spencer t. jones

Three years ago on 3 July 2003, I euthanized my dog, the Legendary Spencer. I quail a bit at the word “euthanize”; I find my chest contracts at it. It’s an ugly word. To my mind, though, the euphemisms are worse: put down like an insult or put to sleep like a child, as if there is a time when he, my furry eternal toddler, will rise again.

Three years ago Spencer and I took our last walk. I leashed him, and he looked at me with dying and hopeful eyes because he loved me and because he loved walks. He unquestioningly went with me; he stepped gingerly down the stairs of my apartment for the last time. For the last time, I watched him pee, him no longer able to lift his leg. For the last time, I saw him pause outside Bang! Bang! because one upon a time the store had been another store, a store that unfailingly had provided Spencer with biscuits, and he never, not even in his slightly addled dotage, forgot a place that gave him biscuits.

For the last time I took him for a walk and for the last time he trusted me.

He was, unquestionably, ready to die. His kidneys were failing, and his lung cancer had progressed to a point where he hacked and coughed often and with a painful rawness; just breathing, for him, was difficult. He had ceased to eat, even yummy treats like liverwurst. I had, a few weeks earlier, had him shaved for the summer, something I had never done before. I felt he was old and uncomfortable in the heat, so I had brought him, also for the last time, to the groomer’s, which he hated.

I bid adieu to his beautiful caramel sundae hair, the first bits of him I said good-bye to; the rest would come later.

And so three years ago for the last time, I brought him to his vet’s, where she put us in a quiet room and then injected him with some kind of preliminary downer, to get him to sleep before she gave him his lethal dose of whatever.

He wouldn’t sleep there on the vet’s floor. He couldn’t. His body, dehydrated from his failing kidneys, and his mind, nervous from being at the vet’s, wouldn’t succumb to the soporific drugs. His eyes remained open and he remained restive. Finally, unable to wait any more, the vet just came in, and kindly and gently injected him with a series of shots. He died in my lap.

I held him and cried, and then I clipped tufts of his ear hair, which I have saved in a box. I also took ink prints of his left front paw on rice paper. (I would, about a week later, walk back to the vet's to pick up a white bakery box that read " Spencer, the loving pet of Chelsea Girl." It still contains his ashes.)

I walked home from the vet’s alone. Alone I spent that night and the next day, 4 July. The following day, I took the prints I had made of Spencer’s paw after his death to a tattoo artist, and I had him tattoo me with Spencer’s paw, his name and his dates on my right deltoid. It’s not a very good tattoo—it wasn’t my usual artist, and I knew I’d regret its ham-handed scarring depth—but I will never remove it.

I have lost friends, I have lost family members. I have never in my life felt the keening grief I felt over losing my dog. I sobbed with animal loss—deep, heaving, inarticulate moans of loss. I can’t even write this today without tears. And I think that this grief is due to the fact that people have disappointed me. People have created conflict. People have given me qualified affection.

My dog never did. Sure, he made me angry. Once he ate the corner of my then-roommate Becky Sue’s mattress. It was not a good day for either of us. But Spencer was always unequivocally happy to see me. His love for me was pure, and steady, and unqualified.

I was his God, he was my dog.

I remember in those first few weeks of insane grief, in those days when all I wanted, all I really wanted was to be with him, how I felt his fear of being removed from me, how I worried that no one would take care of him wherever he was, and how I had a dream. In my dream, he and I were out on a beautiful summer day, in a park that wasn’t a park, and somehow we got separated.

I saw him across a wide expanse of very green grass and I called him, but he didn’t come. He stood there, his long blonde and white hair rippling in the breeze as I called and called, and then he walked, his big Aussie butt twitching, away from me. In my dream, I remembered that he was deaf, that he couldn’t hear me, but then I woke and I realized that he had left because he was dead. He was gone, and I could never call him back.

