There is nothing as painful for a pet lover than the death of a pet. Seven years has passed since he passed away yet when I think of him, he lives strong in my memory as if he were still alive.
Blackie the dog's (as I also had Blackie the cat) life is more than memorable as I was able to experience first hand, the growth of a dog who lived in fear but who was willing to come out of his shell and live life again.
Blackie came to me in June 2002 by accident. I never meant to have him. But I guess you could call it a criss crossing of paths that I have never regretted. Michelle, a childhood friend of mine had an uncle who had scores of dogs. I think he had about 8 of them and could barely take care of them so he had them in cages or tied up.
Blackie was a handful actually and so he approached Michelle to ask if she could take charge of him. Michelle was hesitant. But I was there and volunteered right off to care for him. It wasn't love at first sight mind you. Blackie looked malnourished even if he had a big appetite. He also distrusted people. I think he spent most of his life tied up thus, he didn't really like to be handled more than necessary.
I was out of school and out of work at the time and thought I had all the time in the world to get to know him. I had no grand plans for him. My self imposed rule is that I never chain my pets or keep them in a cage. As long as they live with me, they are free to roam the house and use all that are available to them (like my furniture).
The first 3 months with Blackie were excruciating. Neither of us knew what the other would do. He was like a wild dog so I had to chain him to one of the posts outside our apartment. I hated it and it pained me to do so. But it was either that or he would have bitten all my other pets. Between Michelle and I - we had about 2 dogs and 5 or 6 other cats. He went wild when it was mealtime, straining on his chain and barking ferociously so I did not even try to get too near him lest he bite me.
But patience does have its fruits. During those first few weeks I would push his dog dishes towards him with a stick. By the 3rd week, I felt it was time for him to learn who his boss really was so I talked to him, calming him when he would strain against his chain trying to grab his dog dish. I was okay with getting nearer to him as I could. At the time, I thought that I could bear a dog bite better than not having a dog trust me. When he had calmed down reasonably then I handed him his dish, setting it down right in front of him without a stick. Battle #1 won!
By the 3rd week, he had gotten used to seeing me around him so I could now untie his chain and take him for walks. He was rowdy at first just like any human I think would be after being in seclusion for so long. We must have been a sight as he pulled me this way and that. But I was stronger than him not just physically but because something inside me just didn't want to give up.
The second challenge was for me to bathe him. During the first 2 weeks, giving him a bath was a big chore nonetheless as he got me all wet with his hyperactiveness. I was glad he never thought to take a chunk out of my hand. To prevent him from drenching me too much I preferred to point the end of the garden hose at his body.
By the 3rd week he was less rowdy and allowed me to clean his ears, pick at any ticks and brush his fur. His meals were personally mine to serve. I had made it my job to hand feed him his kibbles..a kibble at a time, a bit of trust after another. Soon he was eating out of my hand with ease and always nosed my hand for more.
I was ready for the next stage. Trust, they say is something you earn. After all the daily walks, grooming and feeding we did, I was ready. Next step was for me to untie him. This I did every night. After his baths and walks during the day, nights were freedom time for him. I remember the first time I let him go. He still stood close to the post as if he were tied. I had to give him a gentle push to let him know he was free. After realizing that he was, he ran furiously to the field near our apartment. I let him have his way. For the first time, I swear I saw him smile. He was happily running and exploring all the nooks and crannies he could - under rocks, under wherever - he wanted to take in all of it. That was the happiest day of my life as a dog caregiver. I say a dog caregiver as I believe that pets choose who they want to be with. They are our blessings more than they are trouble.
When there was no longer any light, I called for him to come home - and he did. He was happily wagging his tail as he came home and waited for me to chain him to the post. He wasn't ready for my next treat. I decided he could stay in the house but only in my room. So every night thereafter - he went straight to my room to his place under my bed.
I think after those 3 excruciating months, Blackie finally figured out that I was there to care for him and to love him. His days of being a prisoner were over. He loved being under my bed at night. His morning routine from his 4th month with me was to wake me up at around 7 am by licking my hand. This was as much a reward for me as a morning romp outside was for him. By that time, he was open to my carresses, offered his neck for a rub and especially loved it when I talked to him just like I did all of my other pets.
I no longer needed to chain him nor did he go after any of my other pets. He still didn't socialize with them but would rather just be in one corner of the house. I was okay with it. By October I was going to school for special classes. I would leave all my pets at home including Blackie. Afternoons at 4 was happy time for all. I came home to a house full of animals wagging their tails, crying for my attention, crying for their food, excited for me to take them out for a walk, excited for their baths or their grooming time. This was a routine I loved.
I was at home by 4pm, took Greg and Cop for a romp outside for at least half an hour, took the cats outside too while Blackie stayed home to wait, prepared their dinner and served it, got out their hair brushes, brushed and took out their ticks. What more could a pet ever want? Last was always Blackie. Most of my energy was reserved for him as I spent more time with him during his walks, I sometimes played hide and seek with him, dinner was served separately and grooming was the most special time of the day for me. It was my time not just to keep him clean but it was also my time to talk to him and praise him for being a good dog. Weekends was bath time for all including the cats.
By November, Blackie had settled in comfortably. He was still scared of meeting people and didn't like it if there was a stranger (other friends) in the house. December 7 is a day I will never forget. I came home as usual from school. For some reason, Blackie was outside the apartment waiting for me. The moment he glimpsed me through the gated fence of the compound, he could not contain himself. For the first time, he vigorously wagged his tail, jumped up and down just like my other dogs, greeted me with such a big smile. I couldn't put my finger in it then but only figured it out what it really meant a day or 2 after. How was I to know it was going to be his first and last time to do that. We had a great time that evening as he was hesitant to go home and still wanted to play "catch me if you can" out in the field. But it was getting really dark.
I came home from school the next day anticipating the next joyful homecoming with him. It was Friday or a Saturday I think. On my way in to the compound, a neighbor tells me, 'hey, your black dog is inside.' I said, 'thanks." Imagine my surprise when he brought my precious Blackie outside carrying him by his tail. That's when it struck me he was dead. A hit and run accident my neighbor said.
A dog is still a dog they say. But how can I make people understand the pain you experience when a dog close to your heart dies. I had a lot of pets who passed away and had never before grieved as much as I did when Blackie died. I spent 2 weeks crying. Every corner of the house reminded me of him. Night time was the worst. I woke up expecting him to lick my hand the way he did every single day but of course no dog did. I kept thinking to myself what it was that made him different. Was it because we were just about to enter that phase in which I believe our souls would be entwined?
In almost 6 months he had changed so much more than a person will ever change in a lifetime. He was open to trust, he was open to love and loved in return. It only takes a few words of comfort, a loving touch for a dog to forgive. In his eyes, I saw a wealth of forgiveness. I believe that his passing was instantaneous and that the only memories he had was a joyful romp in the fields, endless games of "catch me if you can" a bowl full of kibbles, and a warm bed under mine. He is smiling down I am sure in doggy heaven. That is the picture of him I hold in my heart, a happy dog, wagging his tail ferociously because he is just that - happy.
*** I was never able to take a picture of him. But the picture above is the closest I can get of him.
