My wife Carol and I had to make the decision to put our dog down recently. It was hard. Buddy had been part of our lives for 18 years. But we knew the black-and-tan dachshund had reached the end of his run.
Several years ago when Buddy’s death seemed too far away to worry about, I read an epitaph written to a pet. It said, “He wasn’t always good, but he was a very good dog and we loved each other.” Simple and to the point, I always thought when the time came I’d steal that.
His sister left us a few years ago, accidentally. Carol and I had gone to Philadelphia and our daughter Elizabeth had agreed to pet sit. The very first night she found Bridgett drowned in the hot tub. How awful for both of them. Lizzy had a friend’s help, but it was still a difficult and sad chore to haul the lifeless body of the dog she had grown up with from the pool. They wrapped her in a blanket and took her to our vet, who returned her to us in a neat, white urn.
That was sad, but Bridgett and I were never close because she was neurotic, stubborn and a nervous urinator. Carol was the only person she felt secure with. We called her Wormy because she was always a squirmy little dog, even when she grew older and rounder. But she was our pet and we were sad to lose her.
After Wormy died, I figured Buddy would eventually end up in a matching urn on the other side of the mantle. So, I had time to prepare for this, with the epitaph and funeral plan. But, some things you’re never really ready for.
Weiners Wormed Their Way into Our Lives
I’m not even sure why we ended up with wiener dogs. However, I’m sure it was my fault. Carol wanted a dog. I didn’t want the responsibility. I capitulated, but with certain stipulations: It had to be a smaller dog so it wouldn’t destroy the yard, drop giant turds, kill cats, climb fences, claw screens or eat too much. And it had to have short hair, so we wouldn’t have to groom it so much and it wouldn’t shed all over the place. And I don’t know what other silly requirements I had but they had to be silly because they got us dachshunds.
I had other stipulations that worked out just as well: It would be an outdoor dog. If it ever came in the house, it would NOT get on the furniture. AND, the one non-negotiable, absolute requirement was that no dog would ever, EVER sleep in our bed. One by one, those rules were violated. I wasn’t happy about it. But, Carol was. And we were a cozy family. The rule for the bed became: “All animals sleep on the other side of the woman.” And so it was.
If all that isn’t enough, of course our first dachshund was neurotic. Also my fault: Carol will never let me forget that I chose Bridgett from the litter because she was “so pretty.” Well, I’m confident Wormy already had issues, but it didn’t help much when Carol disappeared to take care of her dying mother in Indiana and left a nervous/stupid puppy with a more-nervous/more-stupid husband who had never raised a puppy on his own. The experience was traumatic beyond description.
If One is a Problem, Then Obviously You Need Two
But, one solution we came up with was to get a companion for Wormy. That decision made up for all prior bad dog decisions I had made. I remember waiting because we had to have a black-and-tan male. Wormy was a red. They made a cute pair of bookends. When we first brought Buddy home, there was no reluctance or adjustment period. Wormy was suddenly the happiest dog in the world. She instantly accepted and loved her little brother. I don’t know if it was because he was from the same kennel and had a familiar scent, or just because she was so lonely for someone she could relate to. Whatever it was, those two were rarely separated for the rest of her life. They slept together, ate together, terrorized the backyard together, bathed together, cuddled their “mommy” together … everything.
Wormy was almost a year old when Buddy arrived, so at first she was much faster than the puppy. She would roll him with her nose, and we would all laugh until it hurt. But it didn’t take long for Buddy to get up to speed and he soon was running circles around her.
Walks with the two were ordeals. Wormy did not understand the concept of a power walk. She had to stop and smell EVERYTHING. She was totally fascinated with every scent on the ground, which meant slow progress. On the other hand, Buddy had the heart of lead sled dog. He would drag you along, or yank the leash right out of your hand if you weren’t careful. So I’d be stretched out, tethered between a speedboat and an anchor. It was better when two people walked them, but the difference in paces remained an issue.
For that reason, I often would sneak Buddy off for a walk without Wormy. I loved our walks together, just him and me. Sometimes we’d walk in the park, other times on the greenbelt or par-three golf course behind our house … or on neighborhood sidewalks. Buddy liked any walk, and he approached every walk with equal enthusiasm. That is what I will miss the most about him. He could go the distance, too. One fond memory was walking with him all the way to Turkey Creek Stables, where Carol kept her Arabian, Gally. Buddy was a big hit with all the folks who hung out there with their horses, but he was a nervous wreck under all those hooves. I had to keep him on a short leash.
