So long Louie
We took him to the vet, cocooned in the soft fabric bed that, in better days, he’d flung around the room, as part of a weird after-dinner ritual. He’d grab it between his teeth, give it a good shake, and often flip it on top of himself, proceeding to blunder around the lounge like a crazy turtle. It’d been a while since he’d given his bed what we called ‘ a good seeing to’. Even longer since he’d sprung unaided onto our bed or battled through the waves, focused on a stick bobbing in the tide.
We lost Louie by degrees. First it was the cloudy film that took his sight, then the deafness. More recently, he’d lost his navigation system which meant we’d often find him trapped in corners, behind doors and, once, wedged between bikes in the garage. We’d taken to placing him on a ridged rubber mat when he ate, to stop his legs from sliding out from under him in an undignified belly flop.
In spite of his physical failings and doolally moments, Louie still enjoyed short sniffaries, loved his food, and showed more than a passing interest in any unwitting hedgehog that embarked on a nocturnal shuffle across our property.
Finally, even the whiff of a hedgehog failed to excite him, he began sleeping in the afternoons, snoring like a lord and was becoming wobbly on his pins. We knew our days with Louie were coming to an end. At 17, as far as we know, he’d outlived all his siblings. I put it down to his discovery, at an early age, it was best to conserve your energy. He was apparently the runt of the litter. The the breeder told us that, when he was a newborn, she’d have to clear a space for him and plug him into his mother because he wouldn’t compete with his more boisterous litter mates for his place at the milk bar. Unlike his ball-fixated brother Jack, who often visited, Louie couldn’t see the point of endlessly playing fetch. You could see the thought process as he watched a tennis ball skim across the grass away from the two of them. ‘Yeah, nah. Can’t be bothered. It’s all yours mate!’.
What he lacked in physical motivation, Louie made up for with his chilled disposition and smarts. He never failed to let us know, with a sharp bark, when it was dinner time and he learned to activate the electric windows in the car by putting his paw on the button. With some training from one of our daughter’s, he could play dead, dramatically falling to the floor in response to pretend gunshot. He could salute, dance and ‘speak’ on demand. This repertoire, and his devastating good looks, won him a short stint in the film industry. Like all stars, he was discovered by a talent scout at the local shopping mall. Returning to my car from a brief shopping trip, I saw a woman putting something under my windscreen. I thought she was a busybody, admonishing me for leaving my dog in the car. Turned out she was an animal trainer, drawn to the cuteness in the car. So began Louie’s short career in the spotlight. There were several photo shoots, including a scene on the beach wearing a rubber swim ring, and a flight to Auckland to star in a television commercial for a Chinese gas utility. I still have the photos of Louie performing for the cameras in a city park.
As he got older, Louie’s chilled younger self evolved into a dignified old gentleman, who greeted other dogs with impeccable manners and joy. Now, however, his ability to react to anything was beyond him. His old legs couldn’t hold him, he taken to his bed and his chest seemed to be rising and falling way too rapidly. We syringed water into his mouth, as the Wellington temperatures climbed and placed a fan near his bed. We hoped to let nature take its course but, as his breathing became more laboured, we contacted the vet.
It was an impossibly hot evening as we lifted his bed into the car and headed to the clinic. Our lovely vet Erin, who over the years had treated bouts of pancreatitis, skin rashes and hemorrhagic diarrhea (which is as alarming as it sounds) moved the stethoscope across Louie’s chest, her eyes fixed on the clock. She said his heart rate was 180 and indicated that would be uncomfortable for him. The decision was made.
As we said our final goodbyes and watched him slip away, I reflected on the life of this little dog and all the joy he had brought us. I can’t remember a day when he didn’t make us smile and we miss him terribly.I’m not really a believer in rainbow bridges or dog heaven but if there is such a place where old dogs go, I know Louie will be mooching outside, biding his time until somebody comes to collect him. Who knows he might even find the magic button and open the gates himself.
©Anna Kenna 2023