Requiem for a Giant who has just left me
Discussion
"There's a young Great Dane up the street. The owner is a young girl who is off to college and she can"t keep her. Maybe you should go to see her"
Why would I want a used dog? I had a dog already.
I reluctantly agreed to pay a visit, certain that it would be brief, and it was.
You had me at hello.
In the confines of the old apartment you seemed ridiculously oversized and just a touch cross eyed. You put your big head on my lap and wagged your tail slowly. Resistance was utterly futile.
When you came home you seemed massive, and for the first nights cried for your lost family,but soon you became part of mine.
Every morning you went for a long walk,and became community property,greeted by all,pulled and petted by children,leaning against your favourite friends.
In the evening when I was using the laptop at the kitchen counter,you would put your great head on my lap and simply sit there for an hour at a time.
You had an amazing voice, an endless variety of moans,sighs and songs. When my wife cleaned your ears you sang softly in utter bliss. Even if we were absent for a brief period,our return caused excited dancing, loud chattering of teeth,and happy moans.
Despite that you were objectively the dumbest dog I have ever owned,you desperately wanted to please and learned a surprising variety of tricks which took hours to teach. At the magic word "dinner" you rushed to the back of the kitchen,and using your big nose punted your metal bowl the entire length of the room,until, with a final push it landed noisily at my wife's feet.
How you learned anything at all is a miracle. I recall your frenzied barking at a mechanical reindeer head one Christmas, and your slinking in terror from the slithering of a fireman's hose on your morning walk. There is a reason that there are no Great Danes in circuses.
You hated the cold Canadian winters, and when I bought a winter house in Arizona you jumped into the back of the SUV and delightedly made the 4000km journey each way.
As we made the trek from Canada and the landscape changed,you met people in innumerable small towns as we explored old Route 66,staying at all sorts of cheap motels. As always,you were cuddled and petted by strangers and I smiled at the same well meaning remarks:
"That's not a dog,that's a horse"
"How much does she eat?"
In the desert you contentedly stretched out in the warm winter sun,ignored the coyotes and unsuccessfully chased the little rabbits,stalking them every morning and utterly failing to ever come close to catching one.
You filled my life.
You were in your tenth year when you began to show signs of age, and on our final journey last week you were less able to jump up in the back of the car. Your last good walk was a stroll in Monument Valley. By the time we got to the house you were very tired.
For the last two days you only had water as we waited. There was no pain and you never made a mess in the house,but you weakened very rapidly and had to be helped to go outside.You lifted your great head when she came in the door,but we knew it was your last night.
We brought you to the Vet on your last morning, my co-driver carrying you into the car. The end was brief as we stroked you in your last minutes. With a long sigh you put your head down on your great big paws and it was over.
You had me at Goodbye too. Sleep well and catch a little rabbit for me.
The last two photographs from last week. My co-driver in the shot.
Why would I want a used dog? I had a dog already.
I reluctantly agreed to pay a visit, certain that it would be brief, and it was.
You had me at hello.
In the confines of the old apartment you seemed ridiculously oversized and just a touch cross eyed. You put your big head on my lap and wagged your tail slowly. Resistance was utterly futile.
When you came home you seemed massive, and for the first nights cried for your lost family,but soon you became part of mine.
Every morning you went for a long walk,and became community property,greeted by all,pulled and petted by children,leaning against your favourite friends.
In the evening when I was using the laptop at the kitchen counter,you would put your great head on my lap and simply sit there for an hour at a time.
You had an amazing voice, an endless variety of moans,sighs and songs. When my wife cleaned your ears you sang softly in utter bliss. Even if we were absent for a brief period,our return caused excited dancing, loud chattering of teeth,and happy moans.
Despite that you were objectively the dumbest dog I have ever owned,you desperately wanted to please and learned a surprising variety of tricks which took hours to teach. At the magic word "dinner" you rushed to the back of the kitchen,and using your big nose punted your metal bowl the entire length of the room,until, with a final push it landed noisily at my wife's feet.
How you learned anything at all is a miracle. I recall your frenzied barking at a mechanical reindeer head one Christmas, and your slinking in terror from the slithering of a fireman's hose on your morning walk. There is a reason that there are no Great Danes in circuses.
You hated the cold Canadian winters, and when I bought a winter house in Arizona you jumped into the back of the SUV and delightedly made the 4000km journey each way.
As we made the trek from Canada and the landscape changed,you met people in innumerable small towns as we explored old Route 66,staying at all sorts of cheap motels. As always,you were cuddled and petted by strangers and I smiled at the same well meaning remarks:
"That's not a dog,that's a horse"
"How much does she eat?"
In the desert you contentedly stretched out in the warm winter sun,ignored the coyotes and unsuccessfully chased the little rabbits,stalking them every morning and utterly failing to ever come close to catching one.
You filled my life.
You were in your tenth year when you began to show signs of age, and on our final journey last week you were less able to jump up in the back of the car. Your last good walk was a stroll in Monument Valley. By the time we got to the house you were very tired.
For the last two days you only had water as we waited. There was no pain and you never made a mess in the house,but you weakened very rapidly and had to be helped to go outside.You lifted your great head when she came in the door,but we knew it was your last night.
We brought you to the Vet on your last morning, my co-driver carrying you into the car. The end was brief as we stroked you in your last minutes. With a long sigh you put your head down on your great big paws and it was over.
You had me at Goodbye too. Sleep well and catch a little rabbit for me.
The last two photographs from last week. My co-driver in the shot.
Edited by RDMcG on Thursday 5th December 20:08
Lovely. Both the hound and the verse.
Sorry to hear of your loss but the pain is the price you pay for the sheer fun, joy and love you get with a pet and while it sucks, better to have the good stuff and grieve for him than for him to have missed out on a loving home and you and your wife to have missed out on the aforementioned goodness. Probably does not help at all thought right now though!
Sorry to hear of your loss but the pain is the price you pay for the sheer fun, joy and love you get with a pet and while it sucks, better to have the good stuff and grieve for him than for him to have missed out on a loving home and you and your wife to have missed out on the aforementioned goodness. Probably does not help at all thought right now though!
Edited by Pappa Lurve on Sunday 11th November 20:10
Excellent piece and a great loss. I love Danes
Better not let Mrs Mercs see - at least for a couple of days.
Its our almost 18yo collie's last night tonight - laying in front of the TV after a night of cuddles.
The legs have finally gone. She's in no pain but must be starting to wonder why she can't move.
We shall treasure our memories like you do yours, and cuddle the other two even more.
Better not let Mrs Mercs see - at least for a couple of days.
Its our almost 18yo collie's last night tonight - laying in front of the TV after a night of cuddles.
The legs have finally gone. She's in no pain but must be starting to wonder why she can't move.
We shall treasure our memories like you do yours, and cuddle the other two even more.
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