AKC Miss Maddie of Darlington – “Maddie”
September 2013 – November 2, 2024
I am here tonight, in a still house. Putting a dog down is never easy – coming home to the quiet of a dog’s absence, is even harder. I walk in and there is no longer a greeting. Our Maddie had a bit of separation anxiety and was often found just inside the door waiting any time her people left her. I am eating pizza – comfort food for an uncomfortable day – and as I work toward the crust, I am reminded how much she loved a piece of crust. Her toys lay about – her brush is still full of her hair. Her water and food bowls are not empty – she had no hunger amidst the pain of the osteoarthritis that ravaged her body on that last day. I turn to shut off the outside lights and am reminded that I would normally walk her beforehand.
Other triggers await as if in ambush – dogs being walked with wagging tails, a young grandson wondering where she went, neighbors asking afterwards, and the vet bill, her remains in a box, and paw prints.
A dog cannot communicate like us humans, but I think she knew. Osteoarthritis plagued her in later years – she could not sit up straight on her hind legs; with time she needed help just getting up to a couch or bed.
But life goes on and you take these things in stride, still wondering whether she should have been appreciated all the more.
In her last 2 years of life, she was my constant companion as I transitioned from work to retirement to getting our Vestal house ready to sell and finally selling it. My wife was up at our house in Rochester – wherever I went Maddie would go.
Now it is a quiet time. My wife is in bed after the long emotional day. It is just me and the fire on this cold November evening and a glance toward her corner reminds me. Dogs are, as my son reminded me on our drive home on that final day, one of the great human experiments. That experiment began with a wolf that hung at a distance in the din of a fire, and gradually accepted scraps. And it still evolves with hundreds of distinct breeds, designed to help man in all ways, from detecting bombs to therapy for dying humans, to companionship.
In my mourning, I somehow stumbled on an account of a little boy, who witnessed his own dog being put down in the company of his family. The family was very attached to their dog, an Irish Wolfhound called Belker, but nobody was more attached to this dog than 6-year-old Shane, the little boy. The family had taken their dog to the vet, only to find that the 10-year-old dog had cancer and that nothing could be done for him. The vet offered to euthanize Belker in their home, and after much discussion, Shane’s parents agreed that it would be good for Shane to be there so that he might learn something from the experience, given how attached he was to Belker.
The time came yet Shane seemed very calm. He was stroking his dog in a way that suggested acceptance, and it was as if both him and the dog understood that this was goodbye. Belker slipped away peacefully within a matter of minutes. Shane didn’t cry nor did he show any signs of distress. He knew it needed to happen and he knew Belker was in a better place. Afterwards, the family asked, in discussion, ‘why are animal’s lives so much shorter than our own?’ Shane sat quietly before saying “I know why” and went on to explain that people are born so they can live a good life. They need to love everyone all the time and be nice. Dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t need to spend their entire lives learning how to do it. That’s why they don’t stay as long
I am writing this as my own therapy, for a dog who loved unconditionally and gave her life for my good and the good of our family. Stack the monumental progress of humans against that, and I assure you, there’s no comparison. We will miss you Maddie…
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