I don’t have a religious background. I don’t have a clear idea of an afterlife, of a heaven or a hell or even a reincarnation. However, in my hopes, if I live a good life, if I’m moral and take responsibility for my mistakes, if I treat my neighbor as myself, and apologize when I do not, then I shall at my life’s end be reunited with Spencer.

In a perfect world, dogs like him would never die. In a perfect world, I would never have known this loss. But in a less perfect world, I console myself, I would never have known his love.

Spencer T. Jones 11/27/90-7/3/03

Comments

[Alan]

Lost my horse a few months back. He died with his head in my lap. A beautiful Throughbred who paid his way in life. I'll never forget him.

[Suse]

My Grandmother cried sporadically for two years after one of her cats died - no one blamed her, we all understood. Cat people, dog people, any kind of animal person understands.

[Edgy Mama]

I still dream about my dog, Charlie, who died 20 years ago. I've had other pets, but none so special.

We're lucky to have had such amazing animals in our lifes.

I'll raise a glass to Spencer tonight.

[Tree]

This post brings so many tears to my eyes, for your loss and because I too have lost a beloved pet (almost a year ago now). It still makes me sob now and then. I still have dreams.

You're right. People disappoint. People wound. But our pets, the little loved creatures that share so much and ask for so little, they have an unconditional love for us that only those blessed with it can understand. I still reach for my cat's fuzzy, chubby body in the mornings. I still ache for him when I'm crying over one of life's random tragedies. He used to let me soak him with my grief.

I'm very sorry for your loss three years ago, but I'm glad you've been touched by love for and from such a special critter.

[O]

I have lost friends, I have lost family members. I have never in my life felt the keening grief I felt over losing my dog. I sobbed with animal loss—deep, heaving, inarticulate moans of loss. I can’t even write this today without tears. And I think that this grief is due to the fact that people have disappointed me. People have created conflict. People have given me qualified affection.

I know that for myself, the loss of my cat a few years ago was like this. Just this crushing intense grief and pain and sorrow that was worse than any other loss I've endured.

I've thought about it a lot since, and I think the reason is the one you give, having something to do with their quality of innocence and faith and total unswerving need for us and love. I think it probably can only compare to the loss of a child--which is something I cannot pretend to know about, but I suspect that the quality of the grief and the reasons for it are deeply alike.

One of the worst things for me personally about the experience of grief and loss has always been the way it robs us of speech when we would most want it. The way there just don't seem to be any words, or not enough of them, to convey what it's like. You made me cry reading this; and I cried also because you found the words anyway for pain--like you always do.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

Love,
O

[figleaf]

You're a sweet and wonderful woman, Chelsea Girl.

I fucked up over song lyrics before but I'd like to share these. Ancient Disney-esq ham, yes, but so tragically hopeful that for years I couldn't bear to hear them sung.

"When I get to heaven here's what I'll do,
Wind my horn and call for Blue,
Singing here...
Blue...
You good dog you."

figleaf

[Anthony]

I have a toy poodle who is my best friend and she is in failing health which rips my heart out. I fully understand why your grief for Spencer is so hard as I will feel incredibly sad when I have to take mine to the vet for the last time. I agree about people, they are manipulative and only seem to do things which meet their needs. I have had challenges from people who I loved and trusted only to be cast aside.

Tara my Poodle gives me unconditional love and does not expect anything except a pat on the head, a Milkbone and a little TLC. She has never given me a reason to stop loving her and she never will. I get teary eyed when I think that I will have to make a visit to the vet one day and I will be leaving alone. I am sorry you have lost your friend.

[Padoodles]

woah baby- I'm sitting here all weepy and melty eyed. Your love for spencer comes through this page with force. I'm sorry you have lost him but I'm glad for the 13 years you two had together. I now have my "girl", my best friend, my runty lil pit bull and someday she will be wherever they go and her and spencer and all the other wonderful animals can be together.

