GOODBYE OLD GIRL

The hardest words that you can ever say about our Fiona is this:

She’s gone.

That waggy happy, floppy-eared girl with the sad bing cherry eyes whose

sweet disposition made her seem almost drunk with love is, for the first time

ever, not here and it is almost impossible to breathe. It feels like she’s being

carried away further and further on our every breath and if we let our breath

go fully, we will lose her forever and that is just too much to bear.

For all of her life, we all made sure that she was never lost.

But now we are.

Because she left us just as all lovers have to sooner or later.

And all we can do now is stare off into space and try to see her, stroke

her…protect her. Want her.

Fiona came to us perhaps symbolically, from Hawaii because Hawaii is

one lightheaded, lighthearted, carefree place and that’s exactly what Fiona

was like to the very end.

Twelve years ago, Fiona the puppy arrived on Radford Street in the arms

of her breeder, with her tiny rubbery, dangly oversized brown paws and

Buster Keaton-like stoic clown face, in a sleepy puppy dream state. She

was just a swaddled baby, the runt of the litter, who needed more care and

love than her more developed siblings. There was something immediately

clumsy and graceful about her right from the very beginning. She was born

to prance and fall flat on her face and you just sensed that a fierce

intelligence was not going to be her greatest trait---which was something

that she proved over and over again as she grew up.

Fiona’s life, starting in California and then on to New York, was right out

of a Disney cartoon. She was the undersized, mini-hero of her backyard

worlds, in charge of The Chasing Birds, Squirrels and unfortunately Skunks

Department.

Her instincts and responses were keen and natural, her gait, youthful and

perfect, her tail was a constant, wild metronome and sometimes her

gnawing, curious dog nature inspired her to dig her way out of the yard and

out into the world, causing Leslie to become an immediate and frantic one-woman

search party. Les would track her down like a warden in pursuit of

an escaped chain gang convict. Les would not need a gun or leash to catch

her. Just the sound of her master’s voice was enough to freeze Fiona in her

tracks.

Fiona quickly became an elegant, if not a little crazy, stay at home

housedog who enjoyed all the indulgences: the full belly, the fireplace

snoozes, the long couch naps---which were usually taken upside down.

Fiona loved to lay that way as if she were trying to figure out how to

scamper across the ceiling.

Aside from the occasional forays into incredible stupidity, Fiona was a

princess who was largely content to live in her castle and never worry about

whatever lived beyond her fenced-in world.

She had to endure Macrina, who was a dopey dog herself and the toddler

Sarah, whose personality for a while was a perfect match to Fiona. They

were more like sisters in some ways.

Leslie, who was a setter herself, found a deep kinship with Fiona---whose

name, by the way, has no historical relevance. It’s a made-up name, which

suited her perfectly because Fiona was a dog of the moment. It’s as if she

had arrived on some kind of cosmic escalator that she would coast on…to

nowhere in particular for the rest of her life. She lived for the sights and

sounds and smells---which are like dognip to a dog. She was a creature of

comfort and immediacy. Anything in the moment was a wonderful, playful

distraction.

What set Fiona apart perhaps from most other dogs, was her puppy sized

innocence, which remained intact until just a few short days ago…and her

outsized heart. It’s no wonder that she eventually had heart problems.

That heart was born to work overtime.

Fiona was an incredibly affectionate dog without a mean bone in her

being. She was a kissy dog. A sweetheart. Her life in many ways was

just a simple dog dance that was choreographed by whatever smart Gods

create sublime dogs. Roxie came into the picture and suddenly we had

Beauty and the beast. Laurel and Hardy. They were an odd couple for sure.

They were very different in almost every way. They were like sisters who

begrudgingly loved and protected each other. The savvy street rat and the

pampered princess.

Eventually, Fiona, in a deeply tranquilized state, was uprooted and driven

in Leslie’s Toyota Sardinecan Car to New York with family and Roxie in

tow. She made it across America in pretty much the same state as Jack

Kerouac when he was on the road.

Her world now expanded and assigned to an even larger yard offered her a

whole new world of possibilities, and once she was off the dog tranqs, she

settled right into the east coast universe routine. But there were things that

were vivid and delightful. There were seasons to try on: leaves to tumble in

snowflakes to be captured and skunks to be sprayed by. There was clear

sunlight to bark at. Wind to pirouette in. Rain to be drenched in. And there

was thunder and lightning to terrify her.

When David, the other sick dog, came home to roost, part of the reason he

was able to get better was because of the two setters in his life: Leslie and

Fiona. Leslie offered love and the patience of a compulsive saint, while

Fiona offered him what all good dogs can offer: companionship, loyalty and

unquestioned friendship.

David had known Fiona, as he had known Sarah, since birth. There was

something about the Ray women that just drew him in.

But his bond with Fiona was unique. They were like teenagers in love.

To David, Fiona was a bashful puppy, who needed to be flirted with on the

couch. She loved the sound of his voice, when he whispered, “Puppy,

puppy, puppy” in her ears.

Dogs are lovers of sound and there was nothing sweeter than watching

Fiona cock her head to one side, whenever she was baffled by a sound.

Her life was really uneventful, yet full of daily events that were marred by

illness, cancer to be exact, which appeared one day like an Exorcist in our

doorway.

True to her nature, Fiona never once complained. There was always

another rainbow in her future. She was one perpetually dog optimist who

lived life with the greatest of ease.

Over the last month or so, everything suddenly fell apart, as if Fiona were

made out of cards that could no longer form a house. The end was sudden,

unfair, cruel and shocking to all our systems.

We went from bouts of coughing and nausea to a stroke, which never

once robbed Fiona of who she was. It was as horrifying as if we were

watching someone beat her to death. And that’s what read in her eyes.

When someone is as pure and good as she was…how could she possibly

understand physical punishment when all she’s ever known are kisses and

belly rubs and ear scratches and play?

So to the very end, her very end, Fiona was nothing more than a little

scared and confused.

The world had been a constant for her, as reliable to her as she was to us.

It was safe. Predictable. Fun.

Why was she being punished? Why couldn’t she walk? Her paws

always listened to her. Always. On command. So why was suddenly

everything falling apart and leaving her as if the whole world was a ship

pulling away from her dock?

In the end, Leslie had to make the under pressure decision to end her

suffering before it became intolerable for her.

Her life, in a blink, had announced for us, that it as over. The act of

ending it was just compliance.

And so the needle came and simply drew out her breath like it was

cleaning out her bank account. She went from endless riches to the poverty

of death in just a matter of seconds.

And so we are left wanting. In loving. I think in many ways, we

become dogs right along with our dogs. We go way beyond identifying

with them. We become the lead dog of the pack and we communicate to

them on the most basic of levels.

The lesson that any pet has for us is to remember that life is nothing more

than a belly scratch. That love is the essential tonic that cures almost any

situation. We all have invisible tails, I think, that we wag with delight the

moment that our hearts feel free and uplifted.

My life was a better, fuller one because I had the privilege of loving Fiona

Ray. She was my girl. My friend.

And I will miss her with all my heart for the rest of my life.

Woof, old friend. Woof.

Puppy, puppy, puppy.

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.