The Dogs Loved to Hang with Us, Whatever We Were Doing
I’ll miss his company. Wormy’s too. They both loved to be wherever we were. If we were sitting on the patio, they would be romping around the yard, Wormy sniffing the gardens and Buddy yapping at the squirrels. If we were in the pool, they would be cautiously near, but not too near because they knew I was likely to drag them into the water. They didn’t like swimming, but they did like being wet. They would let me pet their heads with a dripping wet hand. And even after an involuntary swim, they’d shake off and enjoy a refreshed romp. If I was out back with a beer and a cigar and a fire in the chiminea, they’d be exploring every inch of the underbrush, never wandering too far, but often getting out of sight and getting me in trouble with Carol for not watching them close enough.
Another thing that got me in trouble with Carol was their drinking habit. Both dogs developed a taste for beer ... somehow. They wouldn’t drink it out of their bowls. It had to be poured onto the cement patio or sidewalk. They would both lap it up vigorously, then Carol would scold me because it’s not supposed to be good for them. Well, we can put that theory to rest: Wormy was healthy until she drowned at 16 and Buddy was 18 and his issues didn’t stem from beer.
We would even camp with them and go on hikes. I invented the saying, “Never hike into the woods with more dogs than you can carry out.” That was actually a re-write of the saying I had for the children, when they were little. The truth is, Buddy could hold his own. It was Wormy who usually pooped out. But they both enjoyed camping. It never took them long to figure out that the tent was home base, and inside was where we would all curl up together. And they had a completely different attitude for natural water than they had for the swimming pool. That was probably because they could walk into a river, lake or stream and keep their feet firmly on the ground while keeping their heads securely out of the water. That was more their speed than actually swimming.
The Worm Dog Era Comes to an End
When Wormy was gone, we debated getting another companion for Buddy. We feared he’d be lonely, especially when we were at work. But, we tried to introduce other dogs, and Buddy would have none of it. We decided he had been the No. 2 dog all his life and now he did not want to share Carol with any other dog.
Anyway, Buddy had a good run. Toward the end, his eyes and ears failed. His hind legs lost their strength. His muzzle had been gray for many years. He didn’t do much but eat and sleep. Carol doted over him, and she was his whole world. I have no doubt she is the reason he stayed so long, even though he was ready to go. There was nothing else for him to live for. But he didn’t want to leave her. Carol was waiting for Buddy to indicate he was ready to go, but I think he was also waiting for her to tell him it was okay to leave, that he would always be with her, and one day – if there is any God, if there is any love or any hope or any damned reason at all for our lives – we will all be together again. Even Wormy. Because they weren’t always good, but they were very good dogs. And we loved each other.
Good night, my wonderful Buddy. I will hold your memory in my heart until we meet again.
Several years ago when Buddy’s death seemed too far away to worry about, I read an epitaph written to a pet. It said, “He wasn’t always good, but he was a very good dog and we loved each other.” Simple and to the point, I always thought when the time came I’d steal that.
His sister left us a few years ago, accidentally. Carol and I had gone to Philadelphia and our daughter Elizabeth had agreed to pet sit. The very first night she found Bridgett drowned in the hot tub. How awful for both of them. Lizzy had a friend’s help, but it was still a difficult and sad chore to haul the lifeless body of the dog she had grown up with from the pool. They wrapped her in a blanket and took her to our vet, who returned her to us in a neat, white urn.
That was sad, but Bridgett and I were never close because she was neurotic, stubborn and a nervous urinator. Carol was the only person she felt secure with. We called her Wormy because she was always a squirmy little dog, even when she grew older and rounder. But she was our pet and we were sad to lose her.
After Wormy died, I figured Buddy would eventually end up in a matching urn on the other side of the mantle. So, I had time to prepare for this, with the epitaph and funeral plan. But, some things you’re never really ready for.
Weiners Wormed Their Way into Our Lives
I’m not even sure why we ended up with wiener dogs. However, I’m sure it was my fault. Carol wanted a dog. I didn’t want the responsibility. I capitulated, but with certain stipulations: It had to be a smaller dog so it wouldn’t destroy the yard, drop giant turds, kill cats, climb fences, claw screens or eat too much. And it had to have short hair, so we wouldn’t have to groom it so much and it wouldn’t shed all over the place. And I don’t know what other silly requirements I had but they had to be silly because they got us dachshunds.
I had other stipulations that worked out just as well: It would be an outdoor dog. If it ever came in the house, it would NOT get on the furniture. AND, the one non-negotiable, absolute requirement was that no dog would ever, EVER sleep in our bed. One by one, those rules were violated. I wasn’t happy about it. But, Carol was. And we were a cozy family. The rule for the bed became: “All animals sleep on the other side of the woman.” And so it was.
If all that isn’t enough, of course our first dachshund was neurotic. Also my fault: Carol will never let me forget that I chose Bridgett from the litter because she was “so pretty.” Well, I’m confident Wormy already had issues, but it didn’t help much when Carol disappeared to take care of her dying mother in Indiana and left a nervous/stupid puppy with a more-nervous/more-stupid husband who had never raised a puppy on his own. The experience was traumatic beyond description.
