This Halloween, Elmo passed away. He was my family’s dog, who had been living with my sister and brother-in-law in UK for the past three or so years. I knew him during my senior year of high school, summers during college, and the couple of years during which I lived my parents after college. He was a good friend and occasional enemy.
 

Pet owners tend to anthromorphize their pets to no end and assign “special” traits to them, which others quietly file away as apocryphal or ubiquitous. Everyone thinks their dog is special. The same is true of myself, at least to the extent that I feel that the following facts about his life should be available to the Internet so that they can be stumbled upon in someone’s 20th page of search results for something unrelated:

1. Elmo was a beagle. My parents and sister (who had won the right to get him by agreeing to play tennis) found him among two litter mates. He was the fattest, and my dad interpreted that as a sign of outstanding health. Later, it was hypothesized that he was a bully that dominated the food bowl.

2. He was mostly black with some white spots and could fit mostly in your hand, initially. By the time he was an adult, he was brown, white, and black. His face got whiter in his old age.

3. I didn’t really like dogs when we first got him. I grew up thinking of them as inconvenient slobberers. (They are definitely inconvenient, though.)

4. The dude disliked being petted at all, initially. He didn’t know you, and he didn’t know why you were touching him. He didn’t get angry about it, but he did try to lean away and look at you suspiciously. I kind of admired that because it made “human sense.”

5. He tried really hard to eat a watermelon that was about four times his size.

6. He hated having his feet off the ground and barely tolerated being picked up. We all thought, well, that’s reasonable and left it at that. Years later, Andrew, my brother-in-law, trained him to be cool with being picked up. I was amazed to hear it.

7. Eventually, Elmo became rather large for his breed and had this massive robust chest. He sort of reminded me of those cartoon bulldogs. Then, later in life, he got pretty fat. Then, he lost that weight.

8. Between the ages of 2 and about 5 or so, he had massive explosive power. In a split second, he could go from resting to shooting across the lawn or room. This usually kicked in after we let him out from a bath. He charged wriggled as hard as he could to air himself out.

9. Like many dogs, he had a really good sense of play. He enjoyed play fighting and knew how to “play bite” so that he could simulate attacking without hurting his opponent. (Usually me. Actually, only me, I think.) Elmo also understood give and take. He’d run after you for a while, then he’d let you run after him. You could tag him with a few slaps while he dodged, then he’d jab while you covered up. When he was being put on his back, though, he went all out to get back up. Roughhousing with him reminded me of the kind of play fighting you’d do with your friends when you were eight or so.

10. We accidentally hurt each other a couple of times. When he got me, it was accidentally breaking the skin on a bite, and when I got him, it was because I tripped him with a little too much gusto. If you want to feel really terrible, you should trip a dog and watch him limp. He was OK in a few minutes, though, and a rather good sport about it.

11. There was a time when we got seriously angry at each other, though. I was trying to clip his toenail. He really hated that process. Later on, we’d just take him to the vet and pay $15 to have it done. Before that, we waited for him to sleep, then clipped one toenail. After that, he’d get up and hide. This time, I decided to try to hold him and get two. He was pissed and snapped at me.

I started yelling him, and then he started barking at me. You’re not supposed to tolerate that kind of thing from a dog, so to show I meant business, I went and got a stick. This seriously frightened him and he bared his teeth. There was no way I was going to him, of course, but I also couldn’t back down, so I slapped the stick down on the ground. He ran into a closet, and I followed, and he was still baring his teeth! So, we did some yelling and barking, then I went away, and he hid in the closet for a few more hours. I guess the stick was way too terrifying and pretty ill-advised. Yeah, I was a bad dog owner.

When he did come back out, we didn’t make eye contact and tried to pretend nothing happened. No one learned anything from this big kerfuffle.

