How many dogs can you say you’ve known who have made it to 17.5 years?
My very special boy: Walter Warwick James.
This last week, I wormed my way around the fact that my dearly beloved pooch best lay his gorgeous self in heaven.
I prayed to God, the angels (including St Francis of Assisi - patron Saint of Animals), my late mum and Walt's departed friend/foe Maggie Charly for strength, protection, guidance and support as well to ask their hand in Walt’s transition ‘home’.
Walt passed on Wednesday 28 Sept around 4pm with the aid of his vet, Di; Sandie my local florist and great Walt lover; and Sara, a friend who on many occasions has taken Walt under her watch.
Outside it was raining and thunder was bellowing two great claps (Sara remarked this a fitting send off – and my aunt Lucy later commented it was the heavens applauding me for having the courage to action a necessary bon voyage).
Sandie, who had stayed holding and cuddling Walt to her for his final curtain call, came out of the vet’s consultation room a few minutes later with a great tuft of Walt’s hair for me to cherish - taken from his gorgeous crimpy bits over his ear.
She said the vet had informed his little heart had stopped right away with the administration of the anaesthesia. There was no sign of pain or resistance. Walt went swiftly and without fuss. Sandie said he looked so peaceful wrapped up in the vet’s fluffy, white blanket.
I had kept the last chapter in this sad journey relatively private in honour of spending Walt’s last days together and in self protection to try and finally reconcile a life without him.
I had been considering a two month contract up in Sydney so had taken Walt to the vet for a consultation to make sure he was doing ok and that I could go ahead with including him in my short term relocation plans.
Walter was very old, feeble, had periodontal disease and dementia. But I was committed to holding onto him and if he still had a Sydney run in him, we would make the trip. After all, we had practically been all over Australia together.
Another cursor to get me to the vet was Walt had 'urine scold' brought on by his unsteady gait and pretty much no strength in his back legs to hold him up and prevent the urine stream from hitting his skin.
In short - the vet was adamant Walt would be in pain due to a myriad of poor health conditions (namely all brought on by his v grand age) and suggested I say my goodbyes before his condition deteriorated further.
“If you hadn’t been at home to care for him all these years – he would have gone by now. Most people who go off to work each day and leave their dogs in the backyard would have had to put him down a long time ago. With the dementia, he more than likely would have found himself in a precarious position and met his end.”
She had a valid point – there have been several occasions over the months where without my interception, Waltie’s misdemeanours would have led him haphazardly to heaven’s pearly gates.
One evening last year for example I took Walt off lead to Albert Park Lake. While I had turned for not more than a minute, he had wandered across the path and fell into the water. A passing jogger yelled to me as I searched (in the other direction) for him: "Is that your dog swimming in the lake?"
I wouldn’t have suspected Walt would end up paddling in the water! But it was already dark and Walt had obviously lost his bearings and fallen in. I had to dive in - in the middle of winter - to retrieve him. The jogger stayed with me and helped me haul him up. Shivering, skinny, tiny Walt. I cradled him in my arms and carried him home, looking to the sky all the way: “Mum, I know you saved him for me, I know.” And the jogger guardian angel sent.
Walt was a cat; he had nine lives but more. I used to call him my little ever ready battery – he went on and on and on. Even after each close call, he would rally.
In our last days together, I reasoned that he’d experienced enough sorrow on my part. He had tolerated me sobbing over him – tears welled when my look lingered on his trusting eyes, the sense of dread permeating through my every pore. But he was sensitive to my grief and he took it on. Witness to this I determined this transference of despair would cease. Walt’s body was too old, too frail, too worn to absorb these punishing throes of sadness.
Instead, happiness and joy, peace and respect would reign. Walt didn’t deserve any less – he had shouldered my ups and downs, been there through it all, a staunch support and trusted shepherd. The Shetland Sheepdog – in his breed’s made role; a shepherd to the sheep, but for Walt’s life, the shepherd over me. Watching and there, ever present.
Tuesday we had a good night’s rest together. Sure, I was up intermittently tending to his needs as per usual, but importantly I had mostly slept soundly and hadn’t succumbed to a sleepless night.
As Liz Gilbert reported in her personal memoir ‘Eat Pray Love’, I knew the tempest was coming but “go back to bed Liz,” because you will need all your strength to push through.
This is how I felt. Lord, please give me a good night’s rest so that I am in the best physical, mental and emotional standing to meet the eye of the storm.
The next morning, my Waltie spent time sleeping with me and we had a good while together where he lay by my side and I snuggled into him. He positioned his beautiful nose to nuzzle my neck and face and his front leg lay on my arm as I stroked his body’s soft fur and moved my fingers over his worn paw pads.
My aunt Sue said to me about losing her beloved Hacksaw at 15 years: "When Hacky died, I wasn't sad....he'd had a great life and it was his time to go."
In part this rings true. Walt exited this world when it was the right time for both of us - and in his departure and the days before - he handled it with patience, courage, grace and dignity.
The dog was worn out – he was exhausted, but in true stoic, stubborn Walter style he was going to stick around and wasn’t going to leave me. But boy was he ready to go. And it was my call as the custodian of his comfort and care, the steward for this animal’s welfare, to give him my blessing and fond farewell.
It is also important to place in perspective that Waltie outlived almost any canine’s lifespan. Walt’s struggles with movement, agility, eating and his ‘witching hour’ dementia meant his life had well come to its end. Nature’s way – circle of life.
Vale ol’ Walt and Godspeed. You are and will be sorely missed.
Images - painting of Waltie, photos taken by the artist and friend, Sam for inspiration, in August 2011; flowers given to me by Sandie in memory of Walt; Caroline James (me) and Walter (taken April 2010).
