The day I left for the Toronto Film Festival back in September, I had to be up at 3:00 AM to be at the airport by 4:30AM, so I was in the sack by something like 9:00 PM so I could have some semblance of sleep before my early morning flight. It's important because as I'm not a spring chicken anymore, I needed to be somewhat bright-eyed & bushy-tailed as we were heading into the festival with a big movie that could have a part in making or breaking us.
So the alarm went off at some ungodly hour, I jumped in the shower, and had some time to ingest a coffee and have a leisurely 30 minutes before my cab came. I turned on the computer and checked my personal email, expecting the usual nothing, but in the very still hours of the morning from my dear friend Terry, I received this [edited for content] letter:
"Dear friends and family, It is with a heavy heart that I send this message to you. This afternoon Sab and I were with Dawson as he peacefully left us, his head in our lap, having his ears scratched.
The vet surmised that in addition to degenerative disc disorder he likely had an inoperable mass on his spine. We would be left with giving him more anti-inflammatories and pain killers to prolong his life. Sab and I felt that just making him comfortable wouldn't have been good enough for Dawson. He lost his bark about 9 months ago and had his last swim in the ocean last summer while on vacation with Craig. For all of us that know and love Dawson, barking and swimming were two of his favorite things. As were popcorn, going for runs (back in the day), tug of wars with his stuffie, his girlfriend Sam Kaiser and finishing up the girls' lunch, breakfast and supper and parking his nose in a warm crotch. What is life without a warm crotch after a nice long run with your girlfriend?
Words can't express how sad it feels to put down your dog of almost 13 years. I don't know how long I should leave his dog dishes by the door. And how long should we wait until we take away all the area rugs we put down last year for him so he wouldn't slip on the floor.
We are having Dawson cremated and will be receiving his ashes. Although Ella has asked if she can have ALL of them, we would like to have a day where we spread some of them in the places he loved the most and would like you to come. We will let you know our plans.
Thank you for loving our dog.
Sab and Terry Ella, Mia, Shane and Dawson."
He wasn't doing well. He hadn't been in a long while in fact. In the past years, he had been slowing down, and had been a growing concern for all of us. Last Christmas as previously mentioned, Terry & Sab pried me out of my dark lair to go to their place and spend Christmas at their empty house, to take care of Dawson. I grudgingly did so, even though all I wanted to do was to stay holed up in my cavern, alone, and feeling miserable, but out of love for them, and my sense of duty to Dawson, I drove out in a huge storm, and the two of us hung out, and spent a quiet, meaningful Christmas together. Earlier last summer, he wasn’t well enough to travel for holidays, so I took him for about a week, and he accompanied me to work every day, we walked and explored my neighborhood, and went for a last final swim when his back legs gave out while trying to get out of the ocean – and just laid there with the waves pounding over him. (The funny thing about it was that two by-law enforcement officers were threatening me with a ticket as the off-leash time had passed, and they were getting all snarky about it, when Dawson’s back legs collapsed, and I had to walk into the ocean, and carry him out of the water like some 70 pound invalid. The attitudes of the by-law people changed from threatening to “Awwwww” in about 10 seconds flat).
Back to September, at 3:30 AM, I read Terry’s letter and then had to blast to the airport. Upon landing the usual market / festival madness began and I was rushing from meeting to meeting, and in a day or so, my phone rang, and it was Terry calling from Vancouver. She asked if I had gotten her email, and I said yes and profusely apologized for not replying sooner. She burst into tears on the phone, while outside the Park Hyatt hotel, movie stars walked past me, limos were pulling up and disgorging their contents, the important, the semi-important and the posers were swirling around, and I stood immobile on amidst all this unimportant self absorbed wankery, and listened to my friend cry uncontrollably about a family member who died.
Flash to the present, and yesterday we had “Dawson’s Walk”. The family (well, my family, actually) and friends all met at the entrance of Pacific Spirit Regional Park in the UBC endowment lands, to walk Dawson’s favorite trails and scatter his ashes in his favorite place, on what would have been his 13th birthday.
It was cold, rainy & shitty, the paths had turned into muddy ruts, and it was beautiful. The perfect winter day on the West Coast actually. Terry & Sab were there with assorted children, my friend Randy brought little Jack, Bonnie & Stevie were there, Heather & Tony arrived with son Desmond, even Terry’s old neighbors showed up as they had walked Dawson when he was growing up, back in the day when we all lived in the old hood. The rain was a constant, there were umbrellas, mud-spattered laughing kids running through the woods, toddlers soaked to the skin and not caring, and adults talking about their lives, trading children stories, and discussing careers, and such. Terry gave me the surprisingly heavy large zip-lock bag filled with Dawson to carry, and we walked, took photos, enjoyed each other, and in a strange way I took strength from the whole experience.
Every so often, someone would stop and sprinkle some ashes; the kids all had little baggies full of Dawson, and ran here and there sprinkling barbequed golden retriever wherever their little 9 year old hearts thought it would be a good place to do so; at the foot of a magnificent cedar, in a little creek meandering its way through the woods, or lightly frosting a green clearing.
Afterwards, we all went to a restaurant in the old neighborhood, and as I arrived first, I promptly informed the hostess that I was about to make her entire day: “Hi. I need a table for 6 adults and 5 mud-spattered toddlers please”. I don’t think the staff was that impressed actually. Neither were the customers in our immediate vicinity for that matter – but we couldn’t have cared less.
It was a great day. I think at the end of it all, I’m so grateful for my friends who have become my family, and am most grateful for an old dog that meant so much to us all, that we did this whole thing out of love for him, and more importantly, his owners.
Besides, what's life without a warm crotch to stick your nose into? Not much Methinks.
