Saying Goodbye to a Furry Friend
My phone was ringing at 4:30 on Tuesday. It was my mother. Uh oh. She never calls during work hours unless it’s near lunchtime. Something was wrong.
I could tell immediately that she had bad news by the tentative manner in which she greeted me as I answered. I was right. My mother told me that my beloved golden retriever, Duncan, had died in his sleep the night before. She hadn’t called me earlier to spare me a work day of being distracted and tearful.
It wasn’t a shock that Duncan died. He was old, especially for a golden, at 11 or 12. We had expected it for months, as his arthritis had gotten worse, he was moving slower, his fur was emitting bad odors and he was losing weight. Although he could still have moments of sheer playfulness, running on the beach, we all knew his time was near. For months, whenever I left him, I would give him extra hugs and kisses as I said goodbye just in case.
I saw Duncan the Friday before he died as I was home briefly. I was in a rush and didn’t give him a full goodbye, but I told him I loved him. And he knew I did.
Duncan on the Hampton River Marina docks
We adopted Duncan when I was in 9th grade. He was a skinny 1-year-old golden boy with a sad case of pneumonia. He was so sweet-natured, but rather dim-witted, and we believed then that he was given up because he couldn’t cut it as a show dog.
Duncan was unconditionally affectionate, loved indiscriminately, always played like he was a puppy and made us laugh. He wasn’t good at retrieving or catching, but he always wanted to run around with you. He hated to be alone, and thrived when he was around other dogs and other people. He was very close with our former (deceased) dog, Rusty (I still maintain that they were gay lovers), and was very close with our other dog, Bailey. He would follow you everywhere, even to the bathroom.
Duncan loved when you threw things up in the air. When you sprayed water or shot snow into the air, he would be up on his hind legs trying to catch it all in his mouth. He always tried, in vain, to catch snowballs, and was mystified when he couldn’t find them when they landed in the snowbanks around him.
Duncan was not intelligent. It took him a week to learn how to use the doggie door – he didn’t quite get that he had to push the flap to get out. He thought that once it closed he was trapped. Even with me going in and out to show him how to do it, he was mystified. Yet, Duncan understood people’s emotions. He knew when you were upset. Once, when I was in high school, I was alone in the house and extremely upset for one reason or another, crying on my bed. Duncan understood that I was distressed, and on his own volition, came up to my room and jumped into bed with me, and just laid next to me to be with me, to calm me down.
I’ve had a handful of dogs in my life, but Duncan was my favorite. It’s sort of like picking a favorite child, but Duncan and I had a connection. He was my special boy, and I feel a huge rift in my life and my heart now that he is gone. Since I heard the news, I have mourned the loss of Duncan as if I lost a member of my family. Losing Duncan was like losing a brother. Although Duncan was a four-legged, furry guy, he was a friend, and a big part of almost half of my life. I’m left with so many happy memories of Duncan, and as part of the mourning and healing process, I’ll be periodically posting them to my Tumblr blog, Oh so Peculiar.
Writing about Duncan has proven to be the only thing that makes me feel better. To focus on the good and get past the pain of my loss. For those of you who aren’t pet lovers, this might seem trivial. But when you have a relationship like this with an animal like Duncan for as long as I did, then you’ll understand.
Duncan, I know you’re in a happier place. I hope you’re at peace.
My Handsome Fellow
Death, Life and Re-Evaluation
Someone I knew died today. He was 23.
Matthew Starring was a supremely talented, spirited, friendly and all-around positive person. While I didn’t know him well, the time I did spend around him was happy and bright. His presence could lighten a room, and his smile would make you smile.
Matt had a form of leukemia; he was diagnosed in 2007. He was positive through this whole experience and even after he and his family decided to stop treatment, he remained so. I find him inspirational in life and now in death and I hope he and his family know how much of an impact he will continue to have on people.
It sadly often takes a tragedy such as this for us all to re-evaluate our lives’ priorities. Why be bothered by my roommates’ inability to clean up dishes or how slow someone is on the stairs leaving the T? Why continue to take on all the world’s problems on my shoulders? Why don’t I value every minute of every day?
I will spend more time out in the sunshine. I need to take advantage of all that life has to offer me; despite my worries, problems and frustrations, I know I live a deeply rich life. I have supportive friends, a loving family, a roof over my head and food on the table. I have so much and I too often take it for granted.
Matthew Starring’s death is a sincere tragedy. I just hope that it continues to inspire all and lead us to live full lives that we all value every minute possible.
A photo series about Matt’s last relapse
Newspaper article about his battle
Falling Feet First 