For the first time since my son was about to turn 9 almost 16 years ago, our home is without the extraordinary sweetness and aggressive unconditional love of Rugby, my son’s (but really the whole neighborhood’s) extraordinary Jack Russell Terrier.
He peacefully expired after an injection, as he was held tightly by my son Grant, whom he loved beyond explaining, wrapped in the tattered baby blanket that a toddling Grant himself once held for comfort, and that had lined Rugby’s dog bed in my son’s apartment.
In the end, these decisions always come down to ethical values. We received from our vet the not entirely unexpected news that our dog’s sudden lack of energy and stability as well as labored breathing was almost certainly caused by progressive heart failure. Dickens, his more flamboyant and occasionally diabolical predecessor of the same breed, had perished of the identical malady just short of 15 years of mischief. The first question— Is there anything you can do?— was met by an answer we have heard before in earlier animal companion tragedies: “Maybe, but even under the best circumstances, the time will be short.”
The second—Would he be suffering?—also had a less than satisfactory response. “These are very stoic dogs; if he’s hurting, he won’t tell you. You know him best: what would he consider a comfortable life?”
Rugby had answered that question when we arrived at the vet’s in the early morning today, rousing himself for the first time in days to play mayor and MC as if nothing was amiss, greeting terrified new arrivals, running up to every dog large and small, old or young, and bumping noses, and making me sound like an idiot as I explained to the staff that he had become progressively less active and lively over the last week, culminating in a collapse early in our previous evening walk, sleeping almost all day, and suddenly seeming his age and beyond after over 15 years as a perpetual puppy. This was how Rugby wanted to be, scampering, wagging, loving everybody and everything (even squirrels, cats and mailmen) because this is who he was, and it had to take an extraordinary effort for him to pull off the last 10 minutes of effervescence that had several dog owners asking, “What kind of dog IS that? He’s such a character!”
Rugby had shown signs of more decline in his brief time with the vets, refusing the kind of treats he loved while still charming all of the assistants and doctors. After we learned that there would be no way to euthanize him until Monday if he worsened, as was likely, over the weekend, our duty was clear. As my wife has said in the past and repeated today, our animal companions trust us to do what’s best for them, even when our own selfishness would dictate other courses of action. We weren’t ready to lose Rugby, but letting go was the kindest and most responsible decision we could make.
It is amazing what a giant hole a small non-human friend can leave in your life.
Just now I found myself thinking back to “My Dog Skip,” a movie about a boy, like Grant an only child, and his Jack Russell terrier. Skip was a roughcoat Jack, unlike both Dickens and Rugby (whom we hadn’t met yet), but the last speech of the movie, uttered in reflection by the boy (Frankie Muniz), now grown, resonated deeply when I first heard it in the theater, and it strikes even deeper today.
The dog of your boyhood…teaches you a great deal about friendship and love and death.
I was an only child. He was an only dog. Old Skip…never lost that old devilish look in his eye. He made my room his own.
I came across an old photo of him not long ago. His little face…with the long snout sniffing at something in the air. His tail was straight out and pointing and his eyes were flashing in some momentary excitement. He always loved to be rubbed on the back of his neck, and when I did it, he’d yawn, and he’d stretch, and reach out to me with his paws as if he was trying to embrace me.
[Note: Dickens would yawn; Rugby didn’t. Rugby would stretch and reach out with his paws, and sometimes did embrace you…]
I received a transatlantic call one day. “Skip died” Daddy said. He and my mama wrapped him in my baseball jacket. They buried him out under our elm tree, they said.
That wasn’t totally true. for he really lay buried……in my heart.
Ethics Alarms 
“Through their short lives, they enrich our own.”
Lucky’s last day was a Saturday. He’d been sick for a day-and-a-half. We’d had him seen the night before, had him given medicine and saw him bounce to life as normal.
The next morning, he was back to being sick. They closed at noon. It was Easter weekend, so they were going to be closed the next day. He couldn’t keep food or water down. He was dehydrated. We had four hours to decide what to do and, the longer we took, the longer our buddy would suffer.
I hated that decision. But it was the only one we could make.
I’m so sorry for you and your family.
Jack, I know nothing any of us can say will ease the sting. You and your family are in my thoughts this weekend, as well as my prayers.
It’s obvious that Rugby had a good life. It’s something no amount of money can buy, and can only be given, never taken. I know there’s no satisfaction in that in the midst of the loss, but my hope is that in the days to come you can look back on the fact that you did right by your dog, and gain some measure of peace from it. That’s what has always helped me deal with the same loss of my canine friends, although their passings were often less timely.
Hang in there. As you know, it doesn’t get better, but time smooths the sharp edges.
