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Pets and Death
My dog died this morning. His name was Mikey. It feels weird saying “my”, because I moved out of my parents’ house for more than a decade and only saw him about once a month. Saying “my parents’ dog died” would fit better, since they’re the ones who have taken care of him for a while now-- but I grew up with this dude for many years and saw him go from a filthy flea infested street dog to a healthy dog with surprisingly big muscular glutes. I still remember the time I woke up one morning and opened my eyes to a huge puke right on my pillow, but I was so tired, I just turned the other way and kept on sleeping. So, yeah, maybe I wasn’t as involved with him by the end of his life, but he was involved with mine enough to give me some good old memories.
He was a mix of a Poodle with who-knows-what-else, but whatever that other breed was, they created a long-living breed. We estimate he lived for 23 years. We rescued him from the street, so we have no birth certificate or anything, but he lived a long life and you could tell-- this dude looked super old. He was blind, deaf, and walked like he would trip any second. But even then, as old as he was, he would sometimes waggle his tail and twirl his body like he used to do when he was playing with us. There’s that stereotypical line that goes something like: “Don’t ever kill the child in you.” It’s hard to practice that as an adult, but it comes so natural to these pets. Yes, they don’t have to go and work every day to get the money that will feed them, they don’t have to deal with tons of people throughout their lifetime, adjusting their behavior to the circumstances and having to read the room. If they feel like taking a crap in the middle of a room full of people, they will do it.
How could a dog that has grown accustomed to be served food and water by a human ever feel the need to restrain their sense of fun and discovery? He may get reprimanded once in a while for jumping on the couch or peeing a carpet, but that’s easy to brush off when they realize you’ll still feed them and pick up their turds as long as they don’t push their luck too much. They know how to test us to see how much they can get away with. And they know exactly what to do to win our favor back. They start playing around, acting cute, giving you the little side glances. They know that we value their presence. Maybe that’s why they never “kill the puppy in them”. They know they need that innocent energy to bring our spirits up when we we’re feeling like crap. Maybe they understand that’s their job and actually get stressed when they see their owner all depressed-- they start thinking: “Oh God, no, no, you can’t lie down, man, you need to go out and get food. I’m not dying here with you-- look at my tail, look at my eyes, you see how cute I am-- Yes! Yes, get up, get your ass up, go work-- Go!”
That would be interesting, but I’m pretty sure these animals are genuine when they hang out with us. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure every pet owner would agree that it feels genuine. And “feel” is an interesting word here, because there’s a comparison being made. It feels genuine as opposed to what? What doesn’t feel genuine? And I guess that could be all the little interactions we have throughout the day. The small talk nobody likes but we engage with to be nice. The smiles we give to people who have thrown us under the bus. The apocalyptic chatter coming out of our television and our phones followed up with an advertisement for anxiety treatment. All this noise follows us around, but once we get home, there’s this creature that does not care about anything but eating, sleeping, taking a crap and being near us regardless of how flawed we are. No matter what mistakes we’ve made, they’re there chilling with us. And we promise to take care of them, even when we’re still figuring out how to take care of ourselves.
And that’s a nice thing; we get to practice a different kind of responsibility. Not the working horse— “I have to be a valuable employee” type of responsibility. But the “taking care of another life” responsibility. And this increases the older the pet gets. All of a sudden, we’re spending a lot of time and money at the vet. And pet insurance is not cheap. It may get to the point where some seriously start thinking: “Is this creature really worth this much money?” Others don’t even think about it; they just go for it. I heard about this one girl who spent thousands of dollars trying to save her rat. Now, there’s no way in hell I would ever consider having a rat as a pet, but it goes to show how valuable any creature can become to a person.
In the end, that girl couldn’t save her rat. And one may wonder, was it all a waste of money? But it’s such a dumb question that quickly answers itself. It’s worth knowing we tried everything at the time, with whatever resources we had, to save the life of someone we loved. And that’s all that matters.
I have no evidence of this, but I imagine the death of a pet is the first-time many face the concept of mortality. The death of Mufasa scarred my generation and did generate questions about life and death, but it doesn’t compare to the existential crisis one goes through, especially as a kid, when your pet dies. They prepare us for the multiple deaths we’ll encounter in our lifetime.
Mikey is not my first death. I’ve lost other dear friends that have prepared me for moments like this. It’s still sad as hell and I’ve shed plenty of tears for him-- but at least I know he lived a long, comfortable life with us. I’m not a religious person, but I hope heaven takes both people and animals, so I can see all my little fellows up there once my time comes.
Alright, I’m done rambling. Mikey, I’ll never forget you. As always, let me know if anything I said is a bunch of nonsense or there’s an angle I’m missing. Now, go hug your pet or something. Okay, I’m out.
