A Tribute 1/18/2003
Snuggles Ellingson
April 1988 - January 16, 2003
Snuggles became the center of our world the day we met her in August of 1994. Lois and I had talked about how it might be nice to have a dog (we already had two cats). So we drove over to check out the P.A.W.S. animal shelter in Lynnwood, Washington and we walked up and down the rows of cages, hoping to find a perfect addition to our family. I had gone over by myself a day or two earlier and had seen a dog I liked. Then Loie noticed a note on a Keeshond's cage (we had never even heard of the breed) saying that she loved to ride in the car and her name was Snuggles. They put her in a room alone with us to see what would happen. Boy, did it happen!
It must have been fate, or maybe it was an act of God that brought us together. The woman who owned Snuggles had died. The woman's daughter and her family already had a dog, a Labrador Retriever, so they couldn't keep Snuggy. The daughter took Snuggles to her vet and had her totally groomed and all her shots brought up to date before taking her to P.A.W.S. And she made an unheard of deal with P.A.W.S.: that if nobody wanted to adopt her in a few days, she would get her back. Snuggles finally arrived at the shelter only two hours before we got there and fell in love with her.
First we needed permission from our landlord to have a dog. And then we had to complete an application that seemed tougher than you'd need for adopting a baby. In those days (eventually bad publicity forced a change in policy), if you didn't meet the P.A.W.S. standards, which no prospective pet owner could figure out, they would kill a dog or cat instead of letting it be adopted by someone they considered "substandard", meaning below some arbitrary level someone at P.A.W.S. had concocted. Don't ask me how we qualified. I had no idea and was afraid to ask, afraid they'd change their minds.
All pets were to be spayed or neutered before leaving, which was fine with us. P.A.W.S. put Snuggy on the spaying schedule and we were to pick her up in three days. When we arrived, we were told that she was too fat to operate on so they let us take her home to lose weight. I think this was a first for P.A.W.S. We promised to take some weight off her and then have her spayed. It took about two or three weeks of running around with her and feeding her just a bit less than she may have been used to, and she lost ten pounds. Most Keeshonds weigh fifty to sixty pounds. Snuggles only weighed thirty at her prime weight. We don't know why. She was a purebred Keeshond. Maybe she was just the runt of the litter.
She must have been forbidden to make any noise. She had lived with us for almost a month when, one day, we heard a dog bark. We figured it was coming from outside, but when we checked the other room, it was Snuggles. We'd been talking to her almost nonstop and she finally decided to join the conversation. She had a lot to say, too!
We were, literally, inseparable from the first day. There was absolutely nowhere we went that she didn't go with us, whether ten feet to the front door or on a ten week, 10,000 mile trip across Canada and the U. S. in our Jeep Wrangler in 1998. She stayed where we stayed. There were some days on that trip when we spent hours trying to find a hotel or motel that would allow pets, but leaving her to sleep in the car alone was never considered. She was proud to prance into a lobby, onto the elevator and down the hall to her room on the eighth floor or wherever in whatever hotel we found. She stayed in some dumps and some really fancy hotels and her presence improved all of them, just as being in her presence improved us. And we found that the hotels that didn't take pets really weren't nice places anyway.
Snuggles had dozens of nicknames and she responded to every one of them with her beautiful and irresistible smile -
Pupster Dear
Darling Daughter Dog
Ol' Snort
Perfect Pooch
Bear Tracks
Seņorita Huff and Puff
Bear
Snugalia
Character
Snugaboo
Snugaloo
Pumpkin Pie
Bear Claws
Tom Cat
Baby Doggie
Pumpernickel Pal
Snugster Bear
Barge Guard
Boo
Paws and Jaws
Snortimer
Bluster Bear
Lulu
Sweet Tater Pie
Creature Beast
Snuggy had been suffering from arthritis for the past three or four years and her diabetes was diagnosed in December, 2001. We began giving her insulin every twelve hours, followed by a snack and, four hours later, a full meal. With my work schedule, it was 4:00 A.M. and 4:00 P.M. for the insulin and snack, with breakfast at 8:00 A.M. and dinner at 8:00 P.M. Snuggy thought this was pretty cool - she was guaranteed something to eat four times a day! Woof!! I would say, "Snuggles, it's time for your injection of insulin and your snack", and she'd come running over. Even in the early morning of her last day with us, although she couldn't get up, she raised her head when I said it. And she gobbled up her snack as usual and then went back to sleep.
Although the insulin stabilized
her blood sugar, the diabetes caused cataracts that came on very
suddenly after seven or eight months with the disease. She went
from normal eyesight to virtual blindness within a two or three
week span last summer. After a lot of research, we had one of her
cataracts removed in November. Only one because her
ophthalmologist and her regular doctor were both concerned about
Snuggy being under the anesthetic for too long. The cataract had
hardened and was difficult to remove, so the eye surgeon was
afraid to even take the time to put in a corrective lens. Snuggy
had some improvement in her vision, but only at a distance.
Most recently, she couldn't get up by herself and could barely
stand or would just fall down. We took her back to her vet in
early January. The doctor thought it looked like a stroke, but
since those are rare in dogs and a syndrome exists with similar,
but temporary, symptoms, we held out hope that Snuggy would
improve. But she got worse.
We had been praying for a few days that she might die peacefully
in her sleep.
So we called the vet again on January sixteenth, hoping that he
could help her - no thought in our minds of losing her at the
time. We headed out to his office. Loie drove, with Snuggles
lying down in the back seat, her head in my lap. I talked to her
and petted her all the way - 40 miles - and she smiled at me as
she hadn't been able to do for a few days. Riding in the car was
her second favorite thing, and she loved going to the doctor's
office to see her friends.
