In Memory of Dudley

I’ve been doing some more pet sitting lately, of which I am very grateful. I have missed the laid back, unhurried times I spent with all my animal clients. You don’t know what you miss till it’s gone. Today I had two sits which were uneventful and pleasant. As I rode from one house to another, I passed a home where I once made regular stops. I wanted to share this experience with you and though it happened a few years ago, thinking about it and re-living it brought it vividly back to mind.

I used to care for Dudley, an aging but delightful apricot standard poodle. Dudley had become one of my favorite dog clients. Surprisingly, I had discovered that my affection and respect for older animals was profoundly more intense than for their younger counterparts. A mature, yes, even a geriatric animal has so much more to offer than a youngster. Their wise, soulful eyes and calm demeanor seem to communicate deep understanding and appreciation for human love and caring.

Dudley’s owners, Jane and Bill, had given me the garage door opener allowing me access though the garage and into the laundry room which was the same way they entered the house. Dudley was highly protective of his home, and entering with a key through the front door may have elicited some aggression. I was quite happy to avoid that - old or not, the dog still had big, pointy teeth!

William greeted me at the door with noisy barking and lots of tail wagging. He wasn’t much of kisser but he allowed me to kiss the top of his long nose and pat his chest. As I leashed him for his walk, I noticed he hadn’t eaten his dinner from the previous night – again. Dudley was one of those dogs that went on a hunger strike when the owners were away. Normally, this was of little concern – most dogs can stand to lose a pound or two - but because of Dudley’s advanced age, I always worried about him. In addition, the old man had some health issues, like heart and liver disease, so I always kept a sharp eye on him and breathed a huge sigh of relief each time I arrived and he was OK.

We ambled around the block, both of us savoring the gorgeous morning. I enjoyed these walks with Dudley. He sniffed this bush and that and nonchalantly left his autograph on every tree and mailbox post we passed while I admired the elegant homes and landscaping in this upscale neighborhood. His calm demeanor relaxed me and I felt better than I had in days.

We returned to the house and as I washed out his water bowl and filled it with fresh water, Dudley stretched out on the cool tile and heaved a great sigh. I sank down beside him on the floor and lifted his head onto my lap. I sat for awhile with the old guy, scratching his curly head and enjoying the quiet serenity we shared. Glancing at my watch, I realized it was time to go. I reached down and gave him a goodbye kiss on his long nose.

“See ya later, old man,” I said. He wagged his tail and looked up at me, chin still resting on the floor. I left the house, not knowing that this visit was the last one I would ever have with him.

I experienced an uneasiness all day long to which I had no solution. I guessed that inwardly I was worried about this thing or another and managed to just push this discomfort away.

As I traveled back toward Dudley’s house that evening, the now-familiar feeling of unease that I’d experienced off and on during the entire day began to wash over me once again. What in the world was the matter with me, I wondered inwardly. I rolled down the windows of my Jeep and deeply inhaled the cool evening air, trying to shake this malaise. As I turned down the quiet street where Dudley lived, I glanced at the other homes lining the road, each one heavily curtained by mature trees and overgrown shrubs. A warm glow twinkled occasionally from between branches of the foliage and here and there I could see the lights from a television set or glimpse a family gathered round a dinner table. The evening was quiet and serene with the sounds of crickets and frogs greeting me as I parked in the drive and opened the garage door with the opener I kept in my glove box. The garage light came on automatically and as I cautiously entered, my heart began to race and my stomach jumped and lurched uneasily. Reaching for the door knob, it suddenly occurred to me that I heard no familiar barking. Hot tears of fear, panic and dread jumped to my eyes and my heart pounded in my chest as I slowly opened the door.

“Dudley,” I called softly, my voice quavering. “Come here, old man. Let’s go for a walk.”

Flipping on lights, I slowly walked around the corner to the kitchen. The old dog’s silent form lay motionless on the floor, just where I had last sat with him early that morning. Oh God, please no, I silently pleaded, as I held my breath and stared intently at his side, hoping, praying, to see some movement. My heart breaking, tears flowing freely down my face, I sank to my knees beside him and stroked his curly head. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no response to my touch. His big, brown eyes stared ahead glassily, the playful twinkle forever extinguished. I sat beside my friend for a long time, crying unashamedly at the passing of this wonderful creature, postponing for as long as I could the phone call I was next required to make. I understood now why I had been so out of sorts all day long.

Somehow, I had known.