Granted, he was sick, and had been for awhile. We knew this was coming. It was inevitable- we tried to prepare the kids and ourselves. And then when it came down to it- all the preparing in the world isn't enough.
Last night, I stayed downstairs with Darby, Darble, Darby Dan, Darby-Dan-Of-The-Funny-Dogs, until bedtime. He struggled to go outside that last time- this was a new thing. He ate his dinner and it was staying down- an unexpected thing. I filled his water dish and gave him the blanket to lay down on, since he had been shying away from his bed for the last few days. The bed was there, too. He flopped down a few times, looked suitably comfortable and I went to bed.
Around 2:30, something woke me up and I went to check on him. He had made it over to his bed- the first time in a couple days. He looked up and thumped his tail a couple times before flopping his head back down on his good leg again. I rubbed his head- told him I loved him- told him he was the best dog ever- promised this would end today.
I couldn't sleep- which isn't abnormal for me once I'm woken up at night. I read a few articles and plugged in my phone- worried the battery wouldn't last until my 6:00 am alarm. I kept trying to sleep, but there was an anxiety there about taking Darby in to be put to sleep- even though it was time. It just was.
At a little after five, I gave up and walked downstairs. Victor heard me coming down and whistled his tune softly. I didn't hear anything else. Turning the corner, I could see Darby still on his bed in the same position I'd left him in. And as I got closer, I realized he wasn't breathing. Touching him- he was cold. He'd gone. Those last couple of tail thumps were his goodbye, I guess.
Darby came to us in the spring of 2004 after a discussion with my neighbor about "that big black dog that's been hanging around town with all the kids". No one knew where he was from, and in a town of 200 people, if none of the kids knew a dog, it was a safe bet the dog was a dump or an escapee. Later that day, another phone call alerted me to his whereabouts, and Aimee and I managed to corner him in our mutual neighbor Ned's yard. He had a collar, but no tags. He was unaltered, who knows about shots- and he was absolutely brimming with parasites of every variety- fleas, ticks, ear mites, tape worm. And alas- his ear was swollen with a hematoma- an expensive thing to fix.
I called our vet the next morning and gave him the scoop. We already had two big dogs who were sort of a handful- could he help, though? Because if we took him to the shelter, they'd take one look at that ear and all the rest and he'd be doomed. Plus- they didn't like us bringing in dogs from out of the county, and our county didn't really have animal control or a humane society- we had the sheriff.
I wasn't going to call the sheriff.
Our vet told me to bring him in for a look over that morning, so I did. He decided to charge me cost. A potential $1200 vet bill suddenly was $250. "You're doing a good thing," he said.
We had no idea how good of a thing. In fact, we had every intention of rehoming him- but there was just something about this dog- he was happy and sweet, gentle- and a total nut. In short order, we fell in love. He wasn't going anywhere- we'd make it work.
We named him Darby after looking through the baby name book I would consult every couple of years. A Free Man, it said.- it seemed to fit. And he very much thought himself a free man, because every few days, I found myself chasing him down the street after he vaulted the 4 foot fence to go for a swim in the canal, or go across the street to see our neighbor John. After awhile, I realized he'd come back- usually smelling of fishy water and happy to be home wanting to roll around on the couch and make it smell like canal water, too, because why ever not?
He loved the kids. There was never a happier time for Darby as hanging around the yard with the kids. He loved the snow, the sunshine- wasn't crazy about rain. He had perpetual ear infections for years and then suddenly never had another. He never fought other dogs, just wanted to meet all of them all the time. He loved apples and peanut butter and cheese. He was a natural pointer and a wild baby rescuer. I have lost count of how many small rabbits and birds he would bring gingerly in his mouth and plop at my feet unharmed, and in the case of the baby birds- usually knocked out of a nest and in need of intervention. Darby Dan- Wildlife Rescuer.
Another quirk was his absolute enjoyment of vet visits. He would spring about, flirting and wiggling and end with a butt-up head scoot- just to show how much he cared, or something. Three separate vets have seen Darby do this on numerous occasions, and all have said something akin to "Well, he isn't afraid to be a dog, is he? What a goofball", they'd chuckle and shake their heads from side to side.
He also loved a car ride and would sit stoically in the front seat of my car, with the seat belt around his deep chest- always looking straight ahead. He reminded me of Jan Karon's Barnabas in the Mitford novels, and assorted James Herriot characters. He was a listener, a cat food junkie, and always patient with children, cats and the occasional starling who enjoyed preening on Darby's back. All of that isn't something you breed for- it just happens along.
Whenever I lose an animal, I end up thinking about what I could have done better for them, which is usually a lot of things. More walks. More sunshine. More table food, because good grief, how have dogs survived without a Science Diet regime for millennia? Could I have maybe not yelled at him the last time he ate that whole bag of cat food?
And inevitably- some idiot will say something like "well, it's just a dog dear.."
No, never "Just". Never ever.
In C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, there is this-
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Pfft. I think it's opposite. I've never known an animal that I can live up to in regards to kindness, humility, unconditional friendship and love. Darby- like others gone before him- made those who knew him better people. I'm more in line with James Herriot's sentiments- "If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans." Yes.
I used to say to him- "You are the best dog- ever!" and this was his reaction-
Farewell, Best Dog Ever. Wait for us-
