Goodbye Needa

 

Needa was the sweetest dog I’ve ever known.

Her heart was willing to continue but her body could no longer contain her spirit.

For the last few weeks I lived the slow, unfair, heartbreaking anticipation of the inevitable. With so much love emanating from her it was hard to feel like I was doing the right thing when I called the traveling Vet to come to my house.

Yesterday, I drove her to Paradise and back. Her head was out the window the entire time; soaking up life as she’d always done; a reminder of what a flicker our existence is.

She took more out of life than it took out of her. I spent yesterday evening giving her treats and literally had to show her that the jar was empty before she would leave the kitchen.

Petie wasn’t present when the Vet performed the euthanasia and it concerned me. But moments after Needa was gone, he came into the room, gave her one last look and sniff. He looked lost when he returned to his bed in the other room.

I was the only human she knew intimately but she loved everyone. Yet at the end she saved the best of her love for me. She raced for almost 2 years before she was retired but her greatest victory was racing her way into my heart.

In her last hour Needa displayed happiness and gratitude after a big breakfast and a belly rub.  She left paw prints on the heart of everyone she ever met.

She was a blessing to me and many others and I am grateful that I was with her at the end of her beautiful life, fulfilling the promise I made to her.

In our final act of love her eyes got heavy and I held her sweet face in my hands, comforting her while trying not to cry. But instead of her heart quitting after the usual 20 seconds or so, it continued. She was not in pain and her heart became a slow beautiful murmur that lasted a couple of minutes before she slipped away. I know her heart did not want to leave me and she was just following my heart’s lead.

Then her soul ascended into Heaven; a passage she earned. I was there and as painful as it was I would not have had it any other way.

Welcome Petie

If you are like me, there are instances when you feel lost.

Sometimes when we think we are about to head down a road we are not familiar with and may not necessarily want to be on in the first place, we end up someplace else.

Needa and I have been on the bittersweet path of memories and sadness after losing Jack. But one thing I know too well is after such a loss, we keep on living because we have to.

My mourning of Jack will never end. I tear up when thinking about him many times a day and I cannot talk about him to anyone without crying. Some of you know of my faithfulness to the breed. I will always have a greyhound.

So, here is the important story.

Not long after Jack left us, I sent a Facebook message to my friend Art, the President of GreyHeart Greyhound Adoption.

We call him “GreyHeart Art.” He and his wife Assi are so committed and knowledgeable, valuable to the organization and breed that I hope they never burn out because they have done so much for the organization.

Exactly one minute after I sent the message my phone rang. It was Art.

This is a paraphrased version of the conversation.

Art: “Hey Pete, its Art. You’re never going to guess where I am right now.”

I gave him a witty response that I cannot recall.

Art: “Assi and I are on our way home from West Virginia with two new greyhounds.”

Me: “What? Really?”

Art: “One of them is named St. Pete.”

At that moment there was silence in the conversation as I could not believe my ears.

Art: “I think his call name in the kennel was Petie.”

My eyes welled up with tears and I got the proverbial lump in my throat.

I can’t recall the rest of the conversation but immediately, I felt I had to have this dog and asked Art to hold him for me as I thought it over. Was it an impulse decision? Maybe. But it was also like one of those touching moments in a Hallmark movie that never quite happens in real life, but now it was happening to me.

Needa and I made the trip back home this past Thursday and met Petie on Friday. There were four dogs in the yard, all happily prancing about. Needa, the elder of the group at 12 and a half, joined right in.

During the course of about a half an hour as I was talking with everyone, I would check on Needa. I saw Petie and Needa together several times; both of them away from the others, possibly comparing notes. There was no doubt that these two were already getting along famously.

We drove home on Saturday morning. As we made our last turn for home onto M-28 descending on Newberry, the sun was bright and there was an eagle sitting majestically in a tree not more than 100 feet from our turn as if approving our arrival and welcoming Petie to his new life in the north.

Thinking back, I don’t exactly know what prompted me to send Art the message at the exact moment I did. I am simply calling this series of events, serendipity.

In the same way Needa helped Jack, Petie is now helping Needa as she enters the last phase of her beautiful life.

Petie is beautiful and his brown eyes shine like finely polished marbles. He looks a lot like Jack but he is not replacing Jack.

