🐶

All my life I had begged for a dog. My parents (perhaps wisely) knowing all the extra work it would introduce into our lives, gently refused my requests for a very long time. Add to that some family struggles and a turbulent time in puberty, and thoughts of a dog were largely forgotten during my teenage years.

Until my senior year in high school.

My mom's friend (we'll call her June) contacted her, asking her if she would like to adopt a dog that had come to live with them. He was a shih-tzu and maltipoo mix and of very calm temperament. These things along might have failed to convince my mom to consider adopting him, considering all the work involved in taking care of a dog. Adding to that, my mother was a music teacher who worked from home. Students ranging from toddlers to high schoolers would come in and out of our home day in and day out, so it would take a very special kind of dog to be able to calmly put up with such a hectic environment while simultaneously creating a safe space for the children who came to learn music from my mom.

What did convince my mom, however, was the fact that this prospective adoptee was June's dog's brother. Now, my mother had met June's dog before, and suffice it to say, she had been absolutely astounded by her temperament. She never bit, never did anything that someone who dislikes dogs might consider a bit vexing (such as licking, riding-the-leg, I'm sure you all know), and was an all-around sweetheart. She had always told us that if there were another dog like June's dog, she would absolutely be willing to adopt it.

So, adopt we did.

We named the little boy Noel. He was a shaggy thing, very reminiscent of the ewoks of Endor. He was dirty and riddled with infections. His fur was unbelievably long, and he mopped the floor as he trotted along. His previous owners had fallen on very difficult times and had neglected to care for him, and it showed. So the first several months were spent taking care of his physical problems, grooming him, showering him with water and love, and let me tell you, he was everything we could have imagined, and more.

Not only was he perfect for the environment of our home, several of my mother's students fell absolutely head over heels for him. You can tell a dog is pretty amazing if people are fighting for the chance to dogsit it whenever you're out of town, or when people who had never considered taking care of a pet before actually go through with getting one for themselves because they fall in love with your dog. Several of my mom's students actually got dogs of their own because they fell in love with little Noel. He was the perfect little doorman for incoming students, and the perfect comfort buddy for parents waiting for their children during music lessons.

In this way, precious Noel spent seven, happy years with us. They were turbulent years, but he was always with us whenever we needed, offering comfort for our souls. We may have adopted him, but it was Noel who saved our family.

Come his eighth year, and we learned that he had developed heart failure. After extensive research, we found that the most optimistic prognosis was two years. We tried our best to give him the best prescription foods, all the medications and procedures he needed to give him the best quality of life until the day of his passing. But as is the case with such terminal diseases, we had to watch him literally waste away before our eyes.

I suppose this is the part where I talk about my fondest memories with Noel. One of the reasons heart failure is so terrible is that it causes fluid buildup in the lungs, leading to terrible bouts of coughing and oxygen deprivation. To combat this, veterinarians usually prescribe medication that takes fluid out of the body. This means that the dog will need more frequent bathroom breaks at very, very random times throughout the day.

This was how Noel was. He would need to be let out at 12AM or 1AM, go to sleep, then need to go again at 4AM or 5AM. Luckily, I was at a time in my life where I would be going to sleep at 2AM or 3AM because of work, so the midnight bathroom breaks were no problem. But every day, Noel would come wake me up at 5 or 6AM so that I could let him out.

I'll admit, in a perfect world, I would have done this every day, smiling like sunshine, and optimistic and happy as heck. But I'm human, and on some days it was immensely difficult getting out of bed after an exhausting day and only one or two hours of sleep. But patient, sweet Noel never made a fuss out of it. First he would hop down from the bed and sit next to it (or couch, wherever I'd fallen asleep), then lick his lips for a while, hoping that the sound of it would wake me up. If that didn't work, he'd begin pawing at my arm. Usually that was what woke me up and got me alert. Then I'd take him outside, and he'd frolic happily in our backyard (his kingdom), peeing to his heart's content.

In this way we spent our last two years together. Noel slowly deteriorated, to the point that he couldn't walk, eat, or sleep comfortably anymore. And on the day we decided that we would have to take him to the veterinarian to have him euthanized, he perhaps knew it in his heart, and instead chose to pass away peacefully in our arms, having spent his last hours in that backyard he had loved so much, rather than go to the veterinarian.

Every day of those two years, Noel and I had our little morning ritual, where he would wake me up, and I would take him into the backyard. Even when he couldn't walk well and couldn't jump down from the bed, he would stumble up next to my face and sniff at me so that we could repeat our morning routine. In those entire two years, not once did our sick, responsible little dog have an accident in the house.

It is often said in some cultures that the most difficult times in our lives are the ones we remember most and look back upon from time to time with a sort of wistful fondness. For me, those times are my morning rituals with Noel. It was a time of great sadness, no doubt. We had to watch our Noel as his body was broken and he wasted away. We watched as he lost his appetite, lost his strength, his vitality. Yet, in those two years, I felt like I was able to repay Noel just a little for the healing he had given my heart. So now I look back and am glad that he chose me to take him into the backyard every morning at the crack of dawn. I am sad that he got sick, but even while that heavy cloud hung over us all, there were so many moments of beauty and happiness. Those were unique memories we couldn't have made otherwise, and now perhaps, they may even be the ones I cherish most.