Bill Pierce
Nuts & Bolts
"A Thank
You"
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This is not really a column, but a
thank you note.
Since
the beginning of The Digital Journalist, I have written several
columns that included my elderly German shepherd, Marilyn. I received
a lot of email after I wrote about her adventures in a doggy intensive
care unit, and even more when I wrote about how similar traveling
across country with her and traveling on a presidential campaign
bus were. (It was on this trip she discovered that exit 249
on Interstate 70 in Kansas, is Halstead Road, and that the same
state has a roadside display of an 800-pound prairie dog.)
A lot of you commented not only on
Marilyn's adventures, but those of your own dogs. And because Marilyn
had been seriously ill, some of you talked about the pain of losing
your dog.
In the last year, Marilyn lost the
use of her hind legs. Animals have no self pity. Her paralysis did
not bother her as long as someone was there to sling a towel under
her rump and pick up her hind legs. "Wheelbarrow Dog" would
zoom around the house and then out into the backyard to snooze in
the sun.
But she did panic a little when no
one was around to help her. As she had been my companion and nurse
when the adventures of photojournalism had laid me low for awhile,
Judith, my wife, and I decided Marilyn would never be left alone
for longer than an hour or so.
This immediately established our reputation
as antisocial. You could go out to dinner with Judith or me, but
not both. If you wanted to see the two of us, you had to come to
the house. Of course, Marilyn made even more friends this way.
A few weeks ago, the paralysis spread
to Marilyn's front legs and she could no longer be "Wheelbarrow
Dog." She was unhappy, afraid. It was obvious we would have to end
her life.
Arthur Grace, once of The New York
Times, Time, Newsweek, and now of the more lucrative movie posters
and advertising, had lost two dogs during the last few years. When
he heard about Marilyn, he immediately said he would be there when
Marilyn was put to sleep. Photojournalism has given me a few good
pictures, but, more important, a few good friends.
I spent Marilyn's last days beside
her. She played with her favorite toys and ate all the dog treats
in her closet, the last when Arthur arrived. I gave her ear tookies,
and snout massage, and sang her favorite song, "The Silly Old Dog
Song." The vet administered the lethal injection. Marilyn took two
sharp breathes and died.
I was in tears; I don't think anybody
else was doing much better, including the vet. I found out that
many people leave their dog with the vet and are not there when
the dog is killed. I also found out that some of the more
popular religions do not allow dogs into heaven. If there is a heaven
and I end up there, I will see young Marilyn woofing and running
again and playing with her puppy buddies.
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