My dear ex-sister-in-law (ever a sister still to me, regardless) sent me a note about the book, “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein after the passing of my other 13 year old Golden Retriever, Beano. He passed two weeks on the heels of my female Golden Retriever, Bob-Dog. I don’t know if it was from missing his sister (he would stand half-way in/half-way out of the sunroom door at night scanning the backyard for her) or if he was just ready to pass on to Heaven after 13 years as our family pet. Beano’s hips had deteriorated to the point that we either had to lift him up to get him standing or almost carry him to the backyard. It was heartbreaking, yet I’d do anything for that wonderful dog. I even took my good china cereal bowl out of the cabinet and filled it with water to hold for him as he drank so as not to have to bend over his water bowl.
While Bob-Dog was the energetic, ‘mouthy’, spunky pet, Beano was the love-puppy. In obedience classes, when every other dog was learning to heel, Beano was laid out on his back looking up at the instructor as if to say, ‘Hey, over here. My stomach needs rubbing, please.’ And who could resist those soulful eyes? Not me. This was the dog that liked to back into your lap…at 125 pounds. The dog that was afraid of thunderstorms, yet chased/caught rabbits in the backyard. The dog that lay patiently on the couch while I took pictures of my oldest son as a baby in the crook of Beano’s side to ‘see how much the baby's grown!’
And what did that sweet puppy do as we took him to the vet last Friday? He pawed at my arm until his right front leg was draped over me in order for me to have better positioning to scratch his chest. Beano was shaking he was so scared of being at the vet’s office up high on that table being examined. He would calm though as I pet him and whispered, “Such a good puppy. Love you so much, Beano. You are a good dog.”
The inevitable was upon us. It was Beano’s time. Per the vet, the muscle in his hind quarters was little to none, the vet could feel the fluid in Beano’s lungs as he laid his hand on Beano’s back, and Beano’s heart was erratically beating at best, hence, constant panting and not enough oxygen making it through his body. We had to let our other ‘first child’ go; we had to let him be free of the pain of being age 97 in human years. He’d had a good life, he was loved beyond compare, and he had to know that we wanted only the best for him. So, as the vet inserted the syringe into a vein and the medicine began to course through Beano’s system, he looked at my ex-. Our sweet puppy looked up and leaned into my ex-, licked his face, and then turned to me. Beano leaned into me, looked soulfully at me, and licked my face, too. He then laid his head on the table and passed on to Heaven.
Instead of us comforting him in his old age, he took care of us that day; just as he always stood guard in the backyard and chased away squirrels and rabbits to protect his family. A puppy that only wanted to be held and petted grew into a dog that protected not only his owners, but the ‘little people’ that came along. He taught all four of us what it was to be a quiet soldier gently protecting the ones he loved. And here he laid, with his last breath, comforting us as if to say, ‘I’m ready; it’s OK’.
Needless to say, when I read the excerpt below from the book my SIL shared with me by Garth Stein, I sobbed. This was my Beano. This was what he was all about. This, my friends, is what happens to those silent, loyal, true guardians that we call family pets.
In Enzo's words (the dog-narrator of the book):
“In Mongolia, when a dog dies, he is buried high in the hills so people cannot walk on his grave. The dog's master whispers into the dog's ear his wishes that the dog will return as a man in his next life. Then his tail is cut off and put beneath his head, and a piece of meat or fat is placed in his mouth to sustain his soul on its journey; before he is reincarnated, the dog's soul is freed to travel the land, to run across the high desert plains for as long as it would like.
I learned that from a program on the National Geographic channel, so I believe it is true. Not all dogs return as men, they say; only those who are ready.
I am ready.”
The Art of Racing in the Rain – Garth Stein
Beano was ready. I believe he will come back one day as a man; a good, loyal, honest man. Because I promise you, he won’t spend long running across the high desert plains. That would be too tiring for my loving beast – he’d rather spend his time loving on those that he cared for and ensuring their safety.
Rest In Peace, Sweet Bean. You are loved beyond compare.
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