Years later, Hannah told friends I finally allowed her to adopt a dog because I was searching for someone to fill the void when she left for college.
On Dec. 30, 2015, 18 months before she graduated, Hannah and her mother, Tammy, drove to the Animal Friends Humane Society in Hamilton. They fell in love with a young German shepherd mix.
I’ll never forget getting a text on my phone at work. It was a picture of Hannah and the puppy sitting in the back seat.
Hannah got her wish. She was a happy girl.
No words were needed in the text.
She named him Abraham, in honor of her favorite U.S. president.
Abe quickly became part of our family, as pets typically do. Our social schedules revolved around him. We had to be home when it was time for him to eat, time to go outside.
Throughout Hannah’s four-year college career, we boarded Abe in a Waynesville kennel so we could watch her golf.
While Hannah was at college, I became Abe’s caretaker and he became my best friend, my constant companion. He greeted me every time I walked in the door, and acted like I had been gone for days, even if it was for five minutes.
Nothing says “welcome home” like a wagging tail and slobber.
Abe loved taking walks in the park, riding in the car with the windows down and his ears blowing in the wind, and licking ice cream from McDonald’s.
During one walk at a local golf course, Abe spotted a squirrel in the distance and took off running. His leash got caught in my pinkie finger that’s permanently bent.
I can’t look at my right hand without thinking of Abe.
There are other constant reminders. The leather seats in my car have holes in them. They were no match for Abe’s sharp nails.
He had peculiarities. All dogs do. He was terrified of fireworks and thunder. He would try to jump out the window if someone rang the doorbell. Vacuum sweepers were his No. 1 enemy.
He was a fierce and loyal protector, just as he was bred.
Abe, of course, slowed down as he aged. Even dogs can’t outrun Father Time.
He recently was diagnosed with Cushing’s disease that occurs when the body produces too much cortisol hormone, leading to a range of symptoms including increased thirst, excessive panting and hair loss.
If left untreated, the condition can significantly impact a dog’s quality of life.
So before every meal, we gave Abe medicine that tasted like bacon to treat the disease.
But the medicine didn’t seem to eliminate the symptoms. Abe was rapidly losing weight and seemed to be confused.
For long periods of time he stood in the corner and stared at the walls.
It was my responsibility to let Abe out every morning, regardless of the hour.
About two weeks ago, after Abe jumped off the bed, he stood at the top of the stairs as I walked ahead.
I turned around and he was frozen, like he was afraid to take the first step. I walked back upstairs and tried to convince him. He wouldn’t move.
Then I went downstairs, shook his food bowl and he walked down the stairs. It was like he forgot how to maneuver the legs.
Later, I was told Abe may have suffered from “dog dementia.”
The spunk in his legs and the sparkle in his eyes were gone. He looked and acted tired. In the morning, the dog who loved to eat had no appetite.
We estimate Abe was 12 years old, ancient for a dog weighing 90 pounds.
Last week, when his condition worsened, we made the most difficult decision of a dog owner’s life.
We took turns saying our goodbyes. There were more tears than words. He gave us so much love and loyalty.
Pets are expensive, but you can’t afford to buy the affection they give in return.
I took him to the veterinarian on July 3, and it was my plan to say goodbye and leave before he was euthanized.
Then I decided I didn’t want our friendship to end that way. So I stayed with Abe throughout the entire process and hugged him as he took his last breath.
The procedure felt painful, yet peaceful at the same time.
I walked out of the veterinarian’s office, Abe’s empty collar dangling in my right hand.
The collar was empty and that matched the feeling in my heart.
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