I did not predict the rolls of fur
we brought home that summer would turn into a junkyard dog. Holding him, eying his Rottweiler mom, I
tried to mentally blur an adult Shar Pei with her massive chest and flat head. The best I could come up with was something
between a rhino and a gerbil. Mama-dog
lumped along gamely while humans scooped up her surprise pups, and I wondered
if she knew we were a much better alternative to the pound. At least, I hoped we were. We had our own surprise pup, then nine months
old, and a fairly embryonic vision of our family life. I half pleaded with Paul, taken by the rolls
of cuteness and worry that the pup’s breeding wouldn’t garner many offers, and
he conceded and mentioned training him up to be my guard dog while he was on
deployment.
Albert, or “Fat Albert”, “Albert
Einstein”, “Albus”, “Albie” or “Asshole”, grew in sync with my marriage, my
babies and my heart. I tried many times
to figure him out as he growled and embarrassed one minute, then cuddled
protectively around one of my kids the next.
He never got the hang of being around other dogs in public,
spectacularly breaking my nose one night as I stooped to reengage his “training”
collar while he strained toward a barking mutt across the street. I figured out late in his life that he’d
taken Paul’s missive to heart somehow, and was only able to relax when I was
100% in charge and staying calm, or when he was far from “his” property, off
leash. As soon as the leash came out, he
was hell bent to show all of those other dogs and people that his mama was
protected. I am so grateful that nothing
worse than some intimidated people sprang up from his bad habits.
I take responsibility for his
behavior. Parenting the two legged children,
traveling, and my previous experience with submissive pet dogs served Albert a
bum deal sometimes. By the time I
recognized he was dog aggressive, I was too broke and too scared of what he’d
do to take classes. Despite all of that,
Albert loyally developed into a fantastic companion. He is a house dog, sweet and friendly and
extremely comical from the ends of his folded-napkin ears to his scimitar tail. He pines for me when I leave, sometimes
crying like a baby for days, and sometimes melting into a puddle, communicating
with his caretakers only through eyebrow codes and deep sighs. He has a special affinity for females, gazing
adoringly at my mom and accepting all manner of necessary abuse at the hands of
my cousin and her fellow vet techs over the years. My daughters dressed him up, used him as a
pony and paraded him up and down the street, completely relaxed in a way he
never could be with me holding the leash.
Until now. Here in Arizona, Albert rediscovered
walking. His arthritis is bad, so he
eagerly does one park loop and hobbles back to bed while Paul, the kids and I
cruise around a couple more times with Tilly.
Each time I pull on my tennis shoes, Albert’s eyebrows track me, and he
shuffles himself into position near the door.
He is a perfect gentleman, smiling as his collar goes on, wriggling his
now-twisted hips to show me that he’d gladly sit down to show his readiness if
his body would only let him. He follows
me, glancing at the ever-present quail and rabbits, then back at me “Look, Mom,
I am so content to just stay with you.”
Except, he can’t stay with me any
longer. After almost 12 years, his
kidneys are shutting down, tiredly giving up against a congenital disease we
didn’t know he had. He’s thin, weak and
tired. Tail flat, eyes dull, his
eyebrows still tracked my tennis shoes this morning, hoping a little bit that I’d
wander to the garage door for leashes. I
fancy he looked satisfied when I sat next to him instead. The kids are saying their good-byes, and
hospice care involves a lick or two of a rib bone, an extra quilt and a lot of
quiet. The vet couldn’t give us an
exact time, but I think he may be telling me.
He is sicker than ever today, the medications no longer staying down. He keeps looking at me expectantly; his head
lower and lower to the blanket each time I walk by.
I hope he understands that the
tears, hurts and chaos that accompanied our early family time cemented us, made
us an indestructible unit. Often, I
relied on him to be the warm back against mine, the goofy expression to break a
cloudy mood, and the listener that never tired as long as I rubbed his ears. Those contributions, invaluable and
beautiful, bolstered my patience and love and made me try harder: with him, and all of his various siblings. I hope my head pats and nicknames over these
last days say the volumes that my heart longs to.
I love you, Albert.
-Mom
