I had to pass through the yard of the shelter to get to the office. I had not been in a shelter for several years, so it was an emotional experience. All those dogs barking at the sight of a stranger, me, in their territory. Happily, these were well-cared-for dogs, all now shouting 'Love me! Love ME! LOVE ME!' I had brought a couple of boxes of treats to throw around. All the dogs were jumping for the treats, except one... He was a big yellow dog and he seemed oblivious, his eyes looking but not seeing, turning in circles, sitting down but then standing up again and circling, always circling. I tossed him a treat, but he didn't seem to see it. I tossed another, at his mouth. He caught it, looked at me with his hopeless eyes, then let it drop, like he didn't know or care what the treat was for.
I asked about him in the office... He had just been, I was told, abandoned-- again. He was feeling lost and depressed. I had another look at him again on my way out. Hey, fella, I thought, I know how you feel... I had just lost Guenady, my beloved companion, and this dog's distress was like my own. But I wasn't getting another... I was in too much pain. Besides, no dog could replace Guenady. And my little Mamoune, my spaniel from the Reunion Island, adopted to be a company for him, in his old age, well, I would find her a good home and let her go. She had reacted to Guenady's death by going into a depression. She slept day and night, after he died, waking up only to eat and to go for necessity walks...
Still, I thought about the big yellow dog all through the week. I knew how he felt, being abandoned, feeling lost. He must be very sensitive to react that way, I thought.
I went back to the shelter the next weekend and asked if I could walk him. They let me take him on a leash, and although Guenady was bigger, the yellow dog was harder to handle. He barked left and right (shouting insults, it seemed) at all the other dogs on the way out, 'Look at me! Look at me! I'm going for a walk and you're not' He pulled me along, and I had to admit I was afraid he'd get away from me, so we didn't stay out long... My little Mamoune waited safely in the car.
I went back the next weekend, to walk him again. And I thought and thought. Could it be right, so soon after Guenady died, to take another dog? Wasn't it a betrayal? Finally I decided that there was a little place that had opened up in my 'home' and if I offered that place to another dog in distress, Guenady (so good, so wise!) could only approve...
So, the third weekend, I went back to the shelter and adopted the big yellow dog. He jumped into my car and sniffed at Mamoune in the front seat, who snapped at him. 'Whose this?' she seemed to ask. 'What's this uncouth ruffian doing with US?' She cold-shouldered him for a day or two, but the big yellow dog seemed to be trying so hard to fit in. And so, soon Mamoune and I too were in love with him. And when Missy arrived, a little black labrador abandoned by a young homeless couple, she attached herself to Ralph, too, just like the rest of us, his harem.
But there was always something wild about him, something untamed. His eyes could go vacant and crazy, and his reactions were so quick, sometimes he was gone in just the second it took me to reach for his leash, getting out of the car. He was always ready to hurl insults at other dogs, and caused me a lot of problems in the beginning, until I decided he wasn't going to change, so I adapted our lives to him, to his misbehavior. He was too old to train, I was told by trainers. At the shelter, they had said he was two, but did they really know? I think he must have been at least three. And mentally super-quick, super-sensitive... Not what everyone wants in a dog.
Those fast reactions got me into trouble before I began to take the necessary precautions. I adopted him at the end of February 2001 and in mid-June of that same year, I was trying to get him into my car, to go do some marketing, and was guiding him with a hand around his collar, when he looked to the left, saw a cat, and bounded after it. He lifted me up and threw me to the ground in the process, onto the hard blacktop. Only then did I let go. He ran after the cat, Mamoune running behind him, their leashes flapping, and their barking covered up the sound of my hip breaking. So, when I went to get up and found myself flat on my nose, I didn't understand. Fortunately, some nurses from a local retirement home were just leaving their night shift and found me, got my dogs in hand and called the ambulance that took me to the hospital. From there I organized that the shelter take in Ralph and Mamoune, as there was no other solution for them. I had to have major surgery, and 2 ½ months of convalescence, during which all my friends told me to leave the big yellow dog, now known as Ralph, at the shelter, he was too much for me, and if he made me fall again, I might break my other hip. But strangely, Ralph became very dear to me during my convalencence. When I was better and learning to walk with crutches, some friends drove me out to the shelter to see my dogs. Mamoune was delighted with my visit, but Ralph was full of reproaches. When I left, he turned his back to show how disgusted he was with me, but he kept sneaking looks over his shoulder, hoping I wouldn't abandon him again. I couldn't wait for the day when I could take him back, and prove to him I wouldn't abandon him. Ever. No matter what.
I can't even guess at all he had lived through before me, but I remember when he first arrived with me, and I went to sweep the floor, he ran cowering into a corner. I understood that my broom was for him a weapon to use to beat him. He couldn't get used to the sight of a broom. Finally, I let him take one and chew on it. After that, he didn't cower anymore.
