Tips for Dealing with the Death of a Pet

Twelve years ago, just before leaving work, I saw an ad for Siberian Husky puppies in one of those free all advertising papers. Since childhood, I had been fascinated by the Husky breed and was curious about what the pups looked like. I had no intention of actually buying one of the puppies, although it was a consideration if I liked what I saw.

I called the number and talked to the breeder briefly. The man told me not to look unless I was prepared to take one of the puppies home, as I would likely "fall in love with 'em". Being of a skeptical nature, there was some doubt about that. As luck would have it, the man still had all of the pups as the ad had just been published that afternoon. A male Husky with blue eyes would be tempting, even if the dog show snobs look down on that particular trait.

"Gimme a minute" the man said. It seems he would need to separate the 7 puppies from their mother, who was in the garage. The puppies were seven weeks old to the day he said. When he opened the door leading from the garage to the backyard, the furry puppies all rushed into the yard at once, like a bunch of eager shoppers flocking to the front door of Wal-Mart at 5:30 A.M.on the day after Thanksgiving.

I had the man show me one of the blue-eyed boys and held the little fellow up close. He was cute, but very shy and retiring. The others seemed much the same, except for one black and white ball of fur, who strutted and bounced as if leading a parade. This little guy was all over the place, playing with his littermates and generally acting like the alpha male of the bunch. "What about that one?" I inquired. "Let's have a closer look".

As soon as I held the 10 pound pup, down-soft coat and all, there was no doubt this was the one. Leaving without him was suddenly not an option. Others would be arriving to check out the puppies soon and this one wasn't going to last long. After asking the man if he would take a check, he'd rather not, he said, the next question was: would he consider holding this one for as long as it took to go to the nearest ATM? "Okay, I'll put him in the living room until you get back" he replied.

It was a drive of 5-6 miles roundtrip in fairly heavy traffic. Upon returning, there were several cars in the man's driveway. Siberian Husky pups for the asking price was quite a bargain, the cheapest I had seen in looking for awhile. He didn't have papers on one of the parents, it seemed. As I left with my newfound friend, the late arriving prospective buyers looked on curiously or jealously.

Still being single, there was no spouse or child to run this by, the thought occurred to me to drive by my Mom's house and show her the puppy, still nameless. He circled suspiciously around the floorboard of my car, circling around until nature called.

Mom was surprised and delighted at the new development and she played with the pup while I cleaned up the mess in the car. I lifted him up onto her sofa, one of those with the lifting cushions. He shyly tried to hide behind them awhile before becoming acclimated to the surroundings. "What are you going to name him?" Mom asked. It was Thursday, March 28, 1996, the heyday of NBC's "must-see TV" and Seinfeld. At the exact moment Cosmo Kramer made one of his sliding entrances into Jerry's apartment, the puppy was sliding across Mom's linoleum kitchen floor. "Kramer, Mom, look at him". Mom got a kick out of that even if she sometimes slipped and called him "Frasier" as in Frasier Crane of NBC's Cheers and Frasier. You know, the windbag, prissy, pop psychologist.

After starting out as an only dog, unhappily it seemed, a companion was found for KMan eventually, a German Shepherd mix female who made up for Kramer's lack of accumen in the watchdog department and had a playful streak as well. I knew going in about the average lifespan of most dogs, figuring 10-12 years would be the most time I would have to share with my four-legged friend.

Kramer turned out to be much larger than the typical Husky, I've been convinced for a long time there was Malamute mixed in, a larger breed that can reach 100 pounds. He wasn't quite that large, 75-80 pounds, but still heavier than most Huskies, who normally top out at 55-60. He ate like a horse. Seeing Kramer peering in the french doors into the kitchen at the rear of our house got to be a daily ritual. Howling when hungry, which was most of the time, my wooly mammoth would hover around on the patio, waiting to be served.

Now, he's gone. After getting home 4:30ish on Easter Sunday, just in time to watch our beloved, though inconsistent, basketball Arkansas Razorbacks get throttled by the roundball juggernaut that is the 2008 North Carolina Tar Heels. The outcome of the game was in doubt maybe a couple of minutes and that's in real time, not on the time clock.

At about 7:10 P.M., I sat to eat a light dinner while my wife and son cleaned the hamster cage in my 11 year old son's bedroom in the back of the house, near the backyard. Roxy, our little dachsund-terrier mix was in the yard, she can be difficult at mealtime. My wife told me something must be wrong, Roxy wouldn't stop barking and she had been clawing at the window of our son's room.

Upon venturing out to see what the fuss was about, I saw Kramer, lying in his favorite spot in the grass. Just as I had seen him hundreds of times before, only this time was different. There were wads of his hair all around, he always began shedding heavily in the spring. Roxy had apparently picked at his back, as if trying in vain to wake him for their regular playtime. It didn't look like Kramer was breathing.

As I neared his body, I could have sworn his chest heaved. Surely, KMan would rouse just as he had always done before. Just as I reached him, with my wife not far behind, I knew. "He's gone" I said quietly, one quick glance confirming our worst fears. I wandered around in circles, trying to gather my thoughts for what seemed like hours.

Finally, upon returning inside the house 15 minutes or so after the discovery, a 24 hour animal emergency number was spotted on the refrigerator. It was dusk and i didn't want to leave his body in the yard any longer than absolutely necessary. I called the number, told them the situation and asked for advice. There was a place his body could be taken that night and we could decide on burial at a pet cemetary near the local Humane Society shelter or cremation.

After a family discussion, we decided to take his body there where it would be transported an hour or so north for cremation. We ordered a cedar box for his ashes. My brother in law, after helping to load his body into the bed of our truck, accompanied me to the place. I had to fill out paper work, pay a little over a hundred dollars and take one last look at my friend. It would have been twelve years since our first meeting in just 5 days.

After my sister's husband and a man who worked there moved the body from the truck into the holding place, I removed his collar and said my last goodbyes to the best dog I've ever been around. He wasn't a fancy showdog or a great watchdog, just the jolliest, most playful and spirited animal I've ever encountered. I miss him greatly and suspect I will for a long time along with my whole family.

It has been 10 days since his passing. The first couple of days were especially tough. i didn't go to work for two days, although I was ill on the second one. The best advice I can give to anyone going through this situation is to remember your pet the way they were in their prime. After all, I saw Kramer thousands of times alive and living life to the fullest. The time on that fateful Easter Sunday was brief, from 7:00 P.M. to bedtime was a blur that evening. I hardly slept that night.

The next morning, watching a videotape my wife made 3-4 years ago when Kramer was in his prime helped. I wasn't sure how I would react, but seeing him in his prime with his rollicking gait, gracefully galloping around our yard was good therapy. That is how I prefer to remember him, a beautiful, proud animal with a dazzling smile. He brought much joy to our household. When it comes to coping with the death of a pet, it helps to think of such things. We celebrate his life as much as we mourn his passing.

Kramer had twelve good years on this Earth. He never knew what it was like to roam the streets hungry, to be put on a chain, or to be treated cruelly. I can still see him, left paw thrust straight in the air to shake hands when he suspected he was in trouble. His RCA dog like pose in the back door at dinnertime, sniffing furiuosly, sometimes howling, even if he had just eaten his own dinner. Even though he was not the same the last couple of years, he never had to suffer and passed on from this world at sundown on Easter Sunday.

I guess God needed a good sled dog.