Saturday, February 9, 2013 was a difficult day for our family as we said goodbye to our lovable 10-year-old Black Labrador Retriever, Dixon. The four of us huddled around our sweet boy, hugging and grieving as he slipped into a peaceful, painless place, knowing he was loved in our world. Loved hard. And hard things break.
Dixon bounded into our lives Thanksgiving weekend in 2002. We selected him from a pile of pups located in the country of Eastern North Carolina. Unfortunately, when the day came to pick him up, he was an absolute mess: covered in mud and feces. Ugh! But my goodness, he was happy. And that would set the tone for Dixon's short but memorable life.
My husband and I had one other baby waiting at home. A smart and energetic Jack Russell Terrier named Mason who had yet to discover he was a dog. In his mind, he walked on two legs, slept in our bed, went everywhere with us so therefore, he was a human. And then Dixon arrived. Jubilant, clumsy, affectionate, and ALL dog. Mason retreated to the backyard, shivering and shaking by the tall pine trees, while Dixon raced around the yard, happy, free and completely out of control. To this day, Mason has not forgiven us for turning his human world upside down. But eventually, against his better judgment, he came to love Dixon, too. He couldn't help himself.
About a month after Dixon "settled" into our family, an ice storm descended upon our small town and we lost power for approximately four days. Thankfully, we had a wood burning fireplace and fold out couch in our tiny den, so we transformed the small room into the family headquarters. Mason cowered on the pullout bed while Dixon circled like a shark down below, trying over and over again to get his chubby, uncoordinated body closer to his brother. Dixon never became frustrated. He never attacked the sheets or ripped the upholstery. But he never gave up. He knew he would reach his destination so in the meantime, he would just enjoy the journey.
There are many, many, MANY entertaining stories of Dixon as a puppy, as an adolescent and as a full grown dog. And there were times when my husband threatened to send him to a farm. Secretly, I think Mason wished "Dad" would follow through with his threat, but he never did. Staying mad at Dixon was not in the cards. He was stubborn and difficult to train. He had his own agenda and things would get completed in his due time. Yet no matter how frustrated you may have become, no matter how loud your voice may have risen, no matter how many threats were thrown his way, he would love you, unconditionally and effortlessly. We did not realize, Dixon was in the midst of training us.
People were Dixon's greatest joy and children were his greatest happiness. Oh, how he loved play dates for the children. He would lift his front legs off the ground, chase his tail and bring his big, goofy self to everyone who entered. But sometimes Dixon was a little too energetic for people and he would have to go upstairs. Ears down, eyes sorrowful, back legs firmly planted on the carpet, each step up a cardiovascular workout for me until he would be placed in our room for a little time out. And he would lay his big, heavy body right up against the door, listening for footsteps, a sign he would soon be released. Eventually, he worked on the ones who were fearful of the big, black dog and rarely did people not want to be around him. Dixon had a knack for changing people's preconceived notions.
Dixon was destined to be a dog that dealt with health issues, but he did without complaint. Early in his puppy days, he injured his hind leg and would never completely recover. If he ran too hard or walked too long, he would be gimpy the next day. He had deteriorating muscles in his hind quarters. Typical of big dogs, he dealt with arthritic hips. His liver and kidneys weren't always at full functioning capacity. And his gray came early, but beautifully. But he never complained and was happy just to be in the midst of family.
As the seasons passed and he became a senior dog, he didn't get up quite as often. But his tail thumped up and down when you came into a room. He might not have felt well, but he was always happy to see you. Steps were not a favorite and as we moved into a third floor apartment during a transition time, he would saunter up while his brother zoomed up the steps. He would pant and breathe heavily. And lie down quickly upon entering home. In the middle of the night, he would pace in our bedroom, trying to signal us he needed to go outside. Never a whimper. Never a cry. And rarely an accident. He was trying so hard. And I realized, so were we. He deserved better.
I have had the privilege of many dogs in my life, whether they were my own, a friend's or a family member. I have loved them all. But Dixon was different. My heartbreak over him is immense, more than I thought possible when the decision was made to end his suffering. I still have trouble being at home when the children are at school. I have yet to put his bed, leash or collar away. And I still talk to him like I did when he was lying here beside me as I typed my words. He was a phenomenal editor. He was a phenomenal dog. I am grateful he was ours for a brief amount of time and unknowingly, my life changed in an unexpected way from an unexpected teacher. I love you, Lumpy. You were a true joy. Go get 'em, boy!