12. There is no way he would have done that to my dad. The problem here was that I was probably overly familiar and peerish with him. No one respects a buddy boss. Again, bad dog owner. The problem was that if he did something that was “wrong” but thought it was something I’d do if I were a dog, I’d often let it go. For example, he figured out how to open the screen door by sticking his claws in it and sliding it. Whenever I saw him do it and go outside, I just couldn’t yell at him for it. I was actually thinking, “Hey, nice technique!” It wasn’t bad for a member of one of the ten dumbest breeds of dog.

13. In that vein, I didn’t really run the trick training properly. He knew how to roll over, sit, lie down, and jump. When we got out the treats, he knew what was up, and what he needed to deliver. So as soon as you’d say “Sit”, he’d execute the whole sequence as fast as he could. Elmo would roll over, then sit, lie down, and then look up expectantly.

Sometimes, I’d think, well, he really should be doing these tricks as the commands are said and would make him do each trick in a different order. More commonly, though, I was forced to respect the way he just fast forwarded past the ritual. There were so many situations in my life during which I could do just that, so it felt hypocritical to not award him his chew stick or Beggin’ Strip or what have you for firing off his trick chain and saving everyone’s time.

14. When we went on walks, I let him lead the way. Again, this is contrary to proper dog raising protocol, but it was more fun. Often, we ended up in the forest preserve. Elmo bounded down hillsides dense with trees, and I tried to keep up without falling over. It was totally worth getting muddy for that.

15. Another thing I liked doing with him was listening to Iron Maiden with him on Sunday mornings. This was during that couple of years after college that I lived with my parents. They had a cabinet-sized record player and a bunch of used records obtained from $1 lots at the local country auction. To me, the only notable records was Abbey Road, the Creeping Death EP, and five Iron Maiden records. I had sort of dismissed Maiden at that point but had to give them another chance after seeing such good cover art.

Elmo and I were the only ones around on Sunday morning, so I’d put on some Maiden records. Sometimes when I like something I pace around. Elmo would pick up on the excitement and charge around me. Then, it be time for tugging-of-war or fighting and then some lying on the floor. I don’t know what Elmo thought of the music, but he enjoyed the experience.

16. That couple of years in my life was weird. During the week, I was eagerly working like a slave, with the mentality of a feudal lord’s retainer. (Sadly, this lasted a few years even after I moved out.) On the weekends, though, I was in a sort of limbo. I was living relatively far from co-workers and my few friends (and not talking to them much anyway). The majority of my “friend time” – as in leisure time spent with another being – was with Elmo. Dog may not really be man’s best friend, but sometimes he’s the only friend living within 50 miles of man that he’s not estranged from as a result of man working constantly.

17. As he got older, Elmo naturally got slower and more easily tired. There were times we’d end up a couple miles from home and somewhat lost as a result of our wandering, and he’d look like he wanted to lie down but kept walking anyway. Still, a rather playful guy, though.

18. It was reported that Elmo got some feistiness back at the end of his life in England. He started getting sluggish and losing control of his bowels, so the vet prescribed a blood thinner. As a result, he started sleeping less excessively and being playful again. Maybe I’ll get myself some blood thinner toward the end of my life.

19. His initial move to the UK was a cause for great concern. It’s a 12+ hour flight in the cargo area, and Elmo was pretty old already at that point. He had been traumatized by a previous (ground) move. I seriously thought he could die of shock during this flight, but my sister was going to great lengths to prep him for the trip, so I left it in her hands. And it turned out fine. Elmo was perfectly happy after crossing the Atlantic.

20. Elmo was a pretty cool character for the first few years we knew him. If you left the house, he’d tip his tail a bit, then go to sleep. You’d be back.

And then, we moved.

The first thing he didn’t like about the move was the trucks. They were enormous and intimidating. And then there was the furniture moving around, much of which I don’t think he thought was movable. I came home to see them in the driveway, and Elmo ran up to me expressed “OMG!” as well as he could in barks. Then, we had to leave him in a kennel for one night.

