These are my personal memories.
So I won’t forget.
 |
| Photo by Shelle Singer / Stardog Photos |
I remember it was two weeks after I brought Oslo home
to live with me. Mid March 2004. Oslo was about 11 weeks old. It was a Saturday
morning and I was on the phone with my Mother back home in upstate New York. It
was one of those conversations you don’t forget. I never hesitated calling my
parents because as I always said “one
day, I would no longer be able to talk with them.” So the call was routine.
I was in my living room, Oslo was all puppy splayed out on the floor, new toys
around him.
However I was upset. Mom asked me how Oslo, her new
grand-puppy, was doing, what adventures had we had since yesterday? And then it
happened, I started to cry, big tears, unstoppable and Mom asked me what was
wrong?
“I already love
Oslo so much and I realize that one day he will be gone and our time is limited.”
“Don’t be so
silly, John” my mother said with her southern accent, “That day is years from now, no need to think about that right now. You are
just getting yourself worked up. Stop worrying about the future, just make the most of
every day.”
I’ve never forgotten that call or that conversation or the fact that after two
weeks I could get so emotional about my new puppy.
That day I started to fearfully anticipate so long ago,
occurred yesterday, Friday, May 15th, 2015.
* * * * * * * *
With all my courage, yesterday, I carried Oslo in my
arms to one of his favorite places, Queen Anne Animal Clinic, just down the
street from where the shop named after him had been, and the same street with
All the Best Pet Store, Starbucks, and Menchie’s Frozen Yogurt, all favorite
stops on our daily walks. Down at the other end was Wells Fargo Bank where we
went every day with the bank deposit and he would get treats.
He knew all the shops and stops that had treats on the
street. When we’d walk past the animal clinic, well, they had treats. He’d pull
me to the door, we’d go in, and I would at least weigh him, and the front desk
staff would update his chart and we’d all joke that Oslo needed to stay fit,
and then they’d make after him and we’d be on our way.
He loved that street. He loved prancing down the
Avenue. It was the same street, where every morning the brown UPS truck would park
and Michael, the UPS deliveryman would greet Oslo. It was the same street where
Oslo would sit on the sidewalk outside the shop and listen to Nick, the local
homeless man, explain to Oslo how together, they were going to get on the space
ship tomorrow and go to an alternative universe, to escape the spies. Oslo sat
mesmerized and listened to Nick planning for hours.
And yesterday, it was the same street that I carried
Oslo into the animal clinic, only first stopping and standing on the corner and
letting him look one last time, first to
the south and then to the north, several times, all the time reminding him
where what was.
Then with my arms held tightly around him, holding all
80 pounds close against my chest, we walked into the clinic and immediately
into their first exam room and I laid down Oslo on the blanket on the floor, then
I laid down on the floor next to him and I rubbed his cancer ravaged body,
while the staff proceeded in their role, and then slowly Oslo drifted away from
me, his street, his friends, and the life we shared. I told him repeatedly how
much he was loved, held him one last time, and I played some favorite music
from the movie, “My Dog Skip.” And then, he was gone.
For a few years as a shop dog, Oslo owned Queen Anne
Avenue.
* * *
* * * * *
That day I anticipated and shared with Mom after only 2
weeks had finally come 580 weeks later. And I cried yet again.
* * *
* * * * *
I whispered into Oslo’s ear to look for the lady with a
piece of toast in her hand and that would be Gertie, as I called my Mom, who
had died herself four years ago. She had a penchant for eating toast every
morning and feeding ½ of it to one of three Golden Retrievers who had filled my
parents home with hair and love over many years.
Oslo didn’t really want to share my morning toast, he
expected it, several corners, preferably with drippings from a soft-boiled egg
each and every morning.
