Following From a Distance

 

An abridged version of this piece was originally published for the Doctor Who Appreciation Society charity book, Pets in Time. I had been asked by editor Ian Wheeler if some of my animal-themed Doctor Who sketches could be used, and also if I might want to write about recently losing my dog, Ashi. 

If you've ever lost a beloved animal companion, then you understand how hard it was to do. This is the original, longer version of the story I wrote, which I then edited down to submit to Pets in Time, which benefits the RSPCA and can be purchased here.

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The hardest thing to come home to is the missing presence. How do you sum up a dog who has been your friend for thirteen years and is now longer there? While I still have my two wonderful cats, who are happy to see my daily return from the World Outside, it was Ashi who accompanied me beyond the door for small adventures together.

Walking together in early evenings, we had our own separate interests: he had a world of scents to explore, while I observed a neon-colored Arizona sunset, or an elusive elf owl on a tree branch, or a retreating coyote. Then there was the nighttime walks and astronomy, looking for lunar eclipses and comets, or the International Space Station making a pass over the desert sky. Later, with him beside me and in failing health, I was able to see Saturn and Jupiter align in the southwestern sky and Mars glow bright in the east. I miss having his company for these expeditions, even though he was more interested in the messages left by other canines, which he would leave replies to.

I named him Ashi, which is short for Ashitaka, a character from the Hayao Miyazaki film, Princess Mononoke. He was a shiba inu, a fox-like dog of Japanese descent. Despite looking like a plush toy when he was a puppy, he had started out as quite a handful. Testing his boundaries, he had been spunky and stubborn, often a bratty little gremlin who would challenge me at every turn. Shiba are one of the more primitive of dog breeds, known for their independence, intelligence...and limited attention span. I soon realized that I had my work cut out for me to keep my fuzzy little goblin in line. Consistency and perseverance were necessary. 


And so was puppy obedience school, where Ashi became the class clown. He would usually end up surging forward at the command of “Stay!” He would grab all the treats that awaited the more obedient dogs in the class, who looked on as the little thief ate all their rewards. It took him a little longer than the rest of the class, but Ashi finally learned how to be patient.

Eventually, he performed his commands only with the assumption that something was in it for him. With calculated cuteness, he would present his paw to any human in anticipation of a treat. For thirteen years, I would hear: “He looks like a little fox!” Or sometimes it was “mini-wolf,” or a “baby coyote.” Always a wild creature—which is also how I thought of him during my first two years with him.

On our very first walks together, he complained loudly when I first put a collar or leash on him; then he would carry the leash himself, in his mouth. In later years, I was guilty of allowing him sometimes to run ahead, so he that he could scout his territory. He could run unhampered this way, but was still attached to a long lead, which I held on to very tightly.

Shiba are dogs that can rarely be off leash. Ashi was a notorious escape artist, slipping out of collars with ease and squeezing out of open doors. Running after him in these cases was usually a comedy of errors. Sometimes I had to use reverse psychology in these situations and walk away from him in the other direction. In most cases, he would stop running when he realized that I was not going to play his game of chase, or “keep away.” He would then follow behind me at a distance. Whenever he pulled one of these stunts, I was fortunately always able to retrieve him one way or another. I usually was terrified that he would keep running and never come back.

After two years of puppy craziness and a lot of gnawed books in my apartment, Ashi seemed to mellow almost overnight, and grew into the handsome gentleman he would remain. He always waited for me to go through a door first. He rarely barked except at his nemeses, hummingbirds and bumblebees, which he viewed as small demons who hovered and mocked him, just out of his reach. For his own small size, his bark made him sound bigger and much more ferocious. On one of our walks, he once scared off a creepy man on a bicycle by swerving back and forth in front of me, in “goblin-dog” mode and the man fled.

I had taken him several times to our local Japanese festival, where he got to have sushi and rice balls and meet fellow shiba inu. However, he would become terrified at the sound of the taiko drumming and would pull me towards the exits. “We’re done. Time to go home now.” Like many dogs, he hated loud noises, and the traditional Japanese drumming must have sounded to him like thunder and fireworks, which always left him shaking in fear. I usually had to sit with him in my lap every New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July.

His favorite treats were peanut butter and cheese. I gave him entire spoonfuls of peanut butter to lick , or I'd spread it on a favorite biscuit for him. Anytime he heard me opening a package of cheese, he was by my side, expectant.

