petstoday

I wanted to take a break from my usual manner of writing to honor the memory of my doggy hero, Kirby.

Kirby never brought down a bad guy.  He never tracked criminals over difficult terrain, sniffed out bombs or drugs, or lead soldiers to safety through battlefields.  He never won any ribbons or trophies, sired any outstanding offspring, or competed against the best of the best.

But Kirby was a hero and a champion in my eyes.  He was a Chihuahua/Dachshund mix, with a Chihuahua’s body and head, and Dachshund ears.  He was mostly black with tan points, and a big splash of white on his chest.

Though I have always loved animals, my real interest in dogs didn’t pique until I was ten years old.  I became interested in German Shepherd Dogs due to their beauty, loyalty and courageousness.  I begged and pleaded that my mother let me have one, but she simply said no.  She didn’t think I was capable of handling a large dog.  Initially, I was disappointed, but my disappointment soon waned as the reality of getting my very own dog set in.  I began to scour the local classifieds for “free dog” ads.

It didn’t take long before I found an ad that read: “Beautiful small dog free to good home.”  Ecstatic at what I’d found, I took the ad to my mom and she called the number that evening.

We made an appointment to see Kirby the next day.  An older woman owned him; she had found him wandering the streets and couldn’t find his original owners.  She wanted to keep him, but already owned two dogs and two cats, and was unable to afford another animal, even a small one.  I fell in love instantly.  He didn’t take to us very well in the beginning, shaking submissively as we petted him.  The woman had been calling him “Poochie” and had fitted him with a bright pink collar.

We ended up taking him home and I instantly renamed him.  Poochie was a degrading name.  Despite being small, he wasn’t a girly dog.  I also insisted that we buy him a new collar, so we bought him one that was blue instead of pink.  He soon became a part of the family, going everywhere with us.  I took him on daily walks, sometimes for hours at a time, just the two of us.  He was the perfect dog.  Housebroken, quiet, never chewed on anything or bothered anything he wasn’t supposed to.  He was friendly with everyone.  It wasn’t long before he felt comfortable enough with us to play, and Kirby and I often did.

The vet estimated that Kirby was three or four years old when we got him.  He ended up surviving another fourteen years in my care.  I practically grew up with him–wherever I was, so was he.  We shared the same bed, where he curled up in the crook of my knee, or next to my side as he rested his big goofy head on my arm.  He slept with me until he was too old and fragile to.

He was my comfort zone, a best friend, a child, a parent.  I grew up with him, just as he grew up with me.  He loved to play with toys, but he never tore them up.  He loved to play with cats, and would roll around on the floor with our cat, Caleb.  He was always happy to make us happy.

As he reached his senior years, he gradually became incontinent.  It started off with only one or two accidents a week in the beginning to one or two a day.  Despite the messes, I never held him responsible for any of it and simply gritted my teeth and cleaned up.  As he started to slow down and sleep more, I did my best to keep him comfortable and happy.  Though he slept a lot, he seemed like he was still happy to be with me.  His hearing and most of his eyesight left him, but he would still come to you with a simple wave of the hand and wag his tail.  At meal time, he still had strength enough to dance.

Kirby started to go down rapidly this past week.  It started with fairly mild diarrhea, but then he didn’t want to eat.  When he did eat, he threw it up.  Where he could originally navigate our apartment with little trouble, he seemed to get so disoriented that all he could do was spin in circles or run into walls.  He would lose his balance for no reason and fall over.

I made the extremely difficult and heartbreaking decision for him to be put down on October 1st.  He was put down at 2:30 PM.  I stayed with him until the shot of morphine, but decided that I didn’t have the strength to stay for the actual lethal shot.  He was doped up anyway–he wouldn’t have realized I was there.  I kissed his nose and told him I loved him and would miss him.  The vet carried him to the back and Kirby was gone from my life forever.

Arrangements have been made to have him cremated.  It will be weeks before I get his ashes back, and I miss him so badly already.  I’m dehydrated from crying.  I keep looking at his empty bed, expecting to see his frail little form curled up there, but it is empty.  It’s still covered with his hair.  I keep listening for the quiet tap-tap-tap of his claws on the tile, but the sound never comes.  He is gone.  Just gone.

I keep asking myself what would have happened if I decided against euthanasia.  He ate the morning before he died, and held it down, so it’s possible he would have eaten again.  What if I had kept him alive?  Would he have lived to 19?  20?  21?  Did I make the right decision?  He was 18 years old.  That age isn’t unusual for small breed dogs like Kirby.  It’s possible he could have lived another two or three years–but would it have been worth it?  Everyone keeps telling me that I made the right decision, but I just wish I knew for sure that I did.  I didn’t like deciding whether he was going to live or die.  I’m not a god–I shouldn’t have to make that decision.

It’s hard.  He’s supposed to be with me, and he isn’t.  I don’t think I’ll ever completely get over his death, and I will never stop missing him.  All I have left are memories and pictures.  I don’t have very many good pictures of him on my computer–the best ones are at my mom’s house in Houston.  He was a beautiful dog, in more ways than one.  He saved me from a life of lonliness, and for that alone, he is a hero.  He is my Kirby.

Kirby

?? 1990 - October 1st, 2008

You will always be loved and missed.

These are some of the only pictures of Kirby I have on my computer.  Most of these were taken when Kirby was older.  I wish I had better pictures, but most were lost in computer crashes, or are in boxes in Houston.  When I can get some better pictures of him, I will post them.

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