More than 13 years ago on October 30th 1995 I drove up to a home in the Nissqually Valley to look at puppies. I had decided to get a dog having mourned the loss of my Golden Retriever "Candles" for long enough to feel ready to invite another pet into my life. I had decided on a Labrador Retriever and had looked at several litters already.
When I arrived, there they were, 11 total brothers and sisters yapping and wagging in a kennel with their mother. One pup caught my eye, he seemed to posses the kind of intelligence and sensitivity that you cannot train into a dog. The qualities that make for a remarkable companion. He must have thought the same of me, because the attraction was immediate and enthusiastic. We played for a bit, then not wanting to be impulsive, I left. I was back the next day, and the owner took all the pups into the house as we discussed details. Manny climbed immediately into my lap and and went to sleep as the other pups clamored around the kitchen.
On the drive home he settled under the seat of my old pickup and into a deep sleep that lasted the entire drive. This truck would become his home away from home. He went everywhere with me until age and arthritis made it too difficult for him to get in and out.
As a young dog Manny enjoyed running around, sniffing, and swimming. His greatest passion in life was fetching sticks thrown into the river. His love of female companionship as a young dog gave way to more refined interests later in life. His appreciation of sausage remains unparalleled in my experience. He enjoyed a long full life with all the canine benefits of living on a riverfront farm.
On the afternoon of April 6th Heidi came and got me. Manny was in one of our greenhouses breathing heavily and unable to get up. I went to him. He was weak. I picked him up and carried him to the shade behind the shop. We sat down together in the grass. He laid his head in my lap much like he had done over a decade ago. He closed his eyes. His breathing got shallower and shallower and then he drifted off; dieing with the same dignity and grace with which he had lived.
Dear friend, you will be sorely missed.
4 comments:
I am so sorry about your dear Manny. Thank you for sharing your story.
My condolences. Dogs give us so much more than we can ever give them. Losing one is like losing a family member.
The scariest moment of my life involved throwing a stick for Manny. I knew it was a mistake the moment I let it go.
It was back in the days when Manny was the baddest, stick chasingest dog on the planet. I'd go visit Mike for the weekend and come back with a sore arm from throwing sticks to Manny literally all day long.
He'd get sticks out of the river and swim back up the swift running current as a way of proclaiming his dominance at retrieving sticks out of it. It was akin to Michael Jordan sticking out his tongue as he floated over five world class athletes to slam another basketball home. We'd laugh about it and say that Manny was trying to drink up the whole river.
The day that scared me worse than I've ever been scared was one of those days when the river was up. Way up. It was running faster than I had ever seen it and it was full of debris. And by debris I mean big, big trees and gnarly root wads that looked like old demi-gods headed out to sea.
If you have ever done something dumb enough to stun yourself into a cold, hard sweat that freezes your brain into a supine position begging for mercy from every higher power at hand, you can relate a little to how I felt when I threw a stick into that water for Manny.
I spent the next half hour agonizing about how I had murdered poor Manny. I learned what it meant to be dumb struck, I couldn't really form any words or proper thoughts that went beyond, "please, please, please..."
My first glimpse of my daughter after she was born is only slightly more precious to me than the sight of Manny running up the railroad grade that ran by the river, stick in mouth, shining eyes asking me to throw it for him again.
I am torn between the beauty in your writing and the sadness of your loss of Manny.
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