What she really loved most of all was eating. I think her favorite things to eat were lettuce and ginger snaps. Even though she couldn't chew well at the end, she never lost her hearty appetite. We had begun mixing her food with warm milk or water to soften it for her.
The doctor told us it must have been a stroke after all. We knew a decision had to be made. He talked about what we and he could do for her, and none of the choices gave him or us any hope that Snuggy would get any better.
We made the decision. The doctor left the room so we could tell Snuggy we loved her and we'd be together again someday. We petted her and snuggled her and held her hand and kissed her goodbye. I started sobbing uncontrollably as I hadn't done since I was a child. I'm crying again as I write this.
The doctor came back, explained how it would happen, and administered the injection. It took just a few seconds while our dear friend relaxed and gave a final sigh. She looked ten years younger and so beautiful.
We wrapped her in two of her favorite giant bath towels, placed her on the back seat, and drove home in tears.
Back of where we live is a forest. We found a secluded spot beneath some evergreens and I dug her grave.
We grind our coffee from whole beans each morning. I would always say to Snuggles, "Would you like a coffee bean, young lady?" She would come and take it and chew it up. Toward the end, I had to hold it right in front of her nose before she would take it and, by now, she would usually just swallow it whole. This ceremony went on from her first day with us to her last, more for me than for her, I'm sure.
Loie had some coffee beans with her. I tucked them inside Snuggy's wrappings and put her in the ground. Loie took the shovel and covered her.
As a friend told us, another will take her place in our house some day, but never in our hearts. Snuggles is with us and will always be.
* * *
I explained to
St. Peter,
I'd rather stay here
Just outside that pearly gate.
I won't be a nuisance.
I won't even bark.
I'll be very patient and wait.
I'll lie here just chewing my celestial bone,
No matter how long you may be.
I'd miss you so much, if I went in alone,
That it wouldn't be Heaven for me.
*
* *
When our old dog had to die after long years full with love and honor,
When the weight of time grew wearying and she was content to have it finished,
We brought our old dog to her friend.
Our dog lies soft against me, old eyes already closed, waiting.
Her friend's hand is gentle on the weary body with its ragged fur,
So gentle to find the frail small vein where death may enter.
So patient, our friend, his knowing hands all I can see through silent tears.
I watch him lightly coaxing and at last a small red flower blooms briefly in the crystal
Before he eases the plunger in.
Old dog only sighs very softly.
The weary heart slows and stops as the joyful spirit leaps free.
We wait a quiet minute, my tears dropping unheeded into the soft fur.
My head bows over her weathered white mask for a moment
Before I let her lie by herself and draw the blanket over her.
To bring even a kindly death brings sadness.
I wish I could thank him for keeping zest in her years,
for making a good end of them,
for his capable hands, for his gentle word and caring heart.
We take old dog home, and lay her, as if sleeping,
wrapped in her worn blanket and sheltered deep in the kindly earth.
Dedicated to Snuggles' doctor and to compassionate veterinarians everywhere.
* * *
An old man and his dog walked along a dirt road with high fences on both sides.
They came to a beautiful gate
where a man in white robes was standing. "Welcome to
Heaven", he said. The old man was happy and started in with
his dog behind him. The gatekeeper stopped him. "Dogs aren't
allowed, I'm sorry. He can't come in with you."
"What kind of Heaven won't allow dogs? If he can't come in,
then I will stay out with him. He's been my faithful companion
all his life. I can't desert him now. I won't."
"Suit yourself, but I warn you, the Devil is near and he'll
try to sweet talk you into going with him. If you won't leave the
dog here, you'll spend Eternity walking this road."
But the old man and dog walked on. They came to a rundown fence
with a gap in it, no gate, just a hole. Another old man was
inside. "Excuse me, sir, but my dog and I are getting mighty
tired. Mind if we come in and sit in the shade for awhile?"
"Of course, there's cold water under that tree over there.
Make yourselves comfortable"
"You're sure my dog can come in? The man down the road said
dogs weren't allowed anywhere."
"What if I invite you in, but not your dog? Will you still
come in for rest and a cold drink if you have to leave your
dog?"
"No sir, that's why I didn't go to Heaven. He said my dog
couldn't come in. I guess we'll be spending Eternity on this
road, and a drink of cold water and some shade would be mighty
fine right about now. But I won't come in if my old friend here
can't come too, and that's final."
The man smiled a big smile and said "Welcome to
Heaven."
"You mean this is Heaven? Dogs ARE allowed? How come that
fellow down the road said they weren't?"
"That was the Devil and he gets people who are willing to
abandon a lifelong companion for a comfortable place to stay.
They soon find out their mistake, but then it's too late. The
dogs come here, the fickle people stay there. God would never
allow dogs to be banned from Heaven. After all, He created them
to be man's companions in life, so why would he separate them in
death?"
Authors Unknown
"Beau" by Jimmy Stewart
He never came to
me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball.
Or he felt like it.
But mostly he didn't come at all.
When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay
He did things his way.
Discipline was not
his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of
folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey,
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.
He set the house
on fire
But the story's long to tell,
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.
On the evening
walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.
He would charge up
the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.
But every once in
a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.
We are
early-to-bedders at our house --
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the
tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while,
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.
And before very
long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.
And there were
nights when I'd feel him
Climb up on our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.
And there were
nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I'd reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
And I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up
at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead,
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb up on our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are
nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.
Oh, how I wish
that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.
Thank you for reading this.
