Born more than 6 years before we knew him, Dawg’s new life with us began in January of 1995 and continued until being laid to rest on August 27, 2007.Born more than 6 years before we knew him, Dawg’s new life with us began in January of 1995 and continued until being laid to rest on August 27, 2007.
His life before inexplicably showing up on our doorstep, shall always remain a mystery. It’s no secret however, that since that time he became a much needed constant in a dramatically changing life for my mother and me.
I spent weeks trying to find the home from which he came, but Dawg seemed determined to stay with us. Unbeknownst to me, he was already committed to the role he was about to play in our lives.
At first I thought Dawg had dyslexia as he acted as though he were a god, not a dog. Dawg however, soon became a critical companion for my mother as Alzheimer’s Disease began to affect her behavior. Dawg kept her going, kept her walking and most importantly, Dawg kept her company at a time when her children kept their distance. As we were ignorant of how her life was changing, Dawg served as her emotional “guide dog”.
Dawg played a role in my discovery of my mother's disease. Frustrated with why she continued to feed Dawg "people" food after I had repeatedly asked her not to, I asked her doctor about her behavior. That’s when I first learned about Alzheimer’s Disease. Our lives changed overnight and Dawg became an emotional cornerstone for both my mother and me.
In the early years of my commitment to caregiving for my mother, Dawg would comfort me after those particularly difficult days of Alzheimer’s. Dawg would cuddle with me at night, sharing half the bed (he took the center half and I got the two outside quarters).
Later, Dawg served as an early warning system for us. He would sleep on the floor at the side of my mom’s bed. Whenever my mother would get up to wander at night, she would inadvertently kick Dawg and he would shake his head, rattling his collar. This would wake me and remind me to check on my mom.
Once again, Dawg’s stabilizing effect on my mother was important as we moved from her home of 40 years into a new house. It seemed that, as long as Dawg and I were there, my mother felt at home.
Dawg and my mother shared the same enthusiasm for going for rides, whether it would be in a boat, a golf cart or in the car. We bought a motorhome to go for longer rides. Both of them seemed to enjoy it, so off we went to “go for a ride” for the rest of their lives.
Living in the small quarters of a motorhome, Dawg earned his Indian name – “Underfoot.” As I would walk down the hallway, Dawg wouldn’t budge an inch. Whenever my mom would walk down the hallway, he would get up and clear the way.
Already, Dawg had been diagnosed with fatal tumors. At the time, Dawg was thought to have been in his last few months of life. He continued for another two and a half years, causing his original veterinarian to conclude that Dawg was actually a cat because he’s had nine lives.
The cancer ate his food faster than he could. He could no longer see. He could no longer hear. He had trouble walking in cold weather. The open tumors bled constantly. Yet four different veterinarians couldn’t tell me that he was suffering. His tail still wagged, especially at every pretty girl dog that he met (he was such a doggg!)
My mother is now beyond the apparent recognition of the role that Dawg has played in her life, and perhaps beyond noticing his absence. I however, won’t forget the lessons of life that Dawg illustrated for me: Lessons of caregiving; lessons of faithfulness; lessons of commitment; lessons of patience; lessons of love and most of all, the lessons of fortitude to keep on wagging that tail.