Some years back, while rummaging through a drawer, I came across a collar from our old dog, Rusty. When Ryan, our golden retriever, who was by my side, saw the collar in my hand, he nosed at it, curiously at first, then aggressively. Ryan’s tail started to wag furiously and he became quite animated, paws dancing. I took off Ryan’s collar, a leather one which had become tattered and smelly over time, and put Rusty’s collar on him.
He wagged his tail some more.
Rusty was a rescue. A golden retriever perhaps mixed with something else, Rusty was sick when we brought him home. Bad joints from Lyme’s disease and underweight, he was basically an old dog from the get-go, even though he was quite young. He lived his entire life with us slowly plodding along. There was no rushing Rusty.
Ryan, on the other hand, was a typical eight week old puppy when he joined the family one December. Clumsy, rambunctious, and affectionate, he chewed, as puppies chew, on everything, including Rusty a few times. Rusty quickly let him know that was not appreciated, but that did not seem to stop him or even slow him down. More than once, Rusty looked up at me with a look that seemed to be an exasperated plea for help.
Our walks around the neighborhood were often a source of amusement for the neighbors. I usually walked both dogs together. Ryan would have one leash stretched out in front of me and Rusty would have the other stretched out behind, pulling him along by the neck. Ryan was always trying to pick up the pace. Rusty was always trying not to catch up.
As Ryan approached his first birthday, he showed no signs of slowing down.
Rusty, on the other hand, became sick and started to turn frail at that point. Lumps scattered around his body pointed to the reason for his decline. His appetite left him and he wasted away incredibly quickly. He got to the point where he could not walk or really even stand. I carried him outside a few times a day in the crisp October days to pee and poop and take in a bit of fresh air. Other than that, he just rested in his bed.
For Rusty’s last day the weather turned warm and sunny, a cloudless eighty degrees with a very slight breeze.
I scooped up Rusty and took him to the edge of the shade of his favorite tree in our back yard, a towering maple. As I laid Rusty on the grass, Ryan quickly scampered about, gathering his toys and some sticks and his rock collection. An indiscriminate chewer, Ryan was fond of chewing on rocks and we were always careful to never let him have any stones small enough to swallow. Somehow, though, he managed to accumulate or find a bunch of rocks, some as big as his head. I was not even sure how he carried them.
What he did with all these toys and sticks and rocks was to array them in an arc about six feet from Rusty, all in front of Rusty where he could see them. From the house I watched on. Ryan would chew on one of the toys or sticks and rocks and then, every few minutes, would bounce over to Rusty and touch his nose to Rusty’s. Rusty would wag his tail and Ryan would chew on something else for a few minutes and then touch Rusty’s nose. All the while, Rusty watched on, lying on his belly with his head between his front paws.
He seemed to enjoy the show.
This went on for a couple of hours, it seemed. Then it was time to bring them in.
That night, Rusty seemed unsettled so I stayed up with him in the living room. Ryan slept off and on there on the floor with us. After waking from a couple of dreams, Rusty went back to sleep and just a bit past three in the morning, breathed one last quiet sigh.
After the sun rose, it was time to take Rusty away. They gave me his collar to take home. It went in the drawer.
Ryan, of course, searched the house for his big buddy that morning but didn’t find him. It quickly became apparent that Ryan’s world had been tumbled. He spent the day confused. By that night, he stopped looking for Rusty.
The next day started still, quiet. First thing in the morning when I let Ryan out into the back yard, he immediately trotted to the middle of the lawn and peed, as usual. Then he found a large flat rock near the house and sat on it. He lifted his snout to the sky and for about a half minute Ryan let out a pitiful howl, something he had never done before. He sighed, looked briefly at the ground and then came to the back door to be let in. Inside, he found his bed and laid down.
This routine went on every morning for a couple of months.
He missed his big pal.
Eventually, though, Ryan settled into being The Only Dog. And that’s how things continued.
Until years later when I rummaged through that drawer and came across Rusty’s collar.
Ryan is an old dog now. He has slowed down and a lot of people remark on how well behaved he is. He does have his moments, though, when he doesn’t listen. But I cut him a bit of slack on those occasions because of what he did for Rusty at the end.