Dash
I lost a friend. My walking companion, my workmate, my backseat driver for the past nine years: I lost Dash. He was a big yellow Labrador, a dog with a smile and a nudge. He was powerful, but most gentle, especially around small children.
Three weeks ago Dash, Buddy (our Collie mix) and I went on a hike at Salt Fork Lake. We “got lost” then “got found,” my favorite kind of walk. Up hills and down, through mud and into brambles, the three of us powering through on a surprisingly hot fall day. Everyone was strong, though when this old man needed a break, Dash and Buddy were happy to wait.
It happened so fast. Dash lost so much muscle, but his belly grew bigger. The diagnosis was nothing but cancer and awfulness, future months of sickness, no recovery possible. Dash had already lost twenty pounds, and was looking at us, wondering why this was happening, snuggling, looking for a reassuring rub and word. We couldn’t put him through all of that, for nothing. Jenn and I did our best for Dash.
It’s our time in the morning now – 6 am, before Jenn and Buddy get up. Dash should wander down the hall, a smile on his face, sleepy eyes, and flop on the floor by my desk. We should have our morning “talk,” about what the day will bring, where we could walk, what else was in store. I vacuumed the carpet yesterday, but there’s still blonde hair around. And there’s a hole where Dash should be.
I’m a sixty-one year old man, and you’d think that hole wouldn’t be so large now. I mean there was Princess, Louie 1, Louie 2, Rory, Paige, and Sierra: lots of friends over the years. But Dash was special.
Jenn and I were just dating when she called and said we were going to go “look at” a dog. Some friends of hers had a farm down in Somerset, a dog had wandered onto their property and settled in with their two Labs. They had searched for the owner with no luck.
I got in Jenn’s car: there was a bowl, a collar, a leash in the back seat. We weren’t looking at a dog; we were getting a dog. When we arrived at the farm, two chocolate Labs came out to greet us – “Poop” and “Stink.” In between them, a skinny yellow Lab, the “Dash” between Poop and Stink. The name stuck, appropriate for a track coach’s dog.
Dash and Sierra went through our courtship, they moved into our house, and they watched two major construction projects and a wedding. Dash even got a “hall walk” at the high school. Dave, our contractor, pegged Dash. Even as a young dog, Dave said Dash had “an old soul.” He was a polite, appropriate dog: unless there was a “new” dog around. Then Dash would quickly become a “humper”. Sierra, a rescue Cockapoo wouldn’t take any crap from Dash: she was the “alpha” in the house. And when Buddy came into our lives, he looked to Dash to teach him right and wrong.
Buddy was a scared little guy. Dash helped Buddy learn that every stranger wasn’t an enemy, and even though Buddy would do all the barking, Dash was the one who went to the front door to see who was there. Buddy waited to see what Dash would do, then would make his move. When Buddy was being treated for lymphoma, Dash gently helped him to recover. Buddy went to Dash’s spot on the couch last night: he knows that his friend is gone. He’s a sad little guy.
So are we.
I know it will get better. And though Jenn says no now, I know we will have more dogs. Buddy is lonely, he needs more than just us as his friends. But it will be a little while, and even then, it still won’t be Dash.
Oh, Dasharoo. You all gave him such a great life. I’m so sorry, Marty, what a beautiful tribute.
I am sorry for your loss. I remember Louie well (I think he must have been Louie the First).
we lost 2 dogs a couple of years ago in the space of a few months, & it was heart-wrenching.
You remember Louie 2!! I remember my Mom asking you to search the woods for him – she didn’t want to call me at college to say he was gone!! They were good dogs and friends.
Man, I totally forgot about that. But now I remember.