Gone to Doggie Heaven

Is there anything sadder than when a boy has to put his dog to sleep and out of its misery? Yeah - when his wife and kid have to share in that decision.

Jane the Dane had a small stroke during the night two weekends ago. Unbeknownst to us. I should have suspected something when I slept in till about six that morning and she was in no hurry to go for our morning dog-walk. Just lay in her chair and eventually came into the next room and got me a couple hours later.

We really should have thought something was up later when I got home from my usual Saturday morning grocery-shopping trip later. Normally, when Jane hears the car pull into the driveway, she whines at the door, Mavis lets her out and she tears out, literally flies off the front porch and then romps around me for a minute or so, tail wagging like there's no tomorrow. ... this time when I got home, Mavis opened the door, she sauntered out onto the porch, looked at me and just waited.

But it wasn't until the next day when we defintely knew something was seriously wrong. We were sitting down for supper, Jane came out to take her usual favorite spot during meals - laying down under the table - and her back legs gave out and she collapsed. That's when we realized that she must have had a small stroke the day before. We'd been through this before with Paxton, our previous Great Dane.

From that point on, she didn't have much energy and was still able to go on short dog walks but she was having trouble with her right back leg. And about once a day her back legs would give out and she'd have a hard time getting back on her feet. On Wednesday night, she tried to go upstairs to bed when I did and as I called her from the top of the stairs, she stood with her front paws on the second step, her tail slowly wagging back and forth behind her. But when she tried to come up, the back legs gave out and she collapsed on the middle of the stairway. We carried her back down and she never made it up those stairs to her night-time bed again.

We spent last weekend keeping her company in the living room where she liked to lay at the foot of my favourite chair. She could no longer climb into her own chair which was a few feet away. We brought her food and water but she mostly lay there, sleeping or staring off into space, her heart beating erratically at times, her breathing laboured at others and only occassionally sitting up on her front elbows and looking her old self. The few times we could get her to the front yard to pee, she could barely make it and had no interest in being out there any longer than she had to.

Mavis, myself and teenaged Sonny Jim all took turns sleeping on the couch next to her that weekend but when I got home from work Monday morning, this dog who normally would greet me at the door all excited, couldn't even raise her head off the floor to say hello. That's when I knew what we had to do. As much as I prayed that she would rally and get better like Paxton had done so many times before, it was obvious that it wasn't going to happen. So we made that final trip to the vets and held her while she got that final needle and let her go. In your heart and soul you know you are doing the best thing you can for her by this - but it sure don't feel that way at the time - and for the next few days, for that matter.

So now she's up in Doggie Heaven, that place next to the Rainbow Bridge talked about in emails well-meaning friends forward to you when they hear your pet has died. In my sappier moments, I like to think of her up there hanging out with Paxton as they wait for me.

Part of what's so sad and unfair about all this is that she was so healthy and in good shape and not even seven years old. And that we only had her for about three and a half years. Which now that I think of it, is about the same length of time we had Paxton when he came to live us when he retired. When you sign up to have a Great Dane, you have to be prepared to have your heart broken far too soon. But they are worth every one of those too-short years.

When Paxton died, I couldn't bear the thought of life without a dog in it and after a brief grieving period, Jane came to live us courtesy her foster-human Phyllis and the good people at the dog-rescue association Danes in Distress.

You might be interested in her childhood but I won't go into all that David Copperfield kind of crap - even though it should be noted that Jane had spent the first three years of her life in a puppy mill in Quebec cranking out babies. She apprently wasn't abused physically but I'm guessing she spent most of those years in a crate. She certainly wasn't loved or given companionship. When she came to us she didn't even know how to play. You bounce a ball in front of Jane and all she saw was not a toy, just a round thing going up and down. I suspect that a lot of her spirit died in her first years and when she came here to what would be her final home, she was just grateful to be anywhere where people paid attention to her and were kind.

Because most of her time was spent in a crate, for her breed, she was not a big Great Dane. Phyllis once referred to her as "the wee one." I like to think her size was because animals grow in proportion to their environment - and it's hard to grow in a crate. And just like everyone else, animals need love. You can't grow if you're not loved.

Jane was a 'Harlequin' Great Dane - meaning she was mostly black with some white markings. The one on her chest was remarkable. Take a look at the second photo from the top. If you use your imagination, Jane's white marking resembles Snoopy when he's doing his 'happy dance.' I like to think that it appeared on Jane during her years in the puppy mill, when she dreamed of being out of her crate. Her marking is a manifestation of what she wished she could be - out of the hell that must be life in a puppy mill. ... Remember that scene in 'The Exorcist' where the governess calls the priest in the middle of the night to show him something on the possessed Regan's stomach. From inside, Regan had caused the words 'Help me' to appear on her stomach. Jane did the same thing on her chest with Snoopy's happy dance.

On Jane's first visit here, we were all smitten. The lady-like way she would lie down and cross her front paws. When outside, the dainty way she would raise her right front paw when she sniffed a flower or another dog's urine. Lady Jane.

She was also Sweet Jane. Not a mean bone in her body. Just a sweet gentle soul. After her first sleepover weekend here, when we took her back to Phyllis's house, as we sat in the kitchen, I was standing with my back against the kitchen counter and Jane came over and planted herself in front of me, her back against my legs. Phyllis smiled and asked her, "Jane, are you guarding Sonny?" That's what Great Danes do. They pick their alpha male and stand in front to protect them. They consider it their duty. At that moment, I knew that she was MY dog and I was her alpha male.

She was a skittish dog and I made it my mission to let her know she was loved and build up her self-confidence. I did it with a mantra I repeated to her many times every day to the day she died - "Jane's a good dog, Jane's a good girl. Janie is the BEST dog in the world!" ... and as she turned out, not to brag, but I did a pretty damn good job. And the last half of her life was the one she so badly deserved.

... The vet called yesterday to say that Jane's ashes were ready to be picked up so I walked over to the Blue Cross Animal Clinic on Wharncliffe near Robert Q and got them. As we made that last walk home down Wharncliffe, I held that box of her ashes clutched to my heart and comforted her all the way with "Jane's a good dog. Jane's a good girl. Janie is the BEST dog in the world!" It was the middle of late-afternoon rush-hour traffic on Wharncliffe, but I didn't give a damn how I looked.

In her last minutes alive Jane did something which will be with me forever. Mavis and I had managed to get her into the car and into the vet's office. And as we sat in the waiting room, my wonderful dog - who could barely even stand and walk at that point - came over to where I was sitting and planted herself in front of me, between my legs. Scared out of her mind no doubt, but she still wanted to guard me. Even in death, ever the faithful loyal companion. Goodbye my dear sweet girl.