For Pet's Sake Column

Someone once posed the question: Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye? I considered this conundrum recently as I found myself with the difficult task of saying goodbye to Guinness, my long-time beagle buddy. No, Guinness didn’t die, she….moved. To Wisconsin. (Yes, it gets cold there. No, she’s never been in the snow.)

I guess I should mention that Guinness wasn’t exactly my dog; she belonged to Paul and Barbara, my next door neighbors. But she and I spent so much time together, that I dubbed her my “timeshare doggie.” Guinness (who was named after the Irish beer) was little more than a puppy when she moved in twelve years ago. Like all puppies, she was adorable—floppy brown ears, a dappled brown, black, and white coat, and huge doe eyes. With typical beagle exuberance, she quickly wiggled her way into my life and my heart.

I soon discovered that this little lovebug excelled at three things: slurping up meals in 30 seconds flat (treats disappeared even faster), sniffing out cats and gophers (and much to everyone’s chagrin, the occasional skunk), and howling like, well, a beagle. Oh, and she loved to go for walks; the longer the better. It didn’t matter the time of day or night; the moment she heard someone whisper those coveted words—wanna go for a W-A-L-K?!—she sprinted to the front door and went into a wigglenastics frenzy. Her tail wagged back and forth with so much speed that I thought her stout little body would lift off the ground like a helicopter at any moment and her not-so-subtle whimper would quickly turn into a high-pitched yowl as if she were saying, “Hurry up already. I’ve got places to go, cats and dogs to visit, gopher holes to investigate!”

I’ll never forget our first outing together: the front door opened and 28 pounds of solid muscle and wet kisses hit me like a brick. We both squealed with delight. With a bright red, retractable leash firmly gripped in my hand, we headed out—Guinness with her ears flapping and her cute bowlegs pumping furiously as she barreled up the hill; me with my hair flying, my arm muscles taut, and a big ol’ grin on my face. I was never quite sure who was walking who, but I’m pretty certain that it was apparent to whoever saw us fly by that Guinness was top dog.

For years, we enjoyed this comfortable, daily routine and like a pair of best girlfriends, we leaned on each other (literally!) for support during difficult times. Guinness was a calming, loving presence as I dealt with a serious illness and couldn’t muster up the energy for our usual long walks. During those dark days, I huffed and puffed my way to the top of our street, where I collapsed on the curb to rest and reflect. Guinness always spent a few moments rolling and twisting in delight on the nicest lawn in the neighborhood before she scrambled into my lap to cuddle and pant. And smile. Oh, that beautiful doggie smile! I’d stroke her ears and tell her what a good dog she was and how lucky I felt to have her as my friend. She listened intently and I like to believe that she understood everything I was saying to her. I didn’t know what the future would bring, but I did know that in that precious, present moment, I wasn’t afraid.

By the time Guinness turned 12 in February, I began to notice that she was slowing down. White whiskers suddenly sprouted on her muzzle and her gait became a bit unsteady. “Accidents” happened pretty frequently (thank heavens for hardwood floors!) and her back legs quivered when she walked. Her veterinarian recommended glucosamine to ease her arthritis pain.

I always imagined that the last time I held Guinness in my arms, a veterinarian would be gently slipping a needle into her vein and her beautiful brown eyes would close forever. But things don’t always work out the way we think they will. Perhaps it’s better this way… I get to remember Guinness with a silly smile on her face, tail wagging furiously, and expressive eyes watching my every move.

Today, I bid a fond farewell to my beloved four-legged friend. Guinness, may your days be filled with long walks in the sun—I mean, snow!—and may you always have a tummy full of T-R-E-A-T-S. To paraphrase Dr. Seuss, the famous children’s book author and cartoonist: “I won’t cry because it’s over; I’ll smile because it happened.” I have a hunch that Guinness has a gigantic grin on her face too.

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Have you had a hard time saying goodbye to a four-legged friend? Let Karen know by sending an email message to her at karenleestevens@cox.net.