The first year we were married, I gave my husband a Golden Retriever puppy named Zack. In hindsight, Zack was our preparation for human parenthood. He taught us how to take care of someone other than ourselves. He taught us how to serve someone in really inconvenient circumstances, like, for instance, pooping in the pouring rain. He taught us, unconditional love. He taught us forgiveness with those delicious dark eyes that would study us after he had peed on the floor or knocked over a pile of laundry. Zack, the puppy, was our first child. His puppyhood set the precedence for parenthood. We were devastated when, after a head trauma, he tried to bite our toddler, and we had to give him away. For years my husband would take our daughter out to the farm where Zack was happily frolicking in wide-open spaces. Zack has marked our consciousness forever. The first year of marriage is fantastic. Throw a puppy into the mix, and the cleaving factor was over the top. A bond formed between the three of us that words will never adequately describe.
Twenty-five years later, upon my husband’s terminal ALS diagnosis, he immediately announced he needed, not wanted, a dog. A Golden Retriever, to be exact. Can I say; I was less than thrilled. As a caregiver of an ALS patient, I knew the physical road that I had ahead of me. The thought of adding a puppy to the equitation was not appealing to me at all. I had made a promise to God that I would do anything Robin asked of me during his illness. That may sound archaic to you, but I knew that every bit of independence my husband had was going to be stripped away. Even his ability to breathe was eventually going to be controlled for him. Thus, began the arduous task of talking a reputable breeder into letting us bring home a puppy to a partially paralyzed dying man in a wheelchair.
After three phone interviews and a physical interview, we passed the test! In June of 2017, we brought home’ Lyrics Last Wish’ aka “Henry.” He stole our hearts immediately! He would ride around the house in Robin’s wheelchair. When we would transfer Robin from the wheelchair to his leather recliner, Henry would sit next to him on the floor at full attention. When I went walking in the afternoons, accompanied by Robin in his wheelchair, Henry was tickled to be out in open air like Snoopy along for the ride. Henry was easy to train and wanted nothing more than to be with Robin. When we lifted Robin into his hospital bed at night and unhooked the ventilator, Henry would supervise as if he was making sure I got it right during those 5 seconds that my husband couldn’t breathe. Henry would sit at my ankles as I reconnected the hoses to the ventilator once Robin was in bed. Henry knew Robin was dying, and he was watching out for him. After we said prayers, I would put Henry on the foot of the bed where he would sit still and watch.
My husband died July 21, 2017, and I think a bit of Henry went with him. What I’ve learned over the past several years? Henry wasn’t really for Robin. Henry was the greatest gift my husband ever could have left me. I don’t think I would have gotten out of bed those early months after he died if it weren’t for that dog. Sometimes, while sitting in my den, I’d cry so hard that it would come out in wails. Henry would take his paw and high five me as if to say, “Let it out, Mama! Good job!” Other times he would howl along with me as if offering up sympathy. We both grieved the loss of our person. And slowly, very slowly, Henry has become my new fury person.
Henry sleeps in the middle of the house with perfect perrifle vision of the front door and my bedroom door. I find this ironic because if someone broke into my home while I was sleeping, he’d jump up and hug them to welcome their arrival. Henry has selective hearing and ignores me if he doesn’t want to do something. He can hear a bag of anything open from anywhere in the house and is immediately by your side, willing to oblige you in taste testing. He’s terrified of car rides, hates thunder, and holds grudges for days when I leave. COVID is the very best thing ever to happen to Henry because he wants me home seven days a week.
Robin and I started our marriage with a Golden Retriever, and we ended our life together on this earth with a Golden Retriever. I can’t imagine it any other way. I can’t imagine having gone through the grief process without a dog. There is absolute truth in the fact that dog is GOD spelled backward. They love you unconditionally no matter what.