I told him Gertie would be waiting for him with toast,
and she’d have a bunch of dogs around her. A Cairn Terrier called Pepper, a Cocker Spaniel named Cindy, who was before my time, and at least four Golden
Retrievers, my parent’s three, Tobie, Cash, and Colby and my sister and brother
in law’s Molly, and another dog named Billy who Mom populated her childhood
stories about sharing an ice cream cone with: “a lick for me and a lick for Billy, a lick for me and a lick for Billy.”
And I told Oslo to look for his buddy Lewis, one of a pair of Rhodesian
Ridgebacks he grew up with, who would be standing nearby inquisitively asking if he could join
the fun. But on this particular day I
assured Oslo, Mom would let him have the first piece of toast, and until I
arrived, this would be his new family in a place called Heaven.
* * *
* * * * *
Anyone who knows me well knows I speak of our animals
as life chapters. It is part of language I write and often share with other
grieving pet owners. I believe it. They are true demarcations of beginning and
endings of periods of our own life. Our pets’ lives end up clustering our own
activities and events together into a period of time that ultimately shapes our
life story. And any good story with chapters usually has lessons with each
chapter that then shape the evolving story.
* * *
* * * * *
And so now with the death of my beloved, Oslo, I am
quite aware that a very special 11 years has come to end.
A life chapter. A
chapter with success, failure, change, loss, acceptance, and growth. I was 43
when it began and 54 when it ended. And I only now see it still under a close
lens. But with Oslo by my side my life changed.
This wonderful soft Golden Retriever stood by my side during all of it,
helped me knock down barriers of brick walls, build, create, change, love, and
grow. They say animals save us. Oslo changed me for good. For such a sweet dog
he was witness to so much, and through it all just kept wagging his tail,
looking for treats, and chasing tennis balls.
* * *
* * * * *
The story of Oslo began much earlier then 11 years ago,
it’s a story I’ve told many times in many places. In the mid 80s I worked at
Brooks Brothers in Hartford, Connecticut and an employee / friend named Scott
Yale had three dogs with his wife Nancy: Columbia, Quincy, and Milton, all
suburbs of Boston in which they had lived during the years they had dated. And
I thought, who names their dogs after cities?
Almost a decade later, during the fall of 1993, I
travelled heartbroken through Europe for 13 weeks trying to reshape my life, rediscover
who I was, and figure out how I could break through some emotional obstacles. One
Sunday afternoon I sat by a fountain in a park, in a city and wrote in my
journal, about how I wanted to become my own person and live only for my own
expectations. Families strolled around the park and many had beautiful fair
colored Golden Retrievers and as I continued writing my journal entry, I wrote:
“One day when I return
to the states and move to Seattle,” (for my heart was in Seattle) “I will get a dog and I’ll name it after
this city, OSLO, just like Scott and Nancy Yale. Who cares whether others think
my life is too busy for a dog, I’m tired of listening to everyone tell me I how
I should live.”
I so desperately wanted to break out. Soar. Be my own
person. Love. I was 32 and miserable. It
is easy to get into your head and think there is only one way to success.
When I returned from Europe, I did move to Seattle, and
apparently family would say, I had a dream to live on the west coast, I was a
young Horatio Alger and so I went west. And usually, upon hearing this, I would
roll my eyes and quietly think to myself: “there
was no dream, I just wanted to be my own person and get as far away to do it.”
And I bought some hiking boots, learned to like coffee, and wore the boots into
Starbucks. I wanted to look good.
And time went by, almost a decade of hard work and
early morning physician meetings and late night board meetings and weekend
retreats and folks said I didn’t have a lifestyle for a dog. The life of a
healthcare administrator was not a 9-5 day, I was single and it would not be
fair to the dog. Who would walk the dog during the day? I guess I was listening
to people all over again.
But then I lost my job during a leadership transition,
and I had time on my hands during my job search and I woke up one morning and
said to myself, I have time, and I had a dream to get a dog and I will and I
will name him Oslo.
