Gilbert died yesterday

I’m better today. Lonely. Lost. Empty. But better. It was such an overwhelming shock to find Gilbert dead.  He died in the morning. When I woke he didn’t join me as he usually did, leading the way from the bedroom down the stairs to the living room. He was lying stretched out in office on the floor. He sometimes liked that. The office was the garage and it’s cooler there. I wasn’t sure if he was a live when I looked at him.  I thought he was breathing. I regret now that I didn’t touch him.  I sat and meditated for a while.  Then I returned and stroked him. He was warm. But stiffening.  I couldn’t feel a pulse. 

He’d been sick. He had heart disease. A murmur from when he was a puppy. A valve disorder that got worse this last year. Dr. Biernacki the vet was treating him with medications, heart and diuretics. He’d had trouble breathing in the altitude when we were up at hundred mile house this spring. We’d come back to lower altitude and his breathing improved.  Some days he wasn’t up to walking very far. The day before he died he’d enjoyed the long walk out to the generator. I’d seen the Kingfisher and taken a photograph. It was auspicious.  When I walked Gilbert on the trail by the river 2 or 3 times a day I’d take my camera in hope of catching a picture of the Kingfisher. It’s such an elusive bird and returns each year.

So it was very spiritual and synchronicity.  He shared my barbecued pork chops.  He preferred steaks but I’d cubed the chops and we had our meal together. Then he brought me his ball and I threw it by his feet. He loved ball but blind he still played it only he took longer finding it.  It was a fairly typical night.  Him sleeping and visiting. Me rubbing his head. Petting him.  Watching tv.  Going to bed.  He slept under the overhang of the mattress. It’s a king and it made an overhang so he had a little cave.  

Now I’m alone.

I was shocked at how hard it hit.  I cried all morning, most of the day, and then again today.  Seeing his picture does it. He has this great little smile. He barked so happily.  He always wanted to play. He was so thusiastic even after he hurt his back, lost his eyes to glaucoma, and then was slowed right down by congestive heart disease.

After I took him to the vet for cremation it was all I could do to pick him up from the floor, put him on the couch, wait some more and eventually get him into the car.  I’d traded the Miata sports car we’d loved for the Mini Cooper because after he hurt his back and was blind I wanted him to be able to stretch out in the back seat. Laura sat up front and he lay in the back. We drove down to the Oregon beaches and he ran and ran. I thought the memory would free him. After losing his second eye and becoming totally blind he’d been quite terrified and really depressed. That’s when I sold the car I loved and planned the trip. It all took only a month or two.  It was worth it to see him happy again running on the beach. 

He’d sailed with me on the SVGiri, my 40 foot ship, I’d sailed solo to Hawaii with through winter storms. Stuart, my Scotty and Angel, the cat had been on that trip. Stuart died overseas.  Angel would be Gilbert’s second mommy. Laura was his first. When I brought Gilbert back from Washington as a little handful of puppy, we’d stayed the first weeks at Laura’s apartment with him.  He graduated to living on the boat and later became a sailor dog, sailing all over the islands of the strait of Georgia. That’s where he learned the fun of beaches, going a shore in dinghies.  Later he’d be a biker dog, riding on my Harley, long trips to the interior, a favourite weekend in a pup tent at Merrit to hear Burton’s Cummings.

He’d fly in the plane with me on all my trips to Ottawa and Hay Bay. He met my dad and my brother and was great friends with them. A true inspiration. He made Dad laugh so hard with his squirming and licking. Dad called him ‘monkey dog’ and was always interested in his adventures. He sure had those,  He loved being with my brother and his cousins, the cockapoo girls, Eva and Pepper. They were such a crew running about the house at Hay Bay.

He hunted with me. I wanted him to find my partridge that I shot and he did. Wounded the birds sometimes hide and he would always find them .He even fetched them back to me, learning this on his own. He was such a great companion hunting. Riding along in the trucks, going for long walks, sitting quietly in ambush.  So alert. So involved. Such a happy hunting buddy.  

I loved his jumping up on the couch and cuddling when I was watching t.v. Partly that was an excuse to look for crumbs. He loved the stick after we’d eaten the ice cream bar.

There were so many things he liked. He invented his little games and rituals too. He’d bring me the ball to throw when he was blind and that was a cue so he could eat his little Caesar.  He’d take a bone outside and bring another back in. He couldn’t go out at night to pee without that bone.  

