A Prayer for Captain Tony

They put Captain Tony down today. This bear of a dog, this absolutely wonderful best friend to Jim, is gone. So very, very sad. Our hearts go out to Jim, Ivy, and Marley, but, in the end, this was Jim’s dog and I believe his hurt will be felt the most. To people who do not own pets, or who do not fancy themselves as dog lovers, Captain’s passing will not seem particularly newsworthy; but it is.

We first met Captain Tony, a burly, lightly hued golden retriever, when he did time at the animal shelter in Alexandria. From the get go, he displayed his lifelong habit of nudging his head under your hand for some attention, some special handling. If, moments later, you would pull your hand away, his head would dive right back in there. He simply craved a little attention and affection. And, it was humans he was drawn to, not the companionship of other dogs. He came into our lives when Jim and Ivy had yet to find a place to live that would accept pets, but Jim knew he had to claim this wonderful beast because dogs like Captain Tony don’t hang around animal shelters very long. Until they could find a pet-friendly home, Lily and I agreed to give Captain a home although he would have to share it with our eternally juvenile chocolate lab, Hoover.

Captain Tony was deaf, or mostly so. This did not make him seem disabled or damaged to me; rather, that quirk seemed to make him even more special. We fairly quickly learned that if you wanted to communicate with this guy, you had to face him head on. You needed eye contact. And, once that was established, we did fine. He did scare the bejesus out of us the day he suffered his first seizure in our home, and the terror we felt still resonates with us. His contorted body and wild flailings froze us in place. We didn’t know if he was dying or if he would throw himself through a window. And, afterwards, when he was so disoriented that for minutes he did not know where he was or who we were, were moments that were as heartbreaking for us as they were troubling to him. But, through medication, this issue, too, was safely negotiated.

When Jim claimed him from our house, an era of almost magical camaraderie was born between these two. The fact that they were of two different species was so besides the point. They bonded as few animals and people do. Their hikes, their trips to lakes and streams and to the beach were so special because for each of them, that was what they most loved to do. And, to share that with another being who feels exactly as the other makes for an extraordinary relationship.

As the years wore on, and Captain Tony slowed his pace, he took on a dignity that, yet again, was special. He had a huge head and when he sat on the beach and barked at some unseen goblin, he had the demeanor of a lion. A very agreeable lion. Of late, he developed bone cancer and the dreaded countdown began. A few days ago, when I discussed Captain’s fate with Jim, he told me he had done some research online looking for answers as to when it is, exactly, that marks the time that one should put down an animal. What he came away with was the notion that when a dog can no longer do what he loves to do, then maybe it’s time. It resonated with Jim, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.

At mid-day today, I knew the moment was at hand and both Lily and I felt a great surge of sadness. Having lost Hoover a few years ago, also to bone cancer, we knew the extreme despair of knowing the time has come, but also realizing that your great friend, who trusts you completely, does not share that realization. And there is no way to tell him. It is one of the heartaches of being in receipt of unconditional love that makes this so difficult.

I told Jim I would wait a couple of days to speak to him. It’s just too fresh today. But, our thoughts and love are with that family.