Kilo

When I lost my sheltie last year I knew why she died. For the last five of Lady’s thirteen years we’d waged a losing war against arthritis. In the end the medicine stopped working, our shield had rusted. Kilo’s situation was not so straightforward. No one can tell me for certain what was wrong with him. Veterinarians, behaviorists, trainers, breeders . . . somewhere, somehow, something was just wrong. A screw had wiggled loose.

Kilo went to sleep today. The only way I or anyone else was going to be able to keep him was with drugs and a lifelong behaviorist. My big bear was already acting uncomfortable; I couldn’t imagine drugging him up for the rest of his life. But he was no longer safe to be around either. He’d become unpredictable, moody and aggressive. Still, at times, he’d look at me with those huge brown eyes and I’d see the goofy puppy in him. It was not a decision any of us wanted to make, and yet, realistically there was no other option.

The mule was such an individual. His personality was impossible to ignore and at times it could quite literally smother you. I have never met a dog with so much stubborn persistence. But he could make me laugh, and he knew how to enjoy life. Blunder first, wonder later. Even amongst all of the heartache, there are so many cute stories. Tomorrow I’m sure that I’ll get up missing his rise-and-shine nose bump and the image of his head hanging out the car window, chin resting on the ledge, ears flapping in the wind . . .

For awhile at least, this blog will be empty. The big dog is gone. His adventures have ended.

Kilo: 3/25/2010 – 4/27/2011