And that’s what happened. The first breeder told me she
would never let one of her puppies live in an apartment. She lost! But I found
another wonderful breeder, named La Vonne who had puppies and then on a cold
kennel floor, one little pup crawled into my lap and we tied purple rickrack around
his neck to identify him as “taken.” And he came home with me the next day. Two
weeks later, I was crying on the phone to my Mom in anticipation of a day to come,
which came yesterday.
* * *
* * * * *
I never really had a dream about opening up a men’s
clothing store, I was frustrated about my own shopping needs. I saw an
opportunity and thought why not? And the wheels started turning and suddenly I
was energized and with Oslo, now a year old, by my side we started working,
planning, investigating, budgeting, building, creating. And still chasing
tennis balls.
No one was going to shop in a store called “metrosexual
man” but it was on a list of names for the store. And the city already had
enough men’s stores named after their owners. But could we name a hip store
after a dog named after the Norwegian capital? I was not even Norwegian. Would
folks think I was selling ski sweaters and aren’t golden retrievers perceived
as traditional town and country and not hip and trendy?
OSLO’s A Men’s Store opened in December 2005, with Oslo
as the logo. We celebrated Oslo’s 2nd birthday that first weekend we
were open.
A Good Looking Dog Needs A Well Dressed Master.
And Oslo became famous. His picture was in multiple national magazines. He was in the Seattle
Times and The Seattle Weekly. He walked the runway in fashion shows. When I
went to market, ALL the vendors knew to ask about Oslo first.
And he loved going to work; He’d run every morning to
the store
door, usually carrying his leash in his mouth. Over the next 5 years
he grew into the quintessential shop dog. He had his own steady group of friends
and fans who stopped by just to give him a treat. His bed of woven silk maroon
ties was under the front table and he could lie there and watch the world walk
down Queen Anne Avenue. If customers walked in and greeted him by name, we knew
they’d been in before. If they stood and said, “Well who is this?” we knew we had a new customer to welcome and
introduce to our business.
Oslo had a daily routine. He slept in at home while I
worked out at the gym, then we had a short walk before loading into the car,
and off we’d go to work. After his daily
run to the shop door he’d rest for about an hour, while I checked the previous
day receipts and automatic deposits of funds. And then it was time for our walk
to the bank to make the cash deposit, we’d see our friends at the bank, and
Oslo would have treats. Then he’d usually tend to some personal business and make
some deposits on the grass. And then back at the shop to start to wait for our
UPS delivery, paws crossed it would be Michael and he’d arrive with a treat and
some big scary boxes, or the FedEx man, or the mailman and hopefully some
customers. Then it was nap time, and play time with Chad, or Eric, maybe Rob,
or Aunt Cindy, possibly Clis, treats from Linda, or fun with Brad. Brandi might
show up to do the books and maybe Steve and Cooper would come in, or Suzan,
Kurt, and Pluto. Vauneva and Bella might stop by with a treat.
One cold snowy day Oslo stepped on a metal plate below
a streetlight as we walked to work and was electrocuted, we didn’t know it, we
thought his scream of pain was a muscle spasm from slipping on the ice. I scooped
him up and held him for minutes and he slowly came to. We had no idea what had
happened, we didn’t know it till a few days later when Sam, another Queen Anne
dog, stepped on the same plate and died. And the city suddenly came under
scrutiny for issues relating to streetlights that were not properly grounded. Oslo
was on TV. I wondered why Oslo lived and Sam died and what if it had been a
child who stepped wrongly.
When the economy crashed and we recoiled into the worst
recession in decades. Our retail business also crashed. I closed the shop after
five years. The day we started to dismantle the store, Oslo became agitated. I
took him home that night. And he never returned to the store. In fact, I never
walked him on that block again, that block on the street he once owned was off
limits. I filed bankruptcy and licked my wounds and soon there after my mother
died. And I went back east for the funeral. I was consoled for my mother and for the loss
of my business. “But aren’t you lucky,
because you got to live your dream and open a business, so many people don’t
get to live their dream.”
