Good dog unhappy man
RIP beast.
Lawrence the dog died in my arms this morning, which will surprise a lot of close-but-distant friends, because he was smart and strong. As a friend remarked a few weeks ago when I mentioned that the dog was seriously ill, “That seems like the kind of dog that you’d want to be lost in the woods with, if you had to be lost in the woods.”
The pup endured two separate bouts with Lyme disease. The first time, in summer 2007, the treatment almost killed him, but he finally rebounded nicely; when he got it again (again! vet’s blood tests confirm that he was clear in the interim), it went straight to his kidneys. With no working tool to screen out waste, the uric acid backed up into his bloodstream; full of poison, he lost all his appetite, got weaker and skinnier. For a month he’s been on K/D, and I’ve been administering fluids via an IV, and that probably bought us a month.
It was a pleasure going through all the photographs that I’ve posted here, because his weight and health have been so precarious for the last few months, I had sort of forgotten what a strong, smart buoyant presence he was for most of the five-plus years that I had with him. He was so lean that dog run confederates in the city used to speculate that one of his anonymous parents might have been a greyhound. I don’t suspect that that was true, but when I watched him take off after those lacrosse balls, I was impressed – the way you’re impressed by a well-designed industrial machine.
I plan to write more later, and maybe I will, or maybe I’ll spare you. How many times do you need to read Marley & Me? Lawrence was Brian’s fourth-favorite dog, and he was my favorite dog. He has slept in my bed for the last two thousand consecutive nights, and I’m going to miss him tonight.
Lawrence the dog died in my arms this morning, which will surprise a lot of close-but-distant friends, because he was smart and strong. As a friend remarked a few weeks ago when I mentioned that the dog was seriously ill, “That seems like the kind of dog that you’d want to be lost in the woods with, if you had to be lost in the woods.”
The pup endured two separate bouts with Lyme disease. The first time, in summer 2007, the treatment almost killed him, but he finally rebounded nicely; when he got it again (again! vet’s blood tests confirm that he was clear in the interim), it went straight to his kidneys. With no working tool to screen out waste, the uric acid backed up into his bloodstream; full of poison, he lost all his appetite, got weaker and skinnier. For a month he’s been on K/D, and I’ve been administering fluids via an IV, and that probably bought us a month.
It was a pleasure going through all the photographs that I’ve posted here, because his weight and health have been so precarious for the last few months, I had sort of forgotten what a strong, smart buoyant presence he was for most of the five-plus years that I had with him. He was so lean that dog run confederates in the city used to speculate that one of his anonymous parents might have been a greyhound. I don’t suspect that that was true, but when I watched him take off after those lacrosse balls, I was impressed – the way you’re impressed by a well-designed industrial machine.
I plan to write more later, and maybe I will, or maybe I’ll spare you. How many times do you need to read Marley & Me? Lawrence was Brian’s fourth-favorite dog, and he was my favorite dog. He has slept in my bed for the last two thousand consecutive nights, and I’m going to miss him tonight.
posted by I. at
12:53 PM
3 Comments:
How many pancakes does Lawrence get? The answer now, of course, is "As many pancakes as he damn well pleases."
Sorry to hear the news. He was a good member of the family.
I'm so sorry. I'll never forget the time Lawrence went poo on the brand new rug we purchased for our firstborn's nursery (and I mean NEW--the exact same day we brought it home). Despite this lapse in good judgement, Lawrence was a fine dog. We were lucky to have known him.
I will never forget the day Lawrence and Sammy bolted down and across Borough Road into our bitter, selfish neighbor's yard to wish her a good day and slobber on her and maybe get a pat out of the deal, and the bitter, selfish neighbor shrieked, "Get your d*** dogs out of here!" as she hid behind her screen door.
A proud moment in a father's life.
Tad
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