Aubrey’s Chesterfield Murphy 2001-2012
“My little dog, a heartbeat at my feet....” Edith Wharton
There was a fall chill in the air, the kind that awakens the
body to remind one that winter is on its way. The evening sky cast a glow from
the full moon reflecting sparkles from the stars. I sat in front of the fire
with my little dog Buddy at my feet. The house was quiet; silence prevailed. Silence
can sometimes be a comfort, but on a cold evening, when one is alone, silence
can be deafening as loneliness settles a bit on the heart. The mind is left to
wander and drift to buried caverns.
As I sat enjoying the glow and warmth from the fire, Buddy
and I heard a thump from above. We remained still for a moment. Buddy became alert and
on guard, his head tilted towards the ceiling as I too turned my head upwards,
aware that the noise came from my bedroom. My heart began to race. No one was
in the house except for Buddy and me. Did I have an intruder?
We sat still and listened for another sound but none came.
The sound though was all too familiar: It wasn’t a crash, it wasn’t the floor
settling, it wasn’t a door closing. It was a thump, as if something hopped off
my bed and landed on the floor. I knew that sound all too well. I knew because
I have heard that sound many times throughout the past eleven years. It was the
sound of a dog jumping off my bed.
I realized, in that particular moment, I was lost in my
thoughts remembering my dog Chester that passed a year ago. That chilly autumn
eve I travelled to a place in my heart that welcomed a visit from my sweet
Chester. Or perhaps it was the wind.
I will never forget the day we brought Chester home. We had
the pick of the litter. There were so many cute fur balls, how could one
possibly choose? My husband was impressed by the alpha of the pack, clearly the
biggest in size and personality. With great big paws and staunch shoulders,
this puppy trotted on over and began to tug and pull at shoelaces, nibble and
chew, jump and wrestle with us. Then, as if to further impress, he performed in
front of us, with inferior puppy pride, a great big poop over the air vent. From
one alpha to the next, the deal was sealed. That fine spring day, we took him
home with us. We named him Chester after our beloved Chester County, PA.
As I gathered him in my arms, we said a quick goodbye to his
ten brothers and sisters, and a final lick and cuddle from his momma pooch
Aubrey. I held Chester on my lap for the car ride home. He began to shiver, whimper
and whine, calling for his family. My heart bled for the little pooch knowing
he had just been ripped away from the only home he knew and placed in the arms
of strangers. Sensing his despair, I promised him I would take care of him all
his life long as I held him tight and gave him love. As I nuzzled my nose up
against his soft, fuzzy head, his forehead smelled so sweet, like spring and
all its’ blossoms. His scent was intoxicating. I closed my eyes and inhaled.
Springer Spaniels are medium sized dogs and can be either
the field or bench variety. Bench bred are meant for showing whereas field bred
are used for flushing out birds. Chester was a liver and white, bench, English
Springer Spaniel. Being that Chester was a bench Springer, he did not incur the
desired hunting instincts my husband hoped would flush out pheasants. In fact,
after about two hunting excursions, with Chester cowering under a truck at the
sound of gunshots, we deemed him suitable as a lap dog with show dog qualities;
the perfect attributes for someone with narcissistic tendencies.
And Chester did make us look good. He was a gorgeous dog;
prettiest you ever saw! People stopped us on the street, “What kind of dog is
he? He is so good looking!” Chester was handsome. He had long, silky, pure
white feathers that graced his arms, legs and underbelly. His markings were to
perfection. He had a touch of lighter fur above his brows which indicated if he
ever bred he would produce tri-colored puppies – a very rare and desirable
trait. His snout was long and square with floppy ears that dropped to the
perfect length. Coming from champion stock, Chester was a show stopper. If it
weren’t for those droopy, bloodshot eyes, he too could have taken home some
blue ribbons.
We weren’t interested in a show dog, just a dog to love. I
believe that a house is not a home without a dog. Since we were newlyweds,
setting up a new home, both of us having grown up with dogs, this seemed a
natural progression to growing our family.
Chester was our first baby. We took him for swims in the
Brandywine River, walks along Stroud’s Preserve where horses galloped past us
in search of fox. Talley Ho! He had play dates out in the field near our home
where all the dogs from the neighborhood would gather to run, chase, fetch, and
be free. He often joined us on the Eastern Shore of Maryland filled with
endless opportunity for swims in Trippe Creek, playing with crabs in a salt
water bath.
Chester was with us when we made our big move to Kentucky.
He adapted well chasing horses in the field behind our home. Chester kept me
company late at night when tornado warnings sent us running for more secure
shelter. We would huddle in the basement waiting for the storms to pass as the
sky howled lighting up in blue and purple hues.
Chester always accompanied me on my walks. He was a
companion on most road trips. He was always at my side, sticking to me like Velcro.
If he wasn’t at my side, he was on my lap, all 50 pounds of him. He was a big
mush ball. I swear he was part human. You could just look into his hazel eyes
and see his soul. Chester would talk: Hungry, he had a sound; thirsty, he told
you; needed to go out, he spoke; wanted your attention, he had sentences.