From the moment I had first brought him home, I made certain to show him that the cats had a higher rank in his new pack by feeding them first, while he was made to wait. In this way, he would learn to respect them. For all the years I had him, he deferred to the tougher of my two cats, Mifune (named after Toshiro). With his selective hearing and un-canine love of catnip, Ashi was rather cat-like himself. His respect for the cats, however, did not prevent him from stealing their toys for himself. No fuzzy green felt mouse was safe from his jaws.

Later, all three of them would commandeer my bed for naps when I was not using it, and sometimes when I was.

When he still was able to, Ashi liked to sleep in the bed with me, usually at the foot of it, his head on my legs. When it was colder, he stretched out alongside of me, usually with both the cats as well. I remember being very sick one year, shivering, and waking up in a sweat when my fever broke to discover that Ashi was huddled up against me.

Being a shiba inu, he was still equal parts stubborn and elegant, needy and aloof. Sometimes he was stoic as a samurai, other times an absolute drama queen. To everyone else, he was a handsome charmer. At home, Ashi could be found under my desk or under my drawing table, usually at my feet as I worked. When he needed to go outside for a walk, he would sit at the door and make a low, deep noise that sounded like “Hmm.” To get my attention, he would also activate the Shiba Stare, which is a sophisticated and effective mind control technique.

When I was full of doubt or insecurity, I had only to stroke his fur or look at his grin to know it would be all right.

 
        Except, when it wasn't.

It was when he stumbled for the first time going up the stairs after a walk outside, that I realized something was wrong. What had started in such a subtle way with a lame back leg, progressed into a loss of muscle control in his hind quarters, an inability to even wag his tail. His tail had started to sag, no longer curling up over his back in typical shiba-fashion anymore, instead hanging loose and limp. In a short time, he succumbed to so much pain and immobility, that I had to carry him up and down the stairs of my apartment building so that he would be able to relieve himself. And even that became an excruciating effort for him because he could barely walk.

He had been losing weight, despite always having a good appetite. His back leg had begun to drag, sometimes causing his paw to scrape on the ground and bleed. I cleaned the injuries, bought him special paw protectors.

 Despite many veterinary trips and an ever-increasing amount of medicine, he was not getting any better as the end of the year progressed. After an examination, the veterinarian wondered if he there was the possibility of an undiscovered tumor somewhere; but we never did find out.

Eventually, he could no longer stand, and he had lost control over his bladder. Shiba are very fastidious and clean, and I think he was deeply humiliated by this.

After what was supposed to have been a routine veterinary exam one weekend, I had come back to retrieve him after a few hours, and realized things were not well. Right away I recognized the voice of the dog who was howling and shrieking nonstop in the back room. Everyone looked at me with concern and I was told he needed to be given even stronger pain medicine, as well as sedatives. When I brought him home, I tried to make him as comfortable as best that I could, but he began to yelp in pain again. I texted the veterinarian, who instructed me to increase his medicine. This did not help at all. I put my pillow and blanket on the floor beside his dog bed so I could sleep beside him and to be close. At one point, Mifune came over to him and rubbed her head against him and purred; this calmed him down for a short time and it was the only time he fell asleep that whole weekend. I thanked Mifune for that brief comfort for both of us. I too was able to get some brief sleep.

When he awoke in terrible pain again, crying, I knew that he was suffering and that I had to make an awful decision. It might have been the hardest thing I would ever do.

I texted my veterinarian. Perhaps it was that time.

I drove back to the vet before dawn broke. He was wrapped in one of my bathroom towels as I carried him inside.

I stayed with him until the end, and afterwards.

His collar and harness are still hanging from the doorknob of my apartment as I write. Before realization sets in, I still catch myself saying, “Be a good boy,” before I close the door to go off to work.

There is the empty place at my side now when I take solitary walks; I still imagine him running ahead of me. There is no more ball presented to me as a homecoming gift. There is the empty place under my desk, too, and under the drawing table. There is the end of the bed where he used to curl up or wrestle with a pillow.

I finally accepted that it was all right if I slipped up, if I still told him to “be good” as I left for the day. When he had run away from me in the past and I had walked in the opposite direction, he had always ended up following me home. I hope that he will continue to follow along from wherever he is now, however far away it may be. 

I won’t need to turn around to know that he still will be there, following from a distance.

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I finally made a little bonsai memorial for Ashi. It's not a real bonsai, and it's a toy shiba, but he looks quite happy, nevertheless. He was recently joined by his feline sister, GoGo, whom I dearly miss. 

You can purchase Pets in Time at the Doctor Who Appreciation Society store and read many other tales of beloved animal companions, both moving and funny, and also help support a good cause.