My Dad and his Dogs (III)

      The departure of his lovable pets must’ve broken my dad’s heart. But he kept it to himself.

But as the puppies grew up, it looked like my dad had every intention of keeping all six. They were his pride and joy and the dogs scrambled over each other whenever they saw him. Housekeeping remained difficult and when they were teething we had to bear a lot of furniture damage. I shook my head at all these and remembered my mom. She would not be able to bear the way the dogs were turning her beautiful home into a doghouse. 

My dad and King Kong

Finally, things came to a head. My dad had this habit of letting his dogs loose out in the street for their morning exercise and I’d see and hear neighbors scramble to their homes and shut their gates (and peer over the fence at the fascinating sight). At first I thought it was amusing. But when I saw the six siblings charge back to my dad from the end of the street shoulder-to-shoulder like a pack of wild horses, to the uninformed, to face that head-on was frightening! The youngsters were growing bigger and looking more scary because they were Boxers. Though the breed is known as non-aggressive and gentle, many people did not know that. Neighbors’ complaints repeatedly reached us. One day, after much discussion with me, my dad let me put out an ad and slowly, the dogs left us.

The departure of his lovable pets must’ve broken my dad’s heart. But he kept it to himself. The last dog that left us was “Negro,” a big and beautiful Boxer that almost looked like a Mastiff. I remember before Negro left, my dad cupped the dog's large head in his hands, looked at his wrinkled face  and said, "Be a good dog," as his farewell blessing and admonition. But in his new home, the neighbors feared this gentle dog because of its looks so one night some idiot tossed a piece of bread laced with poison over the fence...

There was one dog which my dad kept behind, the only tan-and-white pup in the litter, a lookalike of his stud father who was one of Joey's champions. His name was King Kong. But with the other pups gone, the house was lonely and quiet again. Some days my dad would ask me to find those new owners and just inquire if he could visit his former dogs. I could see that they were a part of his heart and he missed them. But I never got around to doing this for him.
             Finally my dad announced he wanted to raise a new brood so off Alfa went to Joey. But by that time Joey was slowly phasing off his kennel hobby and didn't have an available stud so he referred us to one of his Boxer friends. We took Alfa to another Boxer owner but we had waited too long. Her critical heat period had already elapsed. Since female dogs go in heat every six months, we waited another half a year. 

Alfa's second litter didn’t do so well; they were born during the summer and one very warm night my dad made the mistake of positioning an electric fan steady on them while they were in the whelping box. All the pups died except for one: another tan-and-white youngster we named Butchie Boy.

Butchie Boy grew to be a beautiful Boxer. But by then my dad was older. The maid was taking care of it more often. When Butch was three years of age, Alfa was in her sunset years. I wanted to get the playful Butch a new playmate and at the same time inject a new breed into our household. I brought in a Dalmatian puppy.

Alfa was twelve years old when she developed a growth in her uterus. Her vet diagnosed it as a tumor and warned it may spread. As it grew larger, my dad suggested we put her to sleep. Alfa was very old and very sick. As the months passed the maid reported pus was coming out the dog’s ears. It was proof that the tumor had already spread. My dad made his request. The dog was beginning to get smelly too.

A few weeks before we were to have visitors flying in from abroad, I made the decision to finally put the dog to sleep. The vet came. After it was all over, I told my dad in his room. I had Alfa buried at the side of our house. The dog that had opened an amazing new door in my dad’s life had fulfilled her purpose successfully. Now it was her turn to go.

The Last Years

A Dachshund followed – a lively self-assured little pup that initiated chase games with Butch and the Dalmatian named Spotty. My dad watched at the antics, fascinated with the spunky newcomer. But the Dachshund was not ours; it was to go to my cousin Marie a month later. When Marie came to pick it up, she read my dad's expression. A few weeks later she sent a new Dachshund to replace the first. We named the newcomer Packy.

My dad at his 90th birthday party. With him are Butchie Boy (left) and Alfa (right).

When Packy joined us my dad was 93 years old. My mom’s death which had left him empty and abandoned was 14 years ago. People had thought he was going to follow her but he didn’t. A new adventure had opened in his life and he had enjoyed it thoroughly. It was full of new experiences, challenges, and knowledge. He had discovered a new life after widowhood in his late sunset years. But by the time Packy came around, he had become an observer. I know he would've wanted to live on but he was burdened by his physical disabilities denying him further enjoyment of life. He was too old to move around, osteoarthritis had confined him to his chair. He couldn't go out and buy the dogs their food anymore, or wash the bowls and prepare their meals. Macular degeneration wouldn't let him enjoy a book and learn more about them; he couldn’t even see them well enough to enjoy their antics which were his daily delight.
                Life was closing in on him.

Packy was not as spunky as the first Dachshund. But he spent his puppyhood napping at my dad’s feet and spending his days in his room. In the mornings whenever my dad would be in the front yard neighbors would remember him as sitting in his chair to catch the early morning sun with a Dachshund puppy sunbathing along with him on his lap. That was Packy's role for him in his very advanced age.

My dad died at the age of 94 in his sleep a few months later.

Maybe it’s good my dad left before Packy became an adult. This is one dog that gives us a very challenging life at home. He keeps trying to train us. Packy would've had his little furry paw around my dad (which would clash with me as I learned more about dog training).

So is there more to life when it seems empty and feels like there's nothing further up ahead? Definitely. Sometimes it will come up to you and bark.

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