I never had a dream to open a men’s store prior to
seeing an opportunity to create a men’s retail experience. However, I did have
another dream. One I dreamed for many years before making it come true.
* * *
* * * * *
The apartment is silent tonight, the dishwasher just
stopped. Startled, I just turned my head and pondered why Oslo was not sleeping
in the room with me as I am writing, maybe he’s gone to bed I think, and then I
remember he is gone, he died yesterday.
I have a lot of routines to adjust.
* * *
* * * * *
I was 4 years old, when on Easter Sunday, 1965, Pepper;
a Cairn Terrier puppy came to live with us. Pepper watched my sister and I grow
up. He would sit on the toy chest in the sunroom by the front windows and watch
and wait for the school bus to drop us off then jump down and run to the front
door barking hello. On hot summer days, when the window was open, Pepper would
actually climb up and into the open windowsill and would lean against the
screen window to stay a bit cooler. Carol and I were responsible for his
afternoon walk. And we had to fix his supper. But although the family pet, he was
really my father’s dog, sat in the chair with him, slept above Dad’s head on his
pillow. And Dad walked him every morning and every night. He lived to be 15 and
died of a heart attack the summer after my first year in college.
My parents retired and left Long Island in the late
1980’s to go live on Seneca Lake in upstate New York. Their home and 13 acres beckoned
for a dog, and Tobie came to live with them, after a neighboring family decided
he was too much for their young family, in the winter of 1989. I fell in love
with this majestic Golden Retriever. We all did. He knew he was good looking
and he pranced when he walked. I was working on my Masters Degree at Cornell
University, one lake over and Tobie would stay with me when my parents
travelled. I made sure I had lots of reasons to walk across campus when Tobie
visited. My love for Golden Retrievers began. After Tobie, there were two more
golden family members, Cash followed by Colby, but I had “Gone West,” as young
men tend to do.
Pepper taught me about the responsibilities of having a
dog. Tobie taught me about the joy of having a dog.
* * *
* * * * *
Oslo was there with me the night, when my mother fell
at my parents’ home, hit her head, and was rushed to the hospital to have life
saving brain surgery on a bleeding brain aneurysm. The doctor told my Dad she
was ¾ dead, and my Dad told the physician to do whatever he could. Our friend Cindy
was planning to come help ticket merchandise that night, but arrived as I was
putting the phone down with this news from my Dad. I sat stunned and made some
other quick change of plans that alerted my friend Julie of the emergency. Before
long Julie was at my front door with ice cream.
Cindy and Julie sat with Oslo and me for the next six hours, amidst
boxes of merchandise ready for a store opening days away, while late night emergency
surgery was underway on the east coast. I kept asking what time it was and what
time it was in NY and what time my mother had gone into surgery. I couldn’t
track the time, so Cindy kept helping me, first with pacific coast time, then east coast
time, and where we were in the six hours of anticipated surgery. Finally, I
took Oslo for a walk outside, and once outside, I sat on a curb and cried
aloud. Oslo rested his head on my knee and
tried to lick the tears rolling down my face. He was not yet 2 years old, but
was there for me, by my side.
Oslo was there in the fall of 2007, a few years later
to meet my Mom and Dad when Mom was finally strong enough, with some assistance
from my sister and brother in law, to make the cross-country trip. After years
of semi-annual visits to Seattle, it was the only trip she was able to make in
the last 8 years of her life. My Mother wanted to see the store. And she wanted
to meet Oslo, who quickly determined he should sit down by her side.
Oslo was there that same Fall, when unexpectantly life
happened and suddenly I stepped into an exploration I had denied myself for 25
years. He made no judgments, he didn’t really care whether there was a man in
my bed or a women. He was the first to know I was finally dealing with my sexual
identity and he really didn’t care. He really only cared that he got his ½ of
the bed, his glucosamine treat on his pillow, and was able to sleep by my side.
