Last legs

Our dog is on her last legs.

Last night we found her

behind the backyard ti leaf plant

unable to hoist herself up

on those arthritic hind legs

calmly prepared to camp out for the night

so we carried her up

to her soft dry bed on the back porch

Sweet wild puppy of our children’s childhood

Doggie discipline school drop-out

Part and parcel

of our over-extended

two-kid, two-pet

working parent household

Now age 15

an elderly animal

constant companion

in our almost as busy

post empty-nest lives 

a link to our shared past

she may soon be gone

Lilikoi Matsunaga, faux beagle extraordinaire, passed peacefully from this earth on Friday morning, April 12, 2013. The end of life experience was blessedly brief but made for an intense and dense last week as she took a turn for the worse.  For several months we watched the old girl markedly slow down. The usual nighttime walks, previously relished, nose to the ground, grew shorter.  Soon she was unable to climb up stairs without help.  In the last few weeks, she would go down the back steps to do her business but be unable to climb back up onto the back porch without a boost, and so spent long hours underneath the house where it was cool and dark – and where we think she picked up a flea infestation – the first time in years we had seen any fleas on her.  Last weekend, she grew weaker and no longer wanted to move much from her towels on the back porch.  Within days she was so weak she could not stand and her breathing was labored.  On my day off, Wednesday, I carried her into the animal clinic where we agreed to blood tests, but declined an x-ray, a 6-hour blood transfusion, hospitalization with I-V fluids, and further testing for conditions suggested by the blood test results.  It was a long and stressful visit - for both of us.  As we waited, I continuously petted and talked to her, and when we were alone in the exam room, for the first time I did Healing Touch with a non-human.  Surprisingly, as we did so, I could feel her labored breathing quiet and heartbeat slow.  Once out of there, Lilikoi was so happy to be home that she rallied a bit that day and evening, struggling to her feet briefly, wolfing down food and lapping up water when put right in front of her nose, raising small hopes of recovery.  I tried carrying her out on the grass to see if she might like the feel of the earth (and to pee or poop in the process) but it soon became clear that being moved was stressful for her.  So, I did lots of laundry, removing soiled towels and rinsing her hindquarters with warm water. She valiantly raised her head when we came round, but would soon lay it back down, all energy spent.

Peter and I both had to work Thursday and Friday, though I was able to make a quick trip home at lunch time. We enlisted a kindly new neighbor who came over during the day to spoon-feed water and attention.  On Friday morning about 11 am a call come in on my cell phone from our neighbor’s number.  Hearing the pregnant pause before she spoke, I whimpered.  “All dogs go to heaven, Doris” she said.  I took an early lunch break and drove home, calling Peter as I walked to my car.  I found the dog lying still, and still warm except for her cool wet nose. I placed 2 hands on her body… and sobbed.  Still dripping, I began to clean up from her final eliminations, to wash and wrap her in clean towels.  For a few surreal moments my mind played tricks: is that a heartbeat? I wondered, putting my ear to her chest; I had to shake my head, reminding myself that no, Doris, there can be no heartbeat without respiration.  I couldn’t quite convince myself to cover her nose right away…just in case… it could wait till I had to go back to work.  Rigor mortis had not set in and the body was soft, as if in deep slumber. 

I texted the kids in Waikoloa and Arcata that she was gone.  After a quick lunch, I walked next door with a box of Big Island cookies to thank our sympathetic neighbor for her kokua (help).  Returning to the back porch, I covered Lili with one last towel - now covering her nose - lay my hands and a few salty tears on her soft body, said a quick prayer, and headed back to work.  

That evening, Peter rolled her up in 2 blue tarps as overnight protection from scavengers till Saturday morning when we would take her for cremation.  Over dinner, we reminisced, laughing as we recalled how our over-extended working parent household failed doggie discipline school, yet realized a lifetime of love with this not-so-smart but ever-so-sweet canine wild-child.  Even in the darkest moments of our human children’s teenage years when it sometimes seemed we had almost nothing in conflict-free common, we could always laugh and bond together over the antics of the family pets. 

As we talked, I felt mostly relief that the suspenseful caregiving days were few and that our dog had died quickly with little apparent suffering.  I found myself reflecting upon this time, noticing how  conversations, even at work and unrelated to this event, were often deep, meaningful encounters, with unexpected confidences disclosed and emotions expressed; almost as though I was wearing a sign that read “wearing my heart on my sleeve”.  I found myself providing Healing Touch for two people at work during those days.  Indeed, this was similar to other times of illness, crisis and death I have known, a time when unimportant stuff sinks to the bottom and what rises to the top is what we value most,  what really matters, infusing everyday discussion and encounters with greater depth and higher meaning.  The days of Lilikoi’s passing was one of these rarified times, with all the sorrow and gifts such times can bring.  

Later that night a spontaneous virtual memorial erupted on Facebook.  Kelly, 3 hours earlier in Cali, was the first to post. Soon we were all commenting, posting and re-posting, instantly surrounded by an oddly comforting community of “likes” and “comments” from friends and family.

Kelly: Her favorite thing was Kleenex  

  

 Joel: I first saw her in a box in a park in Kaneohe. her brothers and sisters were all brown and she was twice as big, black and white, and dominating. I said “I want dat one” and my dad shelled out a couple hundred bucks for a hyperactive pure breed “beagle” w/no papers. I then named her “lilikoi” because she had the same color scheme as the Hawaiian sun “lilikoi flavor” juice can. Known this dog most of my life and she will be missed.

Kelly: Hahaha, Joel, I was just telling my friend that story. Yah, I wanted the ugly runt and you wanted the big weirdo jumping on all the other puppies

Doris: Joel, you, Kelly and Dad brought her home on Jan 2, 1998. I know the date because that day I was watching Rell Sunn’s memorial from Auntie Shelly’s balcony overlooking Makaha Beach. Yup, Lilikoi was the pick of the litter.

We miss her now in the thousand small ways she was woven into our everyday lives. As a friend said of her departed pet, “I still see her out of the corner of my eye, and it’s been a year now”.  This is the best description I have heard of how Lili happily hangs around haunting us; it is almost as though we catch a disappearing glimpse of the white tip of her tail each time we open the door, glance out at the back porch, open the refrigerator to feed the cat, and go about our daily rituals in the kitchen where she kept us company as we cooked, ever hopeful that scraps of food and attention might come her way.

I even sorta miss cleaning up after her.  In the style of a long married couple, our division of labor extended even to feces.  Before a walk, Peter folded one of his inventive origami newspaper cups which I lined with a plastic bag and then employed for dog doo-doo pick-up and transport.

After-dinner moonlit walks will forever remind us of Lilikoi, her beagle nose close to the ground, grunting like a pig, intently exploring some fascinating smell, as we laughed indulgently or gazed up at sprays of stars spread across the vast night sky. As Peter posted on FB: "We lost our beloved doggie today… This morning she was quietly resting up before she took off for the great beyond. This evening I saw her star burning bright over a setting Ku-kahi moon. Bye bye”  Bye bye, Miss Lilikoi pie!