Beautiful photos hunny- I'm glad you shared those

Hugz

[Mehe]

I don't know how I'd get through these darkest of days (four months until my divorce is final) without the love of our pet Aussie, Merlin. Aussies have to be the most loving dogs on this planet. All Merlin wants if for someone to pet him or talk to him. I wish people were as loyal as our dogs.

[Djaevle]

I think I've taken the easy way out, having cats. Dogs love unsparingly; cats love whimsically. Dogs trust unflinchingly; a cat's trust must be earned.

But dog, cat, bird, or snake - they become a part of us. A living extension of our world.

We belong to them.

[S.C.]

So very moving, especially to those that have had to euthanize pets.

I'll join in the toast to Spencer.

[Alayne]

I hug my Rottie, Shasta, a little harder when I read your tears of grief.

What would I do without my buddy… my friend… my little girl?

The pain in your writing breaks my heart. There is no better love than the love of a pet. They love you for all your flaws, your sorrows, your hopes and dreams. They leave this strange world way too soon and don’t even realize what an impact they had on your life.

Shasta is my baby. Cancer took away my decision to conceive, but I never wanted a child. I have Shasta. She cries when I go to work and is extremely happy when I come home. She growls at my suitcase because she knows that mom will be gone a few sleeps if she packs this – and then dad looks after her.

Good-bye Spencer. My heart cries for your loss.

[Jeff]

Thanks for making a grown man cry! I have never posted a comment to anyones blog before, but I read your's frequently. My best friend in the world, Bandit, died in May of 2003. He was a furry shepard/husky/lab mix, and had been my companion through a marriage, divorce and a 2nd marriage. Since I am in the Army, he had travelled with me to quite a few different homes. He died at 13 years, pretty good for a big dog.
Thank you for your post. Since he died, I had not cried, and have always felt guilty. I was away when he went, and that added to the guilt. But tonite, the floodgates opened, and I needed that. Hopefully Spencer and Bandit are playing together on a nice green lawn somewhere........
Thank you!

[Case Wintermute]

I send my deepest sympathy. About six months
ago we had to euthanize our beloved Newfoundland.
I will never forget that day. You owe it to
your animal friend to have courage and save
them from pain. But that does not make it
any less painful. I will always miss our
beloved friend.

Best,

Wintermute

[chelsea girl]

Thank you one and all.

There are two kinds of people, really. Animal people and the rest. You animal people know.

I appreciate your warmth very much.

kissykiss,
chelsea girl

[KtotheE]

That was beautiful, honey. And yes, I've been there, exactly.

[ell]

This is a very sweet post indeed CG but I've avoided coming here this week to comment as one of my own dear hounds has being seeing out the last of her days ensconced like a princess on a fat pillow next to the heater. Sent her off to dog heaven this afternoon.The vet was very kind. Darn animals they make you love them.

Thanks for the wonderful writing CG.

[Aine]

I'm very sorry for your loss. Those things never do heal properly, do they? And yet, it's almost better to have a little open spot on your heart so that you can remember...

I do this for a living. A lot of the time, I'm the last person someone's beloved sees before leaving this earth and it never gets easier. I'm glad it doesn't. If it ever got easier, if stories like this one ever cease to touch me, than I should give it up.

Thanks for sharing this. Beauty, sexuality, personality... that's easy. Pain is harder.

[Viviane]

Isn't it something the way the anniversary of a loved one's death just rips your heart out each time it rolls around?

I was in many churches this week. I still always light some candles in memory of my parents.

[Anonymous]

I have sent two of mine on to wait at the bridge.

I raise chickens, lambs and goats for food so I promise you that it isn't hard for me to justify death at my own hands.

But there is a pain that will not go away as far as those two are concerned.

But there is no longer any sadness - they had good lives, so far as I could tell. I can still talk to them and I know that I will see them again.

I wish blessing on LS, you, Nora, Dillon and all the others that we miss.

[gatsby]

at 41 my dog is without a doubt my best friend. when I think about my first dog who died when I was 7, I still get a lump in my throat. I am so sorry for your loss. gatsby