My heart bleeds for you and your entire family. I am so sorry to hear that you lost a beloved family member.
Your stories of Rugby’s escapades always brightened my day. Please accept my sincere condolences.
Sorry Jack.
I think dogs are providentially put in our lives to show us the kind of selflessness we should aspire to in our human interactions. A great reflection on our own potential selves.
They tirelessly sit by us when we are angry assuming somehow they’ve done something wrong. The energetically charge forward at the first hint of attention and companionship.
If we could be as sincerely ethical people as dogs are sincerely dogs. Even if they smell bad most of the time.
You have my deepest condolences, Jack.
-Jut
Sorry for your loss. 🙁
Oops forgot the link…
Society Subset: The Building Blocks for Family Traditions
We are inveterate rescuers of strays. We believe we inject love into their lives just as they inject love into ours. But the leavings are difficult. Isn’t it humbling?
My condolences, Jack.
Sorry Jack. There isn’t much to say here that will help you, except share our stories so you know you are not alone.
I lost Cody a little over a year ago. She was half Australian Cattle Dog and half God knows what. I adopted her shortly after moving to the US and the first time I’ve been living all by myself. She was the perfect companion. She grew up with me as I got married and had three boys, all of whom she happily welcomed home.
Her last few days were a bit like Rugby’s. She was never super energetic, but even her usual runs around the yard turned into walks and later just a bit of sniffing the grass in less than a week. She spent all day long at my place on the couch (she’d probably argue it was her spot, but she shared) so we scheduled a vet visit. Just a day before that she fell coming off the couch and yelped. That was when I knew. Next day the vet confirmed she was sick. Bone and lung tumors, not much to do. Took her back home for one last night to give her a nice dinner and say goodbye to the kids. After a nice steak and petting her for a long time we fell asleep on the couch. Next morning a final trip to the vet. Just me, as even my oldest boy didn’t feel like going. Goodbye hugs and that was it.
I love that she managed to make my birthdays memorable. The first one after I got married she got loose and dug a hole under the fence to the woods behind the house. And then found a clearing and laid down there, stressing my wife as she worried she’d run away and I’d be getting a divorce if she got lost. A few years later she caught a rabbit mom as we were having a barbecue for celebration. Can’t top a party where you end up euthanizing four baby bunnies. And on then her last day on Earth was my birthday too.
Some days I still expect her to dash and grab some morsel we drop in the kitchen, or that she’ll be taking over my spot when I finish reading bedtime stories to the boys.
I send you my sympathies Jack. Truly, we do not deserve dogs.
Someone once said, at the passing of a treasured four-footed family member, “If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”
But they do…in our hearts.
That’s always hard, I know. Remember the good times.
Jack,
I know nothing said by a collection of almost-strangers, people who you only know by what they choose to write, can truly comfort a heart sick with grief and loss.
Even so, please know we hurt with you, and if we could have done so, would have given you more time with Rugby. Remember the good times, and allow the grieving process to run whatever timeline it takes.
We appreciate the sacrifices you make here, and share your loss.
I’m sorry to hear this. My own big boy, doing well so far, just passed ten. Until he was seven, I wanted him to calm down. When he finally did, I wished that I could have the puppy back.
Jack, I’m so sorry to hear of this loss. I’ve always heard it said that owning a dog brings you dozens of the most joyful days of your life, as well as one or two of the saddest ones. He was loved, and loved you in return. What a blessed gift to give each other – may your memories of him be fond ones.
My condolences to you and your family.
Dear Jack, Grace, and Grant,
From your recent blogs, I sensed this day, and this blog, was fast approaching.
Your loving family of three will find comfort in remembering the tremendous love and fulfillment Rugby brought into your lives. Find comfort as well in remembering the joy Rugby received every day, for more than 15 years, knowing he was deeply loved, well cared for, and entertained by “his three people.” !!!
Blessings to the three of you !!
One more story Jack …
“Rugby” was such a great name for him. How did his name come about ???
By the way Jack…
No lover of dogs (or the other kind of people either) should go without seeing “My Dog Skip.”
That movie is an all-time favorite of mine. It is such a great, memorable story, that I can remember seeing it for the first time in an old old small-town theater in Langley, Washington, on Whitney Island, while on a short vacation many yeas ago.
Now my fond memories of My Dog Skip will include the memory of today’s very special blog about Rugby Marshall !!!
It was my son’s name for him. He has always had a knack for cutting to the chase linguistically.
Sorry Jack. He sounds like he was a good pup.
So sorry, Jack. Treasure the good memories, knowing you enriched Rugby’s life as he enriched yours.
I’m sorry about Rugby’s end. I’ve always enjoyed your prologues featuring him