I said goodbye to a dear friend today. He was my snuggle-bunny for 13 years. Born on St. Patrick's Day, my little Denver was a true Murphy. I called him "the dog that was never meant to be." He was a mix of a Daschund/Beagle and a Shepherd. I don't know what kind of shepherd the mom was, but she wasn't a huge dog... maybe 50 pounds, and tall. Way too tall for a Daschund/Beagle, but I think she had a crush on him. Anyway, their little litter produced black and tan puppies and cream colored puppies. They were giving the accidental litter away. We wanted a boy dog, being that we already had a very big girl dog and we didn't want to stir the pot too much by adding another female. Matching dogs would have been fun, but all the black and tans were girls. So we picked the feisty little cream colored boy and off we went.
That little bugger was a piece of work right from the start. Growled at me all the way home. The vet said we needed to "mom" that attitude out of him. So every time he growled or snapped we had to roll him on his back and growl at him. I think we might have done it too much because before long he was a timid, little love with a pension for snuggling. He and Girlie got along fine even with the size difference... she being 95 pounds and a Rottweiler and he being a 30 pound squirt. Girlie was no stranger to small dogs, though. When Neal and I moved to Knoxville, she stayed with my parents for a few weeks while she recovered from being spayed. They had a Lhasa Apso named Riley who was as dumb as a post and looked like an Ewok. She fell madly in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with her. Unrequited love... but she was never bitter.
Denver was quirky. I like to think most dogs are quirky, but Denver was exceptionally quirky. His favorite pastime as a puppy was to run the length of the house, jump on the couch, swing his back legs up by his head - bending his impossibly long body into a "U" shape and then push off with his back legs. It looked like a swimmer pushing of the wall on a turn, but on dry land. He would do lap after lap after tiring lap. When he was done, he would climb the stairs and sit in between the first and second floor on the steps and shove his head through the railing and hang down the wall as far has he could. The only thing holding him up was his shoulders and then he would fall asleep.
At night he would climb in bed with me to go to sleep, but he would have to burrow under the covers and sleep in the curve of my legs. Our first bed was sort of this king sized bed that was so old I think it might of been one of the original king sized beds... like "Ozzie and Harriet finally pushed their twins together" type of king. It had a king sized box-spring, but two twins on top. They make a piece that fits over or around the space between the two beds to keep them from separating, but we didn't have it. Sometimes we would wake up in the morning and Neal would be in the middle of the bed, the two mattresses would be about 6 inches apart and the only thing keeping Neal from spilling onto the box spring would be Denver. He would be laying underneath Neal in the crack of the two mattresses like a giant mole - perfectly content to be stuffed between two mattresses and sandwiched in between Neal and the box spring. When he didn't want to be on the bed, he would bury himself under it. Sometimes we would look for him everywhere only to discover two small rear paws sticking slightly out from under the bed skirt from where he had sprawled out and slid under the bed to hide, but just didn't get under far enough.
He never really learned any tricks, but he did track a new bed all the way up to the guest bedroom by simply smelling the floor. He had as good a sniffer as I've ever seen. The only command that ever really stuck with him was "Get in your house." He LOVED being in his kennel. He was very obedient. Never went into the kitchen or ate people food. Never bit anyone... but the old man version did grumble a lot. The kids as babies kind of unnerved him, so for the most part he kept his distance. He liked them much better the older they got. On several occasions he stayed in Gwyneth's room when she was scared and helped her get to sleep.
His ears were so big when they finally stood up that everyone thought we should have named him Yoda. Everyone except for Neal who desperately wanted to name him Elway. I thought that was a horrible name - I love John Elway, but it didn't suit him one bit. We compromised with Denver and I never, ever got tired of watching his ears perk up every time they said his name during the Broncos games.
As the years went by, Denver's back began to act up. I guess being the dog that was never meant to be has it's drawbacks. I don't think a back that long on a dog with those legs was designed right. His back leg began to twist and he just couldn't lift it anymore. His front leg seemed to be a bother as well, making it very difficult to navigate the tri-levels of our house and ups and downs of our yard. He got to the point where he couldn't even scratch his own ears. How uncomfortable that must be for a dog. We tried steroids and different treatments, but all only temporary fixes. This morning he just couldn't get anywhere and I think he'd had his fill. He whined and whined all morning and stood at the front door to be let out. We never let him out the front door. He wouldn't run away, we just didn't put them out that way. The pattern was always out back. When Neal went past him and didn't let him out he continued to whine until I got up and checked him. Nothing wrong. So I walked to the front door and he did his very best to trudge after me. When I opened the door and moved aside, we walked straight out the door, down the stairs and stood at the door to Neal's car and whined. For no reason.
It's funny how when I pray for something to happen I'm always amazed when it does. When Girlie was struggling and we knew it was her time, I asked God to take her from me and to not make me take the steps to help her move on. I just couldn't do it. The next morning we discovered that she had passed during the night. God had answered my prayer and, what I'm sure was hers. It was a rough road at the end for her. Fast forward two years and we had come to that crossroads once again. I asked God to let me know when Denver was ready. To yell it at me. Make it so I couldn't miss the sign and I would know it was his time. God had answered that prayer as well. Denver was yelling at me. I was listening. I grabbed that furry little face and I buried my face into it. I told him I loved him and to be brave and that everything was going to be just fine. I looked into those dark eyes and I saw a knowledge and understanding that I had never seen in them before. It was an amazing moment that I will never forget. And just like that it was gone. I hugged him and kissed him goodbye and told him to say hello to Girlie for me. When I opened the door he was ready to get in and let me carefully place him in the car. He wasn't even shaking. It was the first time I'd ever lifted him into the car where he wasn't visibly afraid. When I had that moment's hesitation, I looked down at the driveway and saw an amazing site. When I first went out there it was just a wet spot on the driveway, but when I got up to go inside it had dried to this:
God never ceases to amaze me.
I will see you again some day, beloved friend of mine.
Denver: 3/17/97 - 9/1/10
