Ajax left us today, Mother’s Day 2008. He was ten. A large, rust colored Golden Retriever and our very good friend. His surgery on Friday to remove a tumor did not succeed.
I have seen other diaries like this, and this one is long...But I do this for Ajax, my wife, myself, and our family. This is a small event but it is hard for us and I wanted to share the wonder, intelligence and love we experienced with Ajax.
Ajax was so smart. When he was pup, he would watch television and run up to the screen, tale wagging to greet the dogs he would see there. One time, he was watching a show on alligators and saw the gator open up his big mouth with very, very large teeth. He got scared, whined and ran behind the couch. He would run up to a mirror to see the other dog there.
When I would point at something, rather than look at the end of my finger, he would look in the direction of where I was pointing. He had an amazing memory. He could remember commands that I had not used in years. He knew so many words. He would also communicate in all kinds of mini-barks, whines, and gentle growls....
Ajax was sweet. He loved everyone and was not ever, once aggressive. He routinely let our Chihuahua take his food or bones without growling or trying to pull them back. He loved kids most of all. Ajax knew he was smart and loved to play tricks on people and one instance, cattle. When he was visiting a ranch, he started harassing a group of cows on the other side of a barb wire fence. The owner of the cattle said not to worry, the cows wouldn’t pay any attention. But soon enough, Ajax was chasing the cows from the other side of the fence up and down the pasture. He would run them until they had reached the end of the field, and then get them to go back the other way. He had these wonderful laughing eyes when he had played a trick.
He was a joy to train. I used cookies. He learned to stay really well. His final test was for me to set a cookie out in front of him by ten feet and then to tell him to stay. He would wait until I said, "okay" before running for the cookie. I was doing this once when I forgot about the cookie, and got engrossed on what was on t.v., when I heard this whine. It must have been about 5-10 minutes since I had put his cookie on the ground in front of him but he wanted his cookie and he needed me to give him the okay.
Ajax so wanted to be a good boy. He never, ever went to the bathroom in the house; even at the end, when he was failing, he would go outside. He would eat anything and everything and once threw up in the house this terrible weed he had eaten. He was so ashamed and worried he had done something wrong. We of course reassured him he had not.
My favorite past-time was walking him and our other Golden Retriever, Aloha, in the hills by our house. I would let them off the leash and they would run with joy. Ajax would love to dig for gophers. He knew I did not approve so he would sneak away and dig, dig until I would find him and make him come back. I never once ever yelled at him. The most I needed to do was just lightly touch his shoulder and he would come. Sometimes, when he was outside and did not want to come in, he would drop on his belly and go limp....I said he was acting like a protestor in a demonstration, making it difficult to get him to go.
Ajax’s favorite thing in the world was to go for a walk. He would look at me with eager anticipation and joy in his eyes when I told him we were going to go. He would march ahead of me, proud, with his tale high in the air like a sail. He would say thank you in his own way with love in his eyes when we were back.
One of his favorite signs of affection was what I called the "paw of solidarity." While sitting on the couch at home he would often sit in front of me, and a little to the side, as I would reach out to pet him on his chest, and he would then loop his big arm over mine. It was heavy! He was insistent—his paw had to be over my arm, shaking hands/giving me a hug as he gave me a look of approval. "Good Master," he seemed to be saying.
Ajax was no push over and would be protective when he had to be. He wouldn’t mindlessly bark at any dog on the sidewalk outside, like the dumb dog across the street. He seemed to know what was real and what was just inconsequential. On one walk, our other dog Aloha, who has this terrible habit of compulsively sniffing other people and dogs more than normal, got herself into trouble with a pit bull we crossed paths with on the trail. Ajax, Aloha and I saw the pit bull and his master coming towards us. I put Ajax and Aloha back on their leashes, and our mutual contingents seemingly had passed each other without incident. But just as we had passed the pit bull, Aloha, a happy, gentle, naive fluffball, peeled back to smell the privates of the pit bull. In an instant, the pit bull had Aloha pinned on her back and was going at her. I was seemingly glued in place. But Ajax was at the pit bull’s throat also in the blink of an eye. We got the dogs separate without incident.
On our walks, and sometimes at night, I would get terribly sad, and knew that one day in the future I would see him die. Goldens have a life expectancy, or so they say, of about 14 years. If only time could stand still.
