Requiem for Oscar (by Peter)

(Note from Courtney--this is a tear-jerker from Peter, long but worth reading if you have ever cared about anything, especially any pets.)

"It well may be that we will never meet again
in this lifetime. So let me say before we part,
So much of me is made of what I learned from you.
You'll be with me like a hand print on my heart."

This week we bid a very sad farewell to our beloved Corgi, "Courtney's Oscar Wilde"--or as most of you knew him "Oscar"--our companion dog through nine years of marriage, six jobs, three moves, two children and another dog. Over the past few months, Oscar had begun to show some early signs of aggression often associated with dogs at Oscar's stage of life. After consulting with two veterinarians and an animal behavior specialist in St. Louis who specializes in Corgi rescues, we determined that his aggression was likely related to chronic pain brought about by a leg injury he received when he was hit by a car when he was just one year old.


It was our first day in Connecticut and we had rather unceremoniously let Oscar into the backyard early in the morning. I was to start my first day of work at my new job and was on my way to get the shoes I had left in the car since the long drive from Mississippi and that's where I found Oscar. His leg was severely injured & bloody and he had managed to crawl back up the driveway to the back door and was trying unsuccessfully to paw at the door to get our attention. I was certain he would bleed to death before we could find our way to the animal hospital. Being brand new to Connecticut, we had no idea where to go for help, so we wrapped him in a blanket, grabbed a yellow pages, jumped in the car and drove as fast as we could to the first listing we found in Meriden. When we arrived, the office was closed, but fortunately, one of the office staff was just arriving and directed us to the Yalesville Animal Hospital where we were able to get him the attention he needed to save his life. I remember so clearly waiting for the call from the attending vet to tell us that we had lost him.


Instead, the call we received told us that they had managed to save his life, but that he would likely lose his leg. After taking a much needed shower, we drove back to Yalesville and were told that in order to save his leg, the wound would require fresh dressings several times a day with no guarantee of success. My single most distinct memory of our time in Connecticut is Courtney and me laying on the floor of that animal hospital in tears comforting Oscar as he recovered that day. He was a vet favorite, and the techs would cut out little colored hearts to decorate his bandages. We took time off from work to take him for dressing changes, set up a financing agreement with the vet to pay for such endeavors ("our million-dollar dog!"). Many weeks and incalculable numbers of self-adhesive bandages later, Oscar's leg was functional enough to limp on, though it would never fully heal.


This week we found ourselves crying our eyes out in a different veterinary hospital-- this time saying goodbye to the friend who loved us unconditionally to the end and who was loved with all of our hearts. Tragically, there was no alternative. The specialist assured us that it would be irresponsible to try to place Oscar in another home. Given his age and other health conditions, he would not likely survive long and he would be sad the whole time-- plus his chronic pain would only worsen with time, leaving him in pain and alone. We also could not keep him if there was any chance that his aggression might risk our children's safety. In the end the hardest decision was the only decision.


I am finding it very difficult to put into words what Oscar meant to Courtney and me. How can I describe a bond that runs so deep that it is part of who I am and who we are as a family? We have known Oscar longer than almost everyone we know outside of our immediate family. And we have spent more time with him through the past nine years than with most of those family members. Oscar slept in our bed at night and loved snuggling under the covers and sharing our pillows. Before my children were old enough to greet me when I arrived home, Oscar was the first voice I heard behind the door saying "Welcome home!" When our children were born, we could not wait to get them home to meet him and Quincy. When we moved across the country, Oscar was my traveling buddy when I had to drive alone.


It sounds silly; but, Oscar thought he was human and his "humanity" brought out the best in us. I believe that God crafted man with a need for a connection to nature and that our ability to bond with our dogs is His gift to us. Our dogs exemplify so many of those traits we admire most in our fellow humans-- compassion, faithfulness, energy, loyalty and friendship. Caring for Oscar when he was injured taught me a new way to care more about someone else than myself. I believe that that experience was used by God to make me a better parent and husband. Even in his passing, I can sense God's will behind the pain as he shapes us to into the people he wants us to be.


I lost my childhood dog Sebaca when I was in the eight grade and did not believe that I could ever feel for a dog the way I felt for Sebaca. Of my brothers and sisters, I was the one that was there when Sebaca was put to sleep. That memory never left me and I promised Oscar when he was just a puppy that I would do everything I could to make sure that he had a long and healthy life and that I would always love him. I always will.


In his first letter to the church at Corinth, Paul wrote "When I was a child, I spoke as a child. I understood as a child. I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things." I think that is why this is so painful for me. On some level, I know that I will never have a dog like Oscar again and that means part of me has died, too. We still have Quincy and it is a comfort to know that part of Oscar is alive in Quincy, too. And while the idea of another dog seems unthinkable now, we will likely have more dogs after Quincy leaves us; but they will not be my dogs.


Courtney and I talk often about how our life together has been marked by certain milestones-- moving from Mississippi to Connecticut, starting our family, moving to Iowa and now moving back to the South. At each milestone we are forced to leave something behind as we move on to face the next phase of life. Looking back, it is a comfort to know that at each turn God helps shape the milestones. When I lost Sebaca, it was at the beginning of my teenage years when I would not have had time to spend with a him enough to make him happy. Now as I say goodbye to Oscar, I understand that life is changing again. We will soon have our third daughter and my work is become more time consuming and intense. Still, I count it a great blessing that God put into His plan for my life that I should be graced with a friend like Oscar on this journey. I take comfort in the knowledge that right up to the end he was my dog. He was never alone and his passing was without fear and without pain and my eyes were the last things he saw in this life.


Courtney is likely to edit this down (and maybe she should) but if I could just say one more thing. As we researched our options, we came across this story. Now, there's no theological backing for this, so take it for what it is worth:


"An old legend says that there is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge, there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water, and warm spring weather. The old and frail animals are young again. Those who have been maimed are made whole again. They play all day with each other. But there is only one thing missing. They are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up. The nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are staring! And this one suddenly runs from the group! You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. Your face is kissed again and again and again, and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet. Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated."


For my part, I have a hard time imagining a heaven without dogs.