Mourning a Friend With Four Legs, One Big Heart

We just lost our best friend. He was a devoted family companion who was always there to greet us with a wag, a lick or a woof. Our beloved Yorkshire terrier, Winston, succumbed very suddenly to a liver tumor.

During the emergency surgery, Winston lost too much blood and, despite transfusions, didn’t have enough strength left to pull through. It was just his time.

Winston was 12, and one of our first vets called him the “Hulk Hogan” of Yorkies because he was huge for his breed--a whopping 17 pounds.

He was small of stature yet totally fearless and never backed down from a challenge. A few years ago he crossed paths with a huge Rottweiler on a walk. He jumped under the Rottweiler, gave him a quick nip on the throat and sent the dog whimpering down the street. The Rottweiler’s owner and I just stood there and laughed, as it was such an incongruous scene.

Winston was a tough little scrapper. A car sideswiped him during the first few weeks we had him, but he was only briefly knocked out and soon recovered. Twice he jumped off the roof of our house chasing after our cat, each time bouncing off a large fern with no apparent side effects other than wounded pride.

He loved to run on the golf course adjacent to the house and frequently would snatch someone’s golf ball on the fairway, much to the chagrin of many a golfer, whom I would then join in trying to chase the dog down. Fortunately, most of the golfers were good sports about it.

Winston’s passing struck a nerve with family, friends and colleagues as the love for a pet is universal. Calls and e-mails came in nationwide and from overseas as many remembered what a great little guy he was.

Too often people feel--sometimes they are made to feel by others--that their reactions to a pet’s death are abnormal or exaggerated. Balderdash. Pain and grief are perfectly normal, and these feelings shouldn’t be locked up.

The years with Winston were full of unconditional love and acceptance, fun and joy. Our pets are individuals with their own personalities, quirks, likes and dislikes. They are not replaceable pieces, so don’t rush out to get a new pet. It takes time to mourn and heal, and you’ll make too many comparisons.

We elected to have Winston cremated and scattered his ashes out among the avocado groves we own near our home in Fallbrook.

Help for the grieving is available. The Web site for the Assn. for Pet Loss and Bereavement, www.aplb.org, offers chat rooms, newsletters and a list of qualified counselors. Another site, www.petloss.net , provides a welter of online resources. A good hotline is available at (509) 335-5704 or www.vetmed.wsu.edu.

In 1928, playwright Eugene O’Neill wrote a last will and testament “penned” by Blemie, the family Dalmatian, to comfort his wife after the dog’s death. In the closing paragraph, Blemie offered these last words of farewell: “Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long and happy life with you: ‘Herein lies one who loved us and whom we loved.’ No matter how deep my sleep, I shall hear you, and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.”

I’m sure Winston and Blemie are looking down right now, wagging their tails, chasing lizards and just hangin’ out.