Oslo was there to accompany me on Pride Sunday Morning
when for a few years; we had an early morning routine of driving to Capital
Hill. We’d park a few blocks away and walk to pick up my wristlet for entry to The
Cuff’s afternoon street party. These annual morning walks were a personal Pride Tradition and Oslo pranced in pride to by my side.
Oslo was there the day I came home from my court appointment
declaring bankruptcy and the shame and failure I felt in losing it all to
pursue supposedly a dream I had never dreamt, but only saw as an opportunity.
He sat by my side that day and didn’t care that I had literally lost my shirt.
He had a collection of tennis balls he'd found throughout our neighborhood. He had picked
them up in his mouth on our walks and stole them home. So he wasn’t worried, we could
still play together and walk to Bhy Kracke Park, side by side.
Oslo was there when a few months later I got the call to
come east as soon as possible, my mother was dying and I shook and I cried. I
rallied the forces and left on a jet plane 5 hours later wishing I had Oslo by
my side.
Oslo was there when relationships blew up, when fast
exits were made, or slow disintegration wiped away all the good and left only
the awkward. And as I quietly pondered the why and what ifs, he was there, by
my side.
Oslo was always ready, when you put your coat on, to jump into the back seat of my car for a day trip, or a short ride in the car,
or a walk to Starbucks where we’d sit outside and he watched hoping for the
last bite of a sausage egg sandwich. He was there for a hike, or just walk to
the park, or a swim in the lake where’d he retrieve two tennis balls in his
mouth and swim back dropping them off by my side.
Oslo was always there to share a pint of Haagen Dasz
ice cream at night. Coffee was his favorite. And he knew how to use a lick with
his tongue to warm the back of the spoon, so the ice cream slowly glided into
his mouth. He always licked out the container lying on the floor by my side.
Oslo became my rock, my confidant, my friend, my
teacher, and my companion. For a guy who owned a men’s clothing store, he was
my best fashion accessory, appropriately standing by my side.
Oslo led me to find four leaf clovers on our walks, 100s. And then at the end of our daily walks, he loved to take hold of his leash with his mouth
and be set free to run the last few houses to home. And when he felt frisky,
he’d run around in circles and up onto neighbors’ lawns just wanting to be
playful for a good game of chase. He became all puppy, begging to play by kneeling
downward doggy style by my side.
Oslo adapted to shared living arrangements with guys I
started dating and sometimes didn’t bother to lift his head when I brought home
the wrong guys, some of the rare times he didn’t want to be by my side.
Oslo loved a dinner party; he loved cocktails and barbecues,
and Christmas and his own stocking. He loved parties at the store and parties
at home. He excelled at guarding the food standing watch table side.
Oslo loved heading out to Issaquah to see the Hankeys
and run in their backyard with their Golden, Hudson. As soon as we turned into
their community, he knew where he was going and his excitement magnified. He
knew most likely a tennis ball would be under the stove. And Oslo loved when
Jennifer and her boys, two Rhodesian Ridgebacks, came to town and we gathered
for dinners, or occasionally loaded the pups into the car and three buddies, Lewis and Clark and Oslo, rode side by side.
Oslo loved Aunt Cindy and stayed with her when I
travelled. He wanted so desperately to earn the love of her two cats, first
Kuching and later Chomiel. When Kuching died, during one of Oslo’s visits,
sensing her grief, he got on Aunt Cindy’s bed and it was the only time she allowed Oslo to sleep by her side.
We think Chomeil and Oslo were friends, though that’s between them, it’s their
business, and they kept a good act going in public. But nearly every trip Cindy
would report to me that she ended up watching TV on the sofa with both Chomeil and Oslo on both sides.
Oslo loved having his picture taken. He was a poser. He
always looked good and he put up with my long hair, my highlighted hair, my
stubble, my beard, and even my mustache. He didn’t care; he still licked my
face, and knew sitting next to me when the photo was taken, he’d be the better
looking in the photograph posing by my side.
