On May 30, 2012, Timon was put to rest; he was a good old dog. At first it was his heart. Although he was put on medication and special food, he wouldn't take the medication and had no interest in eating. For years his routine was the same. When it rained, or at night when the family went to bed, he climbed up the stairs to the dog's sleeping room. But, when he became ill, he refused to go up the stairs. Instead, he chose to sleep on the patio.
|Rest in Peace, Timon|
In the beginning, as his life faded away, when I sat with him rubbing his belly, he’d wag his tail in appreciation. However, as time went by, he lost the energy to wag his tail. Almost everyday the veterinarian made a house call. Ruth, who was Timon's person, did everything she could to save him. When I gently passed on my observance that Timon was waiting to die, she rightly pointed out that the veterinarian would make that decision.
In the last week or so, there was one day, a fine day, when Timon was his old self. He ate well, wagged his tail and went up the stairs. But it didn't last. Blood began trickling out of his anus. That was when the veterinarian suggested that Timon's time had come. I was informed of the decision the family had made. I took a few photos and said goodbye to my old friend.
When I first came to live at the back of the garden, Tami had recently given birth to a litter of pups. Timon was the father. All the pups quickly found homes with friends and relatives. Tato was the puppy the family decided to keep. Tato is bigger and more outgoing than his quieter father, who generally took his son's bossiness in stride.
Tami is not spayed. When she came into heat the challenge for the family was keeping her separated from the Tato and Timon. Timon was miserable. He could smell, but not touch. Between him and his love there was only a gridiron door. I paid him a visit. He put his head on my lap and poured his heart out. He did his very best to let me know how heartbroken he was. After all, there was that time before when he could impregnate, why not now? I understood his dilemma, like him I had no decision making power and could only commiserate.
He never liked getting his hair cut, and when the groomer came he would run up the stairs to my apartment, seeking protection.
Sometimes, I gave the dogs left over chicken when I made soup, or the fat and gristle left over from meat I was preparing. I made sure each dog got its share, believing Tato would take it all, if allowed. After eating his share Timon came to visit, not coming in, but quietly and patiently sitting on the stairs waiting, hoping for more.
As his days trickled to an end I came to appreciate his quiet gentleness. I'll miss Timon and it will be a week or so before I stop looking for him so that we can sit together for a few minutes.