Apparently, kennels are horrifying. Now that I think about it, my aunt’s dog died at one. Then again, maybe that was a coincidence and nothing happened at this kennel other than Elmo thinking he was abandoned. The next day, we picked him up, and he was freaked. We had one more night to wait before we could move into the new place, but it seemed like a bad idea to leave him at the kennel again. We couldn’t find a dogs-are-OK hotel in the area, so we left him at my dad’s warehouse overnight.

The next day, we came back to find the results of an all-night tantrum. Elmo had gnawed on door frames and ripped up boxes. (My dad thought that destroying the boxes were a pretty jerky move since that wouldn’t help him get out at all.)

Long after we moved in, he had severe separation anxiety. And so, my parents started taking him to work every day. Eventually, he recovered. By the time he moved to California, I think he once again had a fairly relaxed attitude toward people leaving his presence.

21. The last few years of his life were spent in the UK and were plush. Actually, the whole time he lived with my sister and her husband, first in San Francisco, then in the UK, sounded rather luxurious (may be four years total?). He always had a yard, plenty of toys, a lot of attention, and professional and carefully selected walkers during times when they were busy.

My sister and Andrew set up a storybook retirement for him. I got to see him in California, but unfortunately, logistics kept me from visiting them in England before his death. In California, Elmo was extensively mellowed, very relaxed, and probably completely over his trauma. Reports from the UK indicate that he continued his relaxed streak.

22. Elmo died of a sudden seizure. He had been perfectly healthy and spry moments before. My sister rushed him to the hospital within minutes, and he seemed like he was going to be fine, but they couldn’t get his temperature down, and he passed away. According to the vets, the brain blocks out a seizure. He died painlessly.

23. For a dog, I think he lived a fairly full life. To me, one of the saddest things about his death was that Katt never got meet him. Most likely, she’d just think, “Oh, hey. It’s a dog!” And he’d just think she was another person. In a sense, it would be meaningless. But sometimes that kind of real life “crossover” event is just very novel and satisfying to a person. For whatever reason, I don’t really care whether or not friends meet other friends. But your old dog meeting your girlfriend? Awesome! I have no idea why.

24. This doesn’t fit into the narrative flow, but there is one more tale of his that I want to tell.

There was a time when I was walking him past a large dog, who barked at us. A short, brief bark. It probably meant something like, “Hey!”

I don’t remember this dog’s exact breed, but it was one of the “tough” kinds. Possibly some blend involving German Shepherd. This dog would destroy Elmo in an open conflict, and everyone knew it.

However, this dog was also behind a tall chain link fence, and Elmo was not alone. Being an opportunist, Elmo walked up to the fence, and being a bad dog handler, I let him lead me. Then, Elmo barked at him, loudly and tough-like. Yeah! In your face, Large Dog! Large Dog Behind a Fence!

Large Dog just sat there and stared for bit.

Then, it was Large Dog’s turn. He roared. The bark waves washed over Elmo, and he looked like the guy from the Maxell ads, except not at all cool. Elmo was scared as hell. His legs were shaking, but he kept standing right in front of Large Dog.

Large Dog’s terrifying screed went on for quite some time. Maybe it didn’t really take that long, but it felt like he had been barking in Elmo’s face for two minutes straight. Elmo blinked and shifted his head from side to side but didn’t budge. He wasn’t petrified, but he was highly, highly, highly uncomfortable with the situation. Which I guess he felt he couldn’t leave. After all, he started it, and there was a chain link fence, right?

At this point, I was still curious about how long he could take it, but I felt pretty bad for the dude and gave him his out. I tugged on Elmo’s leash and gently started walking away. He followed briskly, not looking back.

Everyone gets caught writing a check they can’t cash now and then, and it’s not nice to laugh in their faces when they do. Elmo is a dog, however, so I did. Then, I scratched his head, gave him a gentle shake, told him he was a tough guy, and walked him home.

Wow. That is a lot of words written about a dog. A good dog, though.

This entry was posted on Monday, November 2nd, 2009 at 3:18 am and is filed under happenings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.