Oslo loved the Seattle Seahawks because it meant party
snacks and sofa time with his papa sitting by his side.
Oslo however, hated umbrellas! I goofed and took one on
a walk when he was a puppy, opened it with the click of the automated button, it instantly expanded open, scared him, and he ran, but was still leashed. So suddenly, I started going round
and round holding the opening umbrella upward in the rain with one hand and a
leashed Oslo in my other hand trying to run away. No animated cartoon could have been funnier as we went around in circles. The
rest of his life he didn’t like umbrellas. When he saw café tables with an umbrella,
he became statute dog and we would have to cross the street. If on a rainy day someone
walked into the store with an umbrella he slowly moved around and hid by my side.
Oslo had a Facebook page and he had a social network. The
staff at Queen Anne Animal Clinic friended Oslo. Fergus Corrie, in Australia,
became a four legged pen pal, and David, the band guy back east, shared about
his own dog named Oslo, even North Carolina Debbie sent Oslo virtual belly rubs,
so much so, Oslo was able to overlook and forgive her devotion to the New
England Patriots. If you were a friend, and given the chance, Oslo would want
to sit by your side.
Oslo had plenty of love for everyone. He made friends,
lots of them, and oddly enough some of my favorite people today, were his
friends first. He loved the coming and goings of the store and people coming to
our apartment. Even on his last days he was so happy to see his friends: Dr.
Naomi, the acupuncturist, his Aunt Cindy, our neighbors, Joanne and Dick. His
tail would thump against the sofa or the floor and he’d raise his head and lift
his eyebrows and smile, no longer mobile, it was his invitation to come and sit by his side.
* * *
* * * * *
Thursday, May 14th, was tough. Oslo seemed
unable to stand on his own. We tried several times. I’d get him started with a
double lift on the two handles on his harness, and he just couldn’t find his
feet and plant them and then he’d just lean and not be able to take a step. We
tired. And tried again. And finally he’d sit on his haunches and lay back down
and so I sat down next to him and with one arm around him, I reached over with my
other hand and stroked his head and we just stared out over the lawn. And I
told him I loved him over and over again. And his big brown eyes looked up at
me and he smiled.
He finally took a few steps to do his some of his
business. But it was so hard for him. And I picked him up in my arms and carried him back home. I worried that Friday would be the same. His
body temperature had quickly spiked on Tuesday, and as quickly, it readjusted
to normal. We had been sleeping on the cool exposed hardwood floor at night and
cuddled every morning. Earlier in the week, while cuddled together in those
early mornings, I started to pray out loud that God would comfort us and ease his
pain and guide us together to peace and love. Friday there was no miracle, no
standing, and eventually, in mid morning, I made the inevitable call to the
Animal Clinic and cried.
There have only been a few times I have cried so much
that my head hurt and I couldn’t breath and on this Friday morning even the
decongestants didn’t work. I sat and watched Oslo sleep his usual morning nap
on the sofa. He appeared to be running a temperature again. I talked to my Dad
back east and soon thereafter my sister called me. And Dick and
Joanne, came downstairs to see him one last time.
After I showered I stood in my walk-in closet and
dressed. I put on a crisp white shirt and dark denim and my cordovan loafers.
My grey socks were a gift from Cindy from her last trip to Italy and were covered
with multi-colored dog paw prints. I got out my mother’s gold bunny pin and
pinned it onto the inside of my shirt pocket over my heart. I needed her
strength. All I kept thinking, consider me vain, was that: “a good looking dog
needed a well dressed master” and Oslo deserved for me to look my best. Aunt
Cindy arrived soon thereafter.