I’m crying to think of him gone.

I felt his presence,

I walked the trail we walked and I felt him telling me my body was my first dog and that it was his friend and he’d walked it and now I must walk and exercise it. That was his lesson, he said He thanked me for walking and looking at his favourite places. He said he could see now and he could run full out without pain or fatigue. He was with my dad and they were having fun.  Dad would be throwing sticks and giving him treats.  But he wanted to thank me for looking at the places where he’d liked the smells and stopped to pee. He said he could see through my eyes and was thankful.  I know he’s better now and in a better place but I’m lonely and sad, and quite bereft.

So much of my life decisions revolved around having a dog. I walked him twice a day. We made trips to dog parks. I fed him twice a day and got treats to bring home. He loved to look in all the shopping bags. Where I live was always with consideration of him and his enjoyment. I travelled with him.

When I didn’t travel with him I could only leave him with perfect people. There was always Laura , his mommy, Joanne and Hannah, then Belinda. I just couldn’t go away without knowing he was safe. I knew how much I admired someone by the way I’d trust them with Gilbert. I didn’t like anyone who didn’t like Gilbert or who Gilbert didn’t like. I trusted his opinion more than my own at times. He was such a sensible easy going big hearted little guy but he had his limits.  

I’d liked that my former dog Shinto, a cross Irish setter springer spaniel was such a tough country dog. I loved that he beat up a collie that tried to attack us.  Gilbert was a lover and I protected him.  I never expected him to protect me. I devoted myself to protecting him. He was first a therapy dog, then a companion, then a hunting dog, a sailing dog, a biker and a little special meaning. 

When Covid struck he kept me going. When I felt life wasn’t worth living I knew I had to live to care for Gilbert. I couldn’t give up or suicide because I needed to get his food. I needed to work to give him a place to stay.  I loved him more than myself at times.  I loved him more than people.  I’d prefer his company to most peoples. I’ve gotten old with him. It’s been 10 years. That’s as long as my two marriages lasted and he was never mean or deceitful or wanting to hurt me.  Sure he’d want to go one way on the leash and I’d want to go the other way and I had the leash and we’d go where I wanted to go.  I expect that summed up the problems in my marriages pretty well but he never held resentments. He forgave me.  He didn’t ever give up.  He died. I didn’t want him to die. 

Now I’m even more alone in Covid.  

I don’t feel I can get close to people. I have a special friend.  I love her as much as I can love. I believe my divorces, the loss of family and all the death and disease and betrayal I’ve known has hardened my heart so I can’t trust people or myself. I trusted Gilbert. He softened my heart. My heart just burst sometimes to see him and be with him. I laughed so hard at his antics. 

When he first saw a cow as a puppy, he was so afraid barking furiously.  The cow ignored him, turned, lifted her tail and began to emit a steady stream of poop.   Gilbert caught the sweet fragrance, ran directly into the rapidly growing cow paddy pond, and began showering with glee under the cows ass revelling in poop. I was terrified the cow would step back on the little guy so ran after him to catch the wet stinky squirmy guy as the cow moved off.  

Another  joyful moment came when he found a dead fish on the way to the Miata, Monday morning, and began rolling in dead fish. He was in such ecstasy I had to grab him by the collar and pull him away from the rankest smelling refuse I’d ever known. He was experience beautification and ccouldn’t understand my interrupting his communion with God. With the sports car top down in winter I drove him to a dog groomer and physically left him running as she screamed at me holding fingers to her nose that she couldn’t possibly take him.  He was wholly nonplussed.  Couldn’t understand human drama. 

Now I miss him.  It’s getting better. I am able to work. I’m thankful that. I lost all capacity to compartmentalizations my feelings yesterday. Now it’s a dull ache and this empty space in my present and future. Already I allowed work to make me miss our walk.  I’d make the time with him and now my remember what he told me and make the time for my body, his friend, what I have left today.  He was my personal trainer along with all the other titles he held.

Laura is missing him too. We both are grieving. He was so much apart of our relationship. All I had to do was hug or cuddle with her and he’d be instantly on the bed scrambling to be apart of the group love. If we wanted privacy we had to tell him to leave.  Cuddles and kisses he was apart of and with him squirming and laughing our hugs were sublime. When i think of him I think of laughter.  Stoicism too. He’d be so serious on the hunt and at sea but when it came to fun and glee he was all for it.