From Joe to Poe

Notes from the field on pet loss

Photo of a baby Poe, who is perfectly fine!

*Trigger warning for those sensitive to the death of animals. Cancer, euthanasia, burial and cremation are mentioned below.

---

When I met my husband, Sam, Abby was the female in his life. A lump of a Rottweiler who loved to sneak up on the couch when no one was looking. I did not have much experience with the breed myself, but my husband was a Rottweiler guy. While he can appreciate different breeds - this was the one that spoke to his heart the loudest.

He also seemed to run into one whenever he needed to fill a dog-shaped hole in his life. There is no shortage of people who get a puppy, then life gets in the way of taking care of that dog through adulthood. That was how Abby came into Sam’s life; some businessman traveled too much and wanted someone to adopt her that would give her a better life - and Sam stepped in.

My husband is a good dog dad, and every morning he would wake up and take Abby to the dog park on the shoreline of the San Francisco Bay. When I moved in, I joined in on the walks, but she was never my dog.

Abby died shortly into our marriage and for awhile, we were on our own - until the day a lady pulled up and Tank jumped out of her truck. In this moment, Sam knew he had found a new baby… and I knew that I was irritated.

Tank was two or three years old, once a gifted puppy to a young man who would go off to college, unable to take the responsibility of pet ownership along with him. Tank had been tied up in the family yard, and kids liked to ride past on their bicycles and throw stuff at him. Someone at the dog park knew Sam was missing Abby, and connected him with Tank’s family.

I remember that Tank peed on my Coach purse in those first days, and that made me even grumpier. I was still not yet a Rottweiler person and this dude was getting on my nerves. However, necessity is the mother of invention or whatever the saying is, so I got to work helping to train Tank and wouldn’t you know it, he was the best goodest boy ever.

No one that met Tank didn’t love him. He was a leaner, as rotties tend to be, meaning he was quick to run up to anyone and rest against their legs. He was tall and handsome, sweet and a perfect dog-park gentleman. When we moved into the bed and breakfast that my husband and I purchased, he came along and charmed the guests. When we moved again, this time to the home where we would start our family, he was loving and gentle with our son…and our cat Mow.

Here is where stuff gets real. We noticed Tank’s legs starting to bow and when we took him to the Vet we were given the news that he had bone cancer, which is common in the breed. Eventually, he was almost unable to walk and we watched him slowly fade away.

When we knew the time was getting close, Sam and I got to work. We picked a spot in the backyard by the fence and we got to digging. Tank laid on the back porch and watched us as we cried and shoveled dirt.

Here is the thing though, we were neck deep in that anticipatory grief thing I talked about last week and we already missed our loving boy. We were heartbroken as we worked but, as crazy as it sounds, it was the work that made me feel better.

It was in that moment that I understood why taking an active role in the death and dying process is so important. There is something about physically working through the grief that felt transformative. I was grieving and I could give it to the dirt, and the shovel carried the vibrations of everything I was feeling. It was the definition of good work. It is hard to describe how horrible and powerful and healing it all was - but it was all of those things.

When we finished our dig, we went back inside to eat something and Tank had dragged himself into our garage. It was then, after the hole had been dug and we had poured out all of that sadness, that Tank died.

We said our goodbyes, brought him to the hole and laid him inside, then spent the evening covering his body.

Ugh. I still miss that dog. We still talk about him and his photo and collar are on our mantle in a shadowbox, along with a photo of Abby sitting with Sam’s son.

A year or two later, I put it out in the world that maybe we were ready for a new dog…maybe even a puppy this time? But a friend of mine knew better. He had a friend who needed to re-home his Rottweiler and one day when we were together he showed me a picture and said “are you sure you don’t want this guy?” Welllll, it was worth a shot. I set up a time to meet Jonas the rottie and packed Sam up in the car, thinking we were just going to say hi and see if it was a good fit.

When we arrived, we walked into the man’s yard and Sam saw Joe (we cut off the “nas”). He bent down and cried, knowing this was his next dog. His owner also started crying and in that moment asked if we would take him. What a thing to see - two grown men crying over the love they had for this handsome boy.

We gathered up Joe, his bed, and his food and brought him home. Joe was such a funny dog. He was sweet like Tank but such a nervous guy. He was so afraid of the glug-glugging of our big water dish, and couldn’t handle the kitchen floor. He was extremely food motivated, so eventually we got him to where he could walk into the kitchen, but it sure did take awhile.

We loved Joe for who he was, big and awkward and loafish but with that big Rottweiler heart. We only had Joe for about two years when he too was diagnosed with cancer, and we were again faced with heartbreak.

Joe was in so much pain and so miserable, it was hard to watch. When it became clear there was nothing more to do, we had him euthanized and held him as they put him down. We then put him in our car and brought him ourselves to the local pet cemetery and crematory to be cremated.

I think, after so many losses, Sam was tired. While he loved having these dogs in his life, losing them was just so difficult that he wondered if he might ever be able to go through it all again.

There was a year and a half where there was no Rottweiler in the home. Having no person-sized log to step over in the hallways or the living room felt strange, but it felt stranger knowing that Sam was missing something that was ever present for him.

We had talked again about a puppy but he kept putting it off and second guessing the idea. The pro of a puppy is that we would have the whole life of the dog this time and could make healthy choices that might prolong its life. The cons were:

1) We were both exclusively rescue people for all of our dogs and cats

2) It’s a puppy and

3) Could Sam really handle another eventual loss?

I decided to take the risk - although I do not recommend this! My son and I found a Rottweiler puppy for Sam and put him in his arms for Christmas. Come to find out, Sam had been cautiously asking the Universe for a puppy, trusting that the right one would come at the right time. The moment Poe was placed in his arms he started crying, and didn’t stop for a week.

I have a lot of caveats in this story but it’s ours and I own it - and Poe could not have made us any happier.

Pet loss comes in many forms, and you may have noticed I put a trigger warning at the top, something I have not yet done although I am always talking about death and dying. There is something about pet loss that just…hits different. And the fact that it can be disenfranchised grief (not easily understood or validated by others) can make it worse.

This is our experience, and one we sign up for again and again - because grief is the price of love, including our fur babies.

In Memory of Abby, Tank, Joe, Pickle and Roonie, I have donated $25.00 USD to
Rotts Of Friends Animal Rescue