Ralph loved to chew. He chewed my shoes when I left him alone, he chewed my books, to punish me for reading and not giving him more attention. He even, once, chewed the arm off my sofa. Another time, it was an expensive portable radio that got crushed under his teeth. Finally, I began giving him chewing bones, which occupied him and saved my possessions. And there were periods over the years when I had to tie him, via a harness, when I went out, and make sure nothing was within reach. He loved going through the garbage, spreading it over the floor to get at the best items. And he stole food, even putting his front paws on the table to get at it. But you learn about these tricks and adapt, when you love a dog, so that your life together can go on.
Maybe it was losing my hip that bound me to Ralph so specially, or maybe it was that original sympathy with his distress. I used to kiss him and tell him, 'I'll never abandon you. I'll always come back!' But I know that he wasn't 100% reassured.
After his tragic death, I looked over my pictures of him and was surprised that I had never noticed how sad he usually seemed. Always, those sad eyes. Did he know our time together would be so short? Did he know that he was destined to suffer and have his life cut off early, while there were still years that could have been lived together? Maybe I would never have understood his anguish if we had gone the full route, to the natural end. Ralph never stopped worrying, perhaps understanding that I could not fathom his insecurities.
And so, he followed me everywhere. If I went into another room, he would wait a while, then come, too, just to see what I was doing. And so many times I told him, 'Go!' But at least he didn't have to go far, and not for long.
And I'm glad to say there were lots of treats. He loved to eat and while I never let him get fat, or eat unhealthily, food was important. When we went for our weekend drives to the country, for fresh-air walks and exploring nature, we always had a bag of cornchips to share on the way back. Now, I'll never eat cornchips again, they were part of that ritual with Ralph, and I won't ever share that again with anyone else, not even with myself alone, or with my other two dogs.
Several times he saved me from being aggressed. No one had to teach him this, it was the result of his love for me. If it had been me who died, I think Ralph would have followed me, not wanting to live without me. And part of me has not wanted to live without him, either. But humans have other duties that cannot be neglected and I am not allowed the luxury of ending my life now.
Over the 5 ½ years we lived together, his look became less wild, and he became more beautiful. He was tall, well-built but not fat, and so elegant and graceful. He could jump higher than any dog I ever knew. He was never jealous with his two 'sisters'. He loved listening to classical music, which I think helped to develop his brain and sensitivity. But always his eyes were sad. I would look at him from behind, when we walked together, his big body, long neck, flopping ears (I always thought of them as silly floppy ears) and I would think how hard he was trying to 'be good' for me, so that I would love him more. His life, I knew, was in my hands, and nothing in the world would induce me to risk putting him in danger. At home, I would close the door and all the dangers were outside, while we were safe within.
This last summer, he surprised me several times, coming behind me in the car, or next to me, and giving me just the tiniest hints of a lick, a quick, light flick with the tongue, just a little love kiss, to tell me he was threre, and that he loved me. I thought, he is getting more and more beautiful, more and more loving, with time.
But unfortunately, all those chewing bones had given him a small skin condition that didn't clear up with natural remedies. After stopping the bones and a year of trying to treat the skin problem by natural means, I decided to give the drug treatment a go. Ketoconazole. I brought the poison into our safe home and fed it, as instructed, every day to my dog. And when I called the vet to tell her about the adverse reactions, she didn't seem to know (as I learned later) that they were classic symptoms of an allergic reaction and should 'impose an immediate and definitive end to the treatment'. Ralph only had 13 ½ tablets (out of 30 prescribed) of this poison before I stopped the treatment myself, despite what the vet said. But it wasn't soon enough and a few days after stopping the pills, he came down with hepatitis which did not respond to treatment. He knew, the last 3 days, that he was going. I didn't know, but he did. He turned his back to us, Mamoune and Missy and I. I felt so helpless, but I was sure, encouraged by the vet, that he could be saved. I gave him my pillow which he had learned to sleep with from watching me. That and taking him to the vet for perfusions was all I could do. He couldn't eat or drink without throwing up. I tried to force him to eat brown rice and miso, but he clamped his teeth shut, my poor dog.
I was with him to the end. He did not whimper or cry, but he must have been in terrible pain. He was hemoraging and at the end there was a spasm that lifted his whole body, his beautiful face unrecognizable, so twisted it was in pain. When he relaxed, I went to do a few chores to let him sleep, and when I returned, I saw that he was dead. No. It's not possible. They told me he could be saved! But he wasn't saved.
I had 5 ½ years with Ralph, but it wasn't enough. If I've learned anything from this tragedy, it's that cut/burn/poison can't help my animals, and never again will I trust a vet. It's already been years since I vaccinated my pets, and I can see now that that's just a myth that keeps vets in the money...
Mamoune almost left me too, and I had to do some fast work with homeopathy and tender loving care to convince her to stay on for a while longer with us, Missy and I. Ralph had become her Big Brother, and she suffered too when he died. She and Missy were cuddled against him at the end, reassuring by their presence, which is all they could do.
Ralph took my hip, and I took his life (even if inadvertently, why did I trust that vet?). I hope these things are karmic and tie our spirits together forever. So that one day we will meet again and laugh at all this tragedy on the earth plane, and then we'll go for a long drive into the country with Mamoune and Missy and a bag of cornchips.