If One is a Problem, Then Obviously You Need Two
But, one solution we came up with was to get a companion for Wormy. That decision made up for all prior bad dog decisions I had made. I remember waiting because we had to have a black-and-tan male. Wormy was a red. They made a cute pair of bookends. When we first brought Buddy home, there was no reluctance or adjustment period. Wormy was suddenly the happiest dog in the world. She instantly accepted and loved her little brother. I don’t know if it was because he was from the same kennel and had a familiar scent, or just because she was so lonely for someone she could relate to. Whatever it was, those two were rarely separated for the rest of her life. They slept together, ate together, terrorized the backyard together, bathed together, cuddled their “mommy” together … everything.
Wormy was almost a year old when Buddy arrived, so at first she was much faster than the puppy. She would roll him with her nose, and we would all laugh until it hurt. But it didn’t take long for Buddy to get up to speed and he soon was running circles around her.
Walks with the two were ordeals. Wormy did not understand the concept of a power walk. She had to stop and smell EVERYTHING. She was totally fascinated with every scent on the ground, which meant slow progress. On the other hand, Buddy had the heart of lead sled dog. He would drag you along, or yank the leash right out of your hand if you weren’t careful. So I’d be stretched out, tethered between a speedboat and an anchor. It was better when two people walked them, but the difference in paces remained an issue.
For that reason, I often would sneak Buddy off for a walk without Wormy. I loved our walks together, just him and me. Sometimes we’d walk in the park, other times on the greenbelt or par-three golf course behind our house … or on neighborhood sidewalks. Buddy liked any walk, and he approached every walk with equal enthusiasm. That is what I will miss the most about him. He could go the distance, too. One fond memory was walking with him all the way to Turkey Creek Stables, where Carol kept her Arabian, Gally. Buddy was a big hit with all the folks who hung out there with their horses, but he was a nervous wreck under all those hooves. I had to keep him on a short leash.
The Dogs Loved to Hang with Us, Whatever We Were Doing
I’ll miss his company. Wormy’s too. They both loved to be wherever we were. If we were sitting on the patio, they would be romping around the yard, Wormy sniffing the gardens and Buddy yapping at the squirrels. If we were in the pool, they would be cautiously near, but not too near because they knew I was likely to drag them into the water. They didn’t like swimming, but they did like being wet. They would let me pet their heads with a dripping wet hand. And even after an involuntary swim, they’d shake off and enjoy a refreshed romp. If I was out back with a beer and a cigar and a fire in the chiminea, they’d be exploring every inch of the underbrush, never wandering too far, but often getting out of sight and getting me in trouble with Carol for not watching them close enough.
Another thing that got me in trouble with Carol was their drinking habit. Both dogs developed a taste for beer ... somehow. They wouldn’t drink it out of their bowls. It had to be poured onto the cement patio or sidewalk. They would both lap it up vigorously, then Carol would scold me because it’s not supposed to be good for them. Well, we can put that theory to rest: Wormy was healthy until she drowned at 16 and Buddy was 18 and his issues didn’t stem from beer.
We would even camp with them and go on hikes. I invented the saying, “Never hike into the woods with more dogs than you can carry out.” That was actually a re-write of the saying I had for the children, when they were little. The truth is, Buddy could hold his own. It was Wormy who usually pooped out. But they both enjoyed camping. It never took them long to figure out that the tent was home base, and inside was where we would all curl up together. And they had a completely different attitude for natural water than they had for the swimming pool. That was probably because they could walk into a river, lake or stream and keep their feet firmly on the ground while keeping their heads securely out of the water. That was more their speed than actually swimming.
The Worm Dog Era Comes to an End
When Wormy was gone, we debated getting another companion for Buddy. We feared he’d be lonely, especially when we were at work. But, we tried to introduce other dogs, and Buddy would have none of it. We decided he had been the No. 2 dog all his life and now he did not want to share Carol with any other dog.
Anyway, Buddy had a good run. Toward the end, his eyes and ears failed. His hind legs lost their strength. His muzzle had been gray for many years. He didn’t do much but eat and sleep. Carol doted over him, and she was his whole world. I have no doubt she is the reason he stayed so long, even though he was ready to go. There was nothing else for him to live for. But he didn’t want to leave her. Carol was waiting for Buddy to indicate he was ready to go, but I think he was also waiting for her to tell him it was okay to leave, that he would always be with her, and one day – if there is any God, if there is any love or any hope or any damned reason at all for our lives – we will all be together again. Even Wormy. Because they weren’t always good, but they were very good dogs. And we loved each other.
Good night, my wonderful Buddy. I will hold your memory in my heart until we meet again.