Chester could open doors and drawers with his paws, trash
cans too. He must have had opposable thumbs. He was a good dog but mischievous at
times. He often times tried flexing his alpha muscles which resulted in teenage
battles between Master Mom and pooch. He always showed remorse and was quick to
apologize, bowing his head and licking my hand.
He was around for the birth of our three children, our move
to North Carolina, and often made appearances on our Christmas cards. He loved
to swim, his giant, webbed paws could tread water for hours chasing sticks. He
loved a good paw massage, and loved to have you hold him like a baby and rub
his belly. He was ever so faithful, full of love, and very gentle and friendly
with children.
Chester spent the rest of his days on the hill of our North
Carolina home. He chased butterflies and squirrels, and before losing his
hearing, he chased that yippy Schnauzer named Pepper which caused a bit of a
conflict with the neighbors. He took less road trips with us, and a walk became
a treat versus the norm of his past. I grew tired of his big, heavy body trying
to sit on my lap so he was relegated to the floor.
I became frustrated with his ornery, mischievous ways. He
took to jumping on counters and tables, stealing food sometimes straight out of
your hand, and he seized any opportunity to get into the trash. Such naughtiness
caused sporadic vomiting and diarrhea that left me to contend with a nasty
mess. He constantly licked and slurped and made obnoxious noises such as snoring
that shook the house. Sometimes I swore I had four children and not three. I
was too busy for him. He became a bit of a nuisance for me and I grew tired of
his shenanigans.
When our family became broken, Chester started to slow even
more. He lost his master and was left to comfort our broken hearts. The last
couple of years of his life he slept with my oldest son, providing him with much
needed reassurance and security. The two became very attached and best friends.
I knew Chester was getting up there in years but I figured
he had a couple good ones left. I took notice of his slowing and brought him to
the vet just to be sure there was nothing serious going on in that aging body
of his. The vet ran some blood work, but other than that “he checked out as
healthy as a three year old dog.” The vet also added, “That’s not to say there
isn’t something more serious going on that we just can’t see. We could run
X-rays and invasive surgery but bottom line, dogs don’t live forever. They
usually die of one of three things: liver or kidney failure, or cancer. That
being said, he checks out fine, just has some arthritis which is probably what
is slowing him down. Just enjoy him.”
A big vet bill later, I was happy he was healthy but adamantly protested to
the vet, “That’s it, I am not spending another dime on this dog. He is just
getting old, slowing down, and what will be will be. You won’t hear from me for
a while I can assure you of that!”
A week later, I wanted to do more for Chester, he just
didn’t seem right to me. I called the vet and another big vet bill later, he
was on pain medication for his arthritis and an antibiotic just in case he had
some internal undetectable infection. I swore, "This is it, I am not spending another dime on this dog."
We spent the last couple weeks of his life pampering him. I
kept waiting for the new medications to kick in and perk him up a bit. I remember taking Chester on our last walk, not knowing at the time this was our last walk. We
often walked along an old winding dirt road that weaved through woods and
undulating hills. There, on that secluded path, I was able to take off his
leash and let him roam free to smell every scent wafting through the air. He
wouldn’t roam far as one call of his name sent him running towards me, ears
flapping in the wind like “Mighty Dog.”
On our last walk we only made it half way when Chester just sat in the middle of the road. Clearly uncomfortable, I attributed it to his arthritis and carried that 50 pound dog home the rest
of the way.
One crisp fall Saturday, we returned from my son’s lacrosse
game. We found Chester lying by the garbage cans as if to say, "I’m done, put me
out with the trash."
I thought it odd for him to be lying in that spot. "Silly
Chester, what is he up to now?" I thought as he never once lay there before. "Perhaps he’s not
feeling well from the mysterious bacteria in his system or maybe his arthritis
is getting the best of him." I carried him inside and put him on the couch where
he would be more comfortable.
I was concerned he wasn’t eating. In denial, once again I
attributed it to the phantom infection. I wanted to rectify the situation. I
grabbed the turkey baster, crushed his antibiotic and arthritic pain
medication, let it dissolve in water, sucked it up with the baster and squirted
it in his mouth. I thought, “Once the medication kicks in, he’ll be back to his
spunky self.”
We waited all afternoon for him to perk up. We made his
favorite, peanut butter cookies, but he didn’t want any. We sat with Chester on
the couch all day long. We spoiled him and gave him lots of love.
I kept praying, “If only the medicine would start working,
he’d feel a lot better.” But as the day progressed, Chester was getting worse. His
legs gave out and he became paralyzed from the waist down. His constantly in
motion tail ceased to smile. He began to moan a sound I had never
heard. My children were witnessing his suffering and I realized the medicine
was never going to work. I had to face reality.
I called the vet hospital to explore my options. I needed to
make the decision that every pet owner dreads. Through my sadness, I was concerned about the cost.
The hospital staff informed be about public versus private cremation. “But what is a public cremation?”
I asked. Not happy about the answer, “A public cremation involves burning
remains of all the deceased and is the most cost efficient.” My Chester wouldn’t
have that. He deserved better.