At about 2:20 pm I picked up Oslo and carried him
through all the rooms of our apartment and out onto our deck and we looked at
the Seattle skyline and Mt. Rainier together. Then we went down the two
external flights of stairs and I placed him in the back seat of the car. We
headed down the street to Bhy Kracke Park a few blocks away. Once we turned the
corner he sat up, excited to be at one of his favorite places and was eager to be
lifted out of the car. I carried him in my arms to the grassy lawn and placed
him on the ground kneeling next to him. He caught a few throws of the tennis
ball and
snagged a few treats floating through the air. Our time was so rapidly
coming to an end. Once again in my arms, we walked the perimeter of the park
and then finally over to the bench and we sat and looked one last time at the
view and the city skyline. Seattle, our town was magnificent, a beautiful day, all the mountains were out in all their glory to honor us.
Our next stop was the Animal Clinic. Inside waiting to
say goodbye was Michael, the UPS man, and Oslo was happy to see his friend.
* * *
* * * * *
Oslo died at 3:30 pm, May 15th, 2015 on the
street he once owned, in the animal clinic that had treats with his friends by
his side.
* * *
* * * * *
I loved him. And he taught me about loving
unconditionally. Once he pulled too hard while walking down his street, I was
stupidly trying to manage his leash and two lattes. One latte fell out of my
hand, poured out hot all over him and I yelled at him. He turned and licked the
spilt steamed milk off my hand.
In his final weeks, he trusted me, with the right look
he knew I’d help him outside and we could get his business done. With another
look he knew I could help him turn around the other way on the sofa. I’d turn him every night onto his back and with
his hind legs straight up, I’d rub the pitted edema around his tumor so his
circulation would drain and the swelling in his paw would go down. And I rubbed
aloe on the tightly stretched hot skin to cool it.
I cried when he was diagnosed at the end of September.
I brought him home and held him and cried. And I thanked him for all the times
he was by my side. And I promised him that first night that I would stay by his
side till he was ready. He taught me a great deal about love. About grace and
about humanity. I loved him more than anything else. And I learned humanity and
kindness from an animal.
He was my dream. I wanted to break away from all that
was expected and do something for me. I
wanted a dog. And in my mind, that was way outside the box. I supposedly didn’t
have the time for a dog or the home with a yard for a dog. I was supposedly supposed to be doing what it
was you did to be successful.
* * *
* * * * *
So the life chapter named Oslo is done.
The years have flown by and the actions and the events
are being written but how the lessons translate into the future, the next
chapters of my life are yet to know. Can I take the lessons Oslo taught me and
move forward?
* * *
* * * * *
He started to slow down last summer. We couldn’t walk
as far. In September, his leg appeared swollen so we went for a treat at the
Animal Clinic on his street and we left with a diagnosis of cancer,
Osteosarcoma, a vicious and aggressive bone cancer that would metastasize in
his lungs and he was given a few weeks to live.
I opted not to amputate the inflicted leg and start
chemotherapy, most likely the cancer was already in his lungs. With this
treatment option, the time he might have had left would be spent recovering
from major surgery. I chose, instead, to honor the short time he had left and keep
him comfortable and physically whole.
Dr. Gamber, his Vet, discussed, a relatively new
treatment that was more palliative in nature, an IV infusion of a
bisphosphonate called Pamidronate, which could be administered and would “calm”
the angry cells in the tumor, the bad cells destroying the bone and the good
cells trying to mend the bone. He had a war inside him. We’d give it to him
every 21-28 days, I expected we’d do this once or twice, the cancer was
probably already metastasizing and I chose not to x-ray to find out his lung
status. Thanksgiving was 8 weeks away. There
was a strong possibility the bone could break and that would be the immediate
end. I came home the next day with carpet runners and built the OSLO
Superhighway covering every possible route he might walk on the hardwood
floors.
And we opened up our home for fun and entertained
perhaps 50 friends who came to see Oslo over the remaining months. And at first
while Oslo was mobile it was the usual gatherings throughout our home,
cocktails in the living room, dinner at the table; but with time as he became
less mobile and reigned from the sofa in the den, we would join him there and
sit with him and he thrived on all the love generated by these visits and the
attention.