The last few weeks Ajax seemed to have less energy. I assumed that maybe I needed to get him more exercise, and go on more walks.....This last weekend, I took him on a walk down the hill and in the park next to the school. We stopped going up in the hills because the rattlesnakes were coming out of hibernation and would sun themselves out in the middle of the trail. Ajax, I knew, would be wise enough to avoid them. Gentle Aloha would have found that rattling sound very interesting.
On Saturday, we went on our normal walk in the park. We often seen lots of other people and dogs. We came across a couple of young girls. I told Ajax and Aloha to sit, and the came over with an adult woman, their mom, I think. At first, one of the girls became very afraid of Ajax—he is big about 100 pounds. But he sat there gentle and wise. The girls seem autistic and her mom guided her over. When sitting down, Ajax was at eye level with the girl. She looked at him in the eyes, her mom guiding her and the girls seemed to become calm. She reached out to pet Ajax but he remained in place, calm. She was reaching for him but didn’t quite touch him. We came home and all was good.
On Sunday, last week, we walked to the park again. Ajax seemed a little out of sorts but he trotted along as Aloha galloped everywhere.
On Monday, I told Ajax we were going for a walk when I got home from work. He was interested but didn’t seem to have a lot of energy. About a third of the way into it, I cut the walk short which I never do, and started to come back up the hill. It was only a block but it took about 30 minutes. Ajax would walk about ten feet, and then lay down and rest about 5 minutes. And so we inched our way up the hill. I knew something was very, very wrong.
Ajax had surgery on Friday at noon. The vet removed his spleen and there was a large tumor the size of two grapefruits on it. We got him back at 8:00 at night on Friday. Except for some brief moments during the day, and last night when my wife slept next to Ajax on the couch, I have been with him since.
He seemed lethargic and we could not tell how he was really doing. Early this morning, I saw him in the hall lying down. My wife was still asleep on the couch. His incision on his belly was leaking blood from two different spots. The blood had smudged the floor but I thought it was just his internal sutures coming loose, and we could fix it. I got some paper towels and gently applied pressure, which seemed to stop the bleeding. It was Mother’s Day and I wanted this to be allright. My wife woke up and knew we had to call the vet. But Ajax seemed more alert than he had in a long time. We could fix this.
We drove him to the emergency vet, and he started to bleed profusely. We walked him through the doors of the animal hospital and they took him right back. They would not let me go with them. We went into a private room and the vet came and talked to us in about 15 minutes or so. She said they had done sonagrams and X-rays and said he was bleeding internally. He was going to die in minutes, unless she tried surgery to try and find the bleed. She told us if the surgery were successful, he would stay in a hospital for at least 8 days but that because of how large the tumor had been, he might at best live only three more months. (Our vet who had performed the original surgery was out of town.) I could not bear the thought of him being in a hospital alone, thinking we had left him. It was time to let him go.
They brought him in the room. They had given him intravenous fluids and put a wrap around his middle. He was so lively. He was walking around, wagging his tale, the light back in his eyes, looking out of the corner of his eyes at us with that tell-tale look of mischief. He was his old self. I could not understand. The vet said it would only last a few minutes before the fluids bleed out of his body.
The vet was very nice and professional. She had started to cry but stopped herself. My wife was sobbing. I told her to go forward. I lay down on the floor and called to him to come over where there was a blanket. The vet wanted him to sit down but he was sore. So, she put the syringe into the IV already in his arm. He started to slowly fall down, and I reached my arm under him and guided him down. We kept telling him we loved him, he was a good boy and I was telling him he was "my good friend." He lay down on top of my arm and lost conciousness without event in about 5 seconds or so. I lay there with my arm under him, while the vet came around and listened to his hear and told me it was over. My wife left immediately. I lay still with my arm under him telling the vet how smart he was. She left too. I stayed there with my arm under him for about 10 minutes, and then gently pulled my out and picked up his collar and left. My wife was outside crying. We drove home.
In the grand scheme of things, this is just a tiny, little event. I have lived in very poor countries and seen people who have no health care or hope. But Ajax brought such joy into our lives and the lives of others too. He was never mistreated and was loved his entire life. I wanted to see him end his life surrounded by love and by us. He did not suffer. We did not leave him.
My wife is Catholic and believes Ajax is with St. Francis now. We have a statue of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals, in our backyard. Ajax, when he wasn’t feeling well, would lay next to St. Francis. I hope she is right and that he is there having fun.
There is so much bitterness and strife in life......To have the love that Ajax brought is so much better. For all of us that need a little comfort, I offer you Ajax’s "paw of solidarity."