I left the kids with my mom who fortunately was in town for
a visit. I told them I was taking Chester to the hospital to see if they could
make him better. “Will Chester be coming home?” they wanted to know. “We’d
see,” I said.
I loaded Chester onto a big foam cushion and placed him as
comfortably as I could in the back seat. The kids gave him a kiss goodbye. My little
four year old was crying, and I didn’t realize that in his young years he was
so attached. My eight year old daughter, the strong one, fought to hold back
tears. My oldest son Tommy, the one whom shared his bed and most of his heart,
stood a few feet away from the car and cried out for Chester. Tears streamed
down his cheek, the weight of his sorrow was evident as he pleaded, “Don’t go
Chester, please don’t go. I love you Chester, please come home. I don’t want
you to go!” He knew he’d never see his furry friend again and there was nothing
I could do to make it better.
I stopped at my neighbor Phyllis’s house. She had a
particular fondness for Chester. An eternal animal lover, I wanted him to say
goodbye to her. She gave him a kiss and assured me that someday we would all see
him on Rainbow Bridge.
Fortunately my friend offered to drive me to
the hospital which allowed me to comfort Chester. As I sat in the back of the car with
him, his moans becoming more frequent and piercing, his suffering intensified. I held his head on my lap, caressing it, promising him it would be
alright and that I’d take care of him. His gums started turning white and I could not stop the tears from flowing.
Arriving at the hospital, the sun had already set. I carried
him in thinking "This is the end of the road." His time had come. I figured they would just whisk
him away and that would be the end. When I signed in, they asked my permission
to evaluate his condition. I hesitated, knowing they would want to run all sorts
of tests that had already been performed, with exorbitant amounts of vet fees I
couldn’t afford. I expressed this concern but they gave me hope that there may
be something they could do to save him.
With a glimmer of hope, I gave my consent. I was starting to
feel hope and my sadness and despair started to diminish ever so slightly. I
knew this pooch had a couple more good years left in him after all!
The vet returned with news that they found an obstruction.
“An obstruction! That’s all it is! I knew that dog got into something. Get it
out, do what you have to do, I’ll take it from my savings no matter the
cost.” I felt so relieved that his condition was just an obstruction. “Is
it a tennis ball, golf ball, bone, plastic toy?" I asked. "That Chester! Always getting
into something. The kids will be so happy when I bring him back to them....”
The vet interrupted, “No, it’s cancer.”
Cancer. With that one word I knew the decision needed
to be made. And just as I was about to make it, the nurse came in and said, “I
think Chester is making the decision for us. It’s time, he is waiting for you.
He is holding on to see you one last time.”
I went back to the room where he lay under a bright light. His gaze
fixed on mine. His eyes never wavered. I held his paw and gave the doctor my consent
to administer the drug that would cease his suffering. And then it all happened
so quickly. I wasn’t prepared. I kept babbling about what a good dog he was,
recounting all of his antics and silly Chester stories. Before I could finish, he was gone. My dear pooch was gone.
There was such silence. Such a peaceful silence fell over
the room. My Chester looked so peaceful and at rest. I was struck by the beauty
of death.
They placed a blanket over him, and he lay a vision of a sweet,
sleeping puppy. With insurmountable dignity, they allowed me time with him in a private room. In silence, under the bright fluorescent lights, I sat there, just me and my
pooch. I held his paw. I told him how much I loved him, what a good dog he was,
how much I was going to miss him. I apologized for our fights, for the times I
didn’t give him the attention he deserved, for the times I took him for
granted. I wished for those times to return. I cried and then cried some more.
My tears would not cease.
I knew I couldn’t stay in that room forever. Yet he still
felt warm, I didn’t want to leave him. I leaned over for one last kiss, nuzzling my nose into his soft, fuzzy fur. After all this time it still smell so
sweet, like spring and all its' blossoms.
When I came home, I told the kids the vet wanted to keep him
overnight. I wanted them to have a good night sleep after such an emotional day.
I kissed them all goodnight, and when deep in their slumber, I returned leaving each of them a plastered paw print of Chester near their bedside. When
they awoke the next morning, they would know and could face the day.
The next day was somber but life goes on. As we all piled into the car to run errands, Tommy entered the back seat where Chester lay just the
night before. Out rolled a giant poop. “Look Mommy, Chester left us a present!”
So he did, so he did. We took comfort in his gift.
Chester was just a dog. He was a pretty dog, a good dog, and
our dog. And he’s waiting for us on Rainbow Bridge.
To
all the pets that have passed, and all the owners that have lost their best
friend, I dedicate this post. In memory of Chester, Minnie, Amos, Teo, Nittany,
Remi, Princess, Honey, Paddington, and Marley to name a few. They are our
heartbeats at our feet. Without them, our home just isn’t complete. Until we
meet again…
“Rainbow Bridge” Author Unknown
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge…
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here,
that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our
special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food,
water and sunshine and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and
vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as
we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are
happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very
special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly
stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body
quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green
grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally
meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The
happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head,
and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from
your life but never absent from your heart
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….
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