He received the IV treatment 8 times. And for the first
few treatments, when I picked him up, he’d prance out the clinic’s door onto
the street he once owned. In February,
we started acupuncture once a week, Dr. Naomi came to us.
The tumor on his back leg grew to the size of a cantaloupe
and
possibly weighed up to 8 pounds in the end. And somewhere during that time,
his leg no longer touched the ground. In his final month, I used a Help’emUp
harness to assist with his burden. He waited each morning for me to put it on,
and smiled, knowing he’d be able to get up and move outside. He was able to
chase after a tennis ball again when he first starting wearing it.
He lived 228 days. Seven and a half months. He beat the
odds, made the staff at the clinic smile, and he fought long and hard and never
stopped lifting his head and smiling. The cancer didn’t win. Our love did.
In his final weeks, as I carried him in my arms every
morning and night up the hill to flat land, so he could walk, I would sing out
loud to him.
I’ve got the puppy,
And the puppy got me,
We are happy as we can be.
I’ve got the puppy,
And the puppy got me,
We are happy as 1, 2, 3.
We slept sometimes, when he was hot from the meds, on
the hard cool wood floor. And for seven and a half months we left the light on
in the bedroom, just in case. The bonds between us in the end were so strong.
From “his” sofa, he could look at me, every morning I set up a card table to
work by his side, and I knew if it was water, or a hug, or a treat, or a
readjustment of his legs. And sometimes when he’d look at me I could just see
the love and maybe the hope he had that I’d figure it out in the days ahead. The
look of perhaps the teacher looking at the student and wondering, did he learn
what I have taught him… will the path become easier?
* * *
* * * * *
Pepper taught me about the responsibilities of having a
dog. Tobie taught me about the joy of having a dog.
Oslo taught me how to love. And with him by my side, I
took risks, professional, financial, and creative. I stepped out of myself and
changed, confronted demons that had me hidden in the closet, and my heart
opened with grace and empathy.
Oslo taught me about loyalty and love and companionship
and compassion.
Maybe Oslo really is on that spaceship with Nick to the
alternate universe. He did, after all, spend hours sitting and listening
patiently to Nick’s planning when really no one else ever would.
Oslo was a great dog, because he was my dog, and he
taught me so much without me ever realizing it. He helped write a significant
chapter in my life and I was changed.
There are thousands of dogs guiding and shaping their
humans every day with their love. Are you open to it? They are all
extraordinary.
And my GREAT dog was named Oslo.
* * *
* * * * *
I really don’t have a lot of big dreams. I think when
you live in fear of being outed, you don’t dream much. You don’t see
possibility you see risk. I really am a simple guy, with not too many
expectations, not too many extravagant desires. And life and age has seemingly
trimmed many options out of reach… it happens.
But I do dream, simple stuff.
And now I know for sure that I had one come true and it
started as a young man and the dream grew. And I was reluctant that it was not
possible, and I wrote about it in Norway. And later I called that dream Oslo. And
it was good. No, it was extraordinarily good. IT WAS GREAT. Oslo was one of my greatest achievements, I
think about Oslo and I smile, because I loved fully with no regrets and I
learned. Everyone loved Oslo; it warmed my heart and made me so proud that a
dog could impact so many.
And we did our best to make the most of every day.
Especially these last seven months. It was now, for me, time to stay by his
side. In fact, I feel as though I may have learned the most from him during
this time. He never stopped smiling, he never stopped wagging his tail when a
friend visited, and he continued loving his very limited life and those around him. But still that
day I feared so long ago occurred yesterday, Friday, May 15th, 2015.
My dog, my teacher, my friend, my Oslo died.
So, the dream, the now glorious dream and that chapter
of my life called Oslo are part of something bigger. And I am richer for it, I am lucky, my dream
came true. And Oslo is forever more in my heart guiding me forward.
OSLO & friends
OSLO
(video produced by Shelle Singer / Stardog Photo)
(video produced by Shelle Singer / Stardog Photo)
