were joined by Marty and Cindy. Hobo received lots of loving and seemed to enjoy it immensely.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
I woke up at 6:00 AM. The usual routine began. Hobo was helped outside, I made the coffee, and he came back inside. I petted him and choked back tears as the reality of his time running out was undeniable.
Rousing Barb and John at 7:30 AM, they began stirring and getting ready. John did not know, but Hobo had already looked in on him. Hobo always checked on John while he slept. He simply walked into the room looked at him, let it register that John was OK, and then left. We all took our turn petting him and talking to him. We all shed tears and wished this day had not come.
At 8:00 AM, we took him for one last walk. Hobo fell a few times. He was getting tired, but made it home. I decided to put Hobo in John’s pickup truck instead of the car. When Hobes is put in the car, he knows he is going to the vet. It is a short half-mile ride, but he would be shaking and nervous. After folding one of his thick blankets and placing it in the truck, I picked him up and helped him get comfortable. I rode in the back with him, petting him and keeping him calm. At the Vet’s office, I asked Barbara to go in and see if the doctor would come outside to give him the injection. This way, Hobo would not have to go in the office, smell the smells, and get nervous. He could die outside on a beautiful spring day, while a gentle breeze caressed him.
It worked out just that way. The vet came outside and while Hobo was surrounded by the ones who loved him the most, he slipped away from our embrace. His fur was warm from the bright morning sun and moistened by our tears. We kept petting him and crying. It was peaceful but heart breaking. He was gone.
Once home, we wrapped him in a sheet and gently laid him in his grave. We each threw in a handful of dirt then John and I sealed the grave. In the future, a birdbath will mark this spot, but today we placed the vase with the flowers Will brought and the cork screw rope anchor that used to tether Hobo and keep him in the yard. Only now the anchor holds no rope, because Hobo is free. Draped atop the anchor is Hobo’s blue collar.
I hurt my back digging the hole yesterday, so I will have to wait on my ultimate plans for his grave.
So that’s it. 13 years 9 months and 2 weeks is the measure of time we got to have Hobo. He was a good dog and we loved him very much. Our hearts are heavy and we know it will be some time before the aching subsides. I knew this day would come. Now I look forward to another day when we will see him again.