He was successful in his career as a professional racer. Greyhounds are pulled out of racing when they are injured or start losing. But St. Pete was victorious in perhaps the most important race of his life, which was finding his way into my heart.

Meanwhile. Needa and I will enjoy the riches of our once in a lifetime winning ticket.

Life Between the Lakes, Part 59

 

 

Anita Wood (Needa Lou) turned 12 in early May and Tiger Jack Burke is less than 3 months away from becoming 14, or the human equivalent of being in his mid-90s.

While writing “Life between the Lakes,” has been an inspiring experience for me, I am not sure that my dogs have taken the same shine to what I consider an inspiring environment. It is impossible to know for sure, as many of their actions often point to the contrary.

They have loved the walks (three per day) and love the quiet environment we experience, but I know they miss being around people. Socialization in this rural area has been very limited for us.  It is so quiet that Needa can hear a car a half mile down the road; stop, look, listen and wait before I see it. She is kind of like Radar on M*A*S*H*

Greyhounds are a rare breed in general; especially when found walking across a road at the top of the UP. More people than I can remember have stopped and admired Jack and Needa or got out of their vehicle to pet them and learn about them.

Since the day I’ve had them, nobody who has stopped to chat has ever left the conversation without huge smiles and a gratuitous amount of thanks. 

Jack and Needa are both slowing down. 

Jack has never kissed or shown any sign of “mushy kissy affection” toward me. But he owned the couch.

For years, he used to lie on my lap, warming my feet and legs. But the closest I felt to him was when he slid between me and the back of the couch; his warm body soothing, while the feeling of his head on my chest was as great as you would expect a loving dog’s to be.

Jack is like every Clint Eastwood character. He’s tough, funny, not politically correct and was rugged on the track with scars to prove it. He is stubborn but a completely lovable dog, 24/7. The best he can do to show affection now is walk between my legs or sidle up to me because he knows an ear scratch will follow.  He owns the house.

Jack is beginning to lose his balance on uneven ground and when it happens, his helpless look invades my eyes. It accentuates the desperate look in his eyes which has been deepening. He owns my heart.

I just started Jack on an inject able schedule we will try for the next four weeks for his advanced arthritis. I never thought the legs that propelled him into flight would ever weaken. We’ll see how it goes.

Dogs are much like people. You can decipher and understand a good chunk of their life, current mood and intentions when you look into their eyes.

Jack’s eyes continue to sink slowly into that unfair canine aging machine, as my crying machine follows. I can’t imagine what life will be like for Needa without Jack. But we have been put on notice.

I'm just not sure if I am up to, or how to begin discussing it with her.

 

Life between the lakes, part 47

 

 

Special Covid Pneumonia edition.

My health reprieve ten days ago was short lived, so now I am into round three of steroids to try and knock this out of my system. I have not required hospitalization but neither has it been an enjoyable ride. I am worlds better than I was a week ago. Special thanks to Aunt Carla for trips to the pharmacy, doing my laundry and being “on the ready” in every way.

Finding inspiration to write has been hard because I have been so fatigued, but my groove came back today after looking out the window and realized there are spots that remain untouched by a human footprint within walking distance of where I sleep.

A few weeks ago Jack and Needa, Jack led us off-road and on an adventure up the North Country Trail. He took us to a trail that runs along the scenic bluffs of Lake Superior. It is here we found the white pine I now call Big Betty.

Big Betty is the last of the great white pines from the Deer Park logging era. She did not feel the saw, she lived many more years until she reached the inevitable breaking point. She is all that remains of the old growth.

The circumference of Big Betty at the base is 20 feet (240 inches) the chest high circumference is 18 feet (216 inches) so based on those numbers, I have determined this tree was approximately 330-400 years old, dating its origin to the mid-1600s or earlier. 

Let that sink in.

The forest remains abundant with the newer growth trees (100-150 years) but the reason I find this tree fascinating is that for some unknown reason it was spared and possibly served as a beacon or landmark since its proximity was so close to the Deer Park Life Saving Station.

As is often the case with the hounds, our walk turned into a fun and unexpected adventure and lesson in history.

"What I would do for wisdom!" I cried out as a young man.

Evidently not much. Or so it seems.

Even on walks I follow the dog. -Jim Harrison