Safe Deliverance: The Grundoon Era

I've had the good fortune to know some fine dogs in my time. Some were mine, some were dog friendships that lasted years and some who only crossed my path briefly. I remember them all. I'm well known in dog circles as a rubber of bellies and a thrower of frisbees, a scratcher of canine coccyxes and a dispenser of delicious treats. It's an honor to win an animal's trust and friendship. Make no mistake; dogs are ticking time bombs of anguish, but it's worth it.

In June, we said goodbye to our wonderful friend, Grundoon. He was a cockapoo who lived for nearly sixteen years and would have kept going had it not been for the onset of lymphoma. We resolved to intervene when the time came to save him in time from threshold of pain and discomfort. We had him for the last seven of his nearly sixteen years and they were happy and secure ones for him.

His had an enormous personality packed into such a little dog, He was a character, a complex entity, a concentrated burst of light, a sensitive soul and our best friend. Grundoon was tenacious, full of life. He reveled in the pleasures of simple things, sought and gave love, and lived in the present, always eager for the next experience. He stuck around so long because he was having a great time.

Yes, we were very fond of him. Of course, nobody says, "Well, my dog is dead and I'm sure glad because he was an odiferous, no good, mean, rotten, lying, racist asshole who filled everyone he met with revulsion and scorn. My wife and I lived in terror of him, praying day in and day out for deliverance, but he just kept getting older and older more and more unreasonable. Now that the deed is done and the nightmare is over, I'm glad he's gone and may he rot in hell, the wretched cur!"

Grundoon came to live with us when Kate's father was hospitalized seven years ago. At his bedside, she said, "I'll take care of him, Dad." Small dogs can live a long time, and Grundoon was an eight-year-old cockapoo "maxi" (he was a big little dog) but we naively asked, "How long can he last? Four or five years?"  The answer is seven very good years, in which this intense personality and strong life force with buoyant good health and energy became the center of the household.

He was a real card, with many distinctive facial expressions, noises and movements and a detectable sense of humor. He loved his toys. His beady little eyes would point lasers at you until you performed the right action. He knew many words and sequences of words. We were all supporting characters in Grundoon's comic strip.

After John died and we I came back from the hospital, I had a conversation with Grundoon. I crouched down by his bed behind the sofa, put my hands on him and said, "Grundoon, I know it's really weird right now and you don't understand what's happening, or maybe you do, because you saw everything...but John died. He loved you very much, which is why he sent you to live with us forever. From now on, we'll take care of you and you'll be our dog, OK?" I took his demeanor for silent assent, but I really think my tone of voice might have sold the idea in his little dog brain.

Kate was always his number one, which didn't bother me because she was paying respect to her father's memory by taking good care of him. She gave him structure and routine. She taught him new commands and tricks and engaged with him in both silly and intelligent play that greased Grundoon's cognitive wheels.  His diet, medicines, cleaning out his ears, toys and grooming all had to be managed.

He required nuanced managing, but Grundoon (mostly) stayed true to the spirit of the ancient, complex and evolving understanding between dogs and humans, whereby in exchange for food, shelter, maintenance and attention, his job was to be well-behaved, cute, and agreeable to frequent tactile expressions of affection.

But he was a challenge and could be stubborn. There were gaps in his knowledge and dog social skills. He wasn't great on a leash and he could be fussy and easily startled by normal foot traffic in the park or on the street which would make him then around to go home, but he slowly stopped doing that over time and came to enjoy walking in his favorite historic cemetery with few cars and people to distract him.

When we let him lead the way, rather than forcing him, he grew happier and more secure. We discovered he was adaptable. He had a complex, sensitive personality that required lots of extra care and attention. But Kate, who also has her own way of doing things, did a fantastic job nurturing him. She brought Grundoon from the arms of her dying father and delivered him to a peaceful death. The last seven years of his life were filled with care and happiness and love. She worked hard to help him fully thrive. Mission accomplished. I only helped a little; she nailed it, and I'm in awe of her.

I'd known Grundoon for most of his life when he came to live with us. When we visited John's house, he was always pleasant, affable, and ready for pets, but a little distant. There was little evidence then of the personality that would later come to reveal itself to us. He wasn't a particularly snuggly dog when we got him, but Kate and I kept putting our hands on him and held him close several times every day until he started to crave it. So did we. He became a snugglebug.

For seven years. I started every morning by rubbing his belly and stroked his ears every night before I went to bed. He watched over me when I was sick, and let me hold him to my chest while I drifted in an out of sleep. He had a range of noises and barks, and he would make low groaning sounds when I rubbed his ears and his muzzle. We built an understanding between us and loved each other very much. Losing him has left me a strung-out love hormone junkie. After this experience, my next dog will be named Oxytocin.

I'll remember the great pleasure of quietly sharing a piece of cheese with my dog in the kitchen while I tried to figure out how to solve some thorny issue I'd been wrestling with upstairs. He liked bell peppers, zucchini, honeydew and watermelon, banana and parmesan or a dollop of yogurt in his dish. He loved "family time" on the couch, getting dried with the towel after being out in the rain, getting his collar and harness on every day (and he was doubly pleased if he got to wear his jacket in cold weather) and getting his face rubbed. His tail rarely stopped wagging.

He is the only dog I've ever known that didn't like popcorn. He had a treat called a "health" bar that had apples and yogurt and other things I love to eat and they smelled good. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted, but reason willed out when I realized I can just eat apples and yogurt, which was more cost-effective.

He despised baby carriages and bicycles and would bark at them on sight. Sometimes he barked at bikes on rack or chained in the street. He was not a fan of fireworks or gunfire, which is tough for a dog who lives in St. Louis. He loved, or at least tolerated, all music except Dizzy Gillespie, and Igor Stravinsky's Rite of Spring. The case of the former his objection is probably timbral, while in the case of the latter I suspect that he objected to the conductor's interpretation rather than to the work itself.

He booped my guitars in my studio every morning and listened to every moment of practice or recording I put down for the last seven years. He alone heard all my mistakes from the floor below and never complained. Of course, I wouldn't wish that on a dog, but as it is with most audiences, he was either very kind or not very discriminating. Any objections he might have had have died with him.

He also had a way of sometimes pooping right near where I sat in the morning in the back yard, and nothing in the world was a bigger bummer when you sat down with a cup of coffee and realized you've disturbed one of his quintessent odurous artifacts. If dog poop was a viable energy source, we''d have left the grid entirely.

Musicians and friends coming to record or hang out became his friends. The neighbors all knew and enjoyed him. Everyone he met fell in love with him. He made a lasting impression on everyone he met. He was a real weirdo, with his own way of doing things so you had to let him lead the way. He fit right in with us.

And now it's time to say farewell to Grundoon. The first few days were the worst for the love withdrawal symptoms, but we knew it was time to release him from the fate of suffering. Dogs will give you signs that they're wrapping things up. He told us when he was ready and we listened. We loved him, and together we formed a little family, a true pack that takes care of and protect each other. A promise was fulfilled and a loving animal had a great life and gave us so much happiness. Our beautiful boy is gone, but the pack still stands strong. Bye bye, pup pup.