Emmitt

Emmitt died last weekend, sometime during the night. He was very old, an even one hundred in multiply-by-seven dogs years, so it was no surprise. He had not been ill, but nevertheless I had a habit of checking each morning to see if he was alive, just because he was old and acted his age. That morning, I did not detect any signs of life, but the room was fairly dark, and I decided that likely he was breathing softly. When Jackie told me two hours later that he was dead, I realized he had been when I got up as well.

He went the way I would have wanted for him, the way any of us would want, laying on his bed near me and Jackie, in his sleep, at a ripe old age, without suffering from some slow-developing illness as far as we know. His last night, he greeted me with enthusiasm when I came home, ate all of his food plus some treats, went for a walk, and seemed fine. He just died of old age. Thankfully, I never had to make the decision when to have him put away.

The picture, by the way, was taken when he was alive, a few weeks ago, by Susan, while we were in Ireland. He did not look very different after he died.

Emmitt was my buddy, clearly favoring me, often following me from room to room, waiting for me to settle down so he could settle near me. We adopted him more than six years ago, and he and I bonded quickly because I responded best when he barked, telling us he needed to go outside. It was not long before he learned to walk down the hall, up the stairs, and through the bedroom to bark at me in the office to let him out, even though someone else was sitting in the living room fifteen feet from the back door. Then he would circle behind me and give me a nudge at the top of the stairs, herding me to the door.

He learned to use that bark for more purposes than being let out - to get a treat after meals, then to get two treats or more, then to get treats between meals. Lately he had been barking at me just to come pet him, or because he thought it was time for bed and he wanted someone to come with him.

I spoiled him. However, I tell myself maybe he lived as long as he did because he liked being with me, enjoyed all those treats, looked forward to our walks.

We will get his ashes back in an urn, to join the other pets - Minerva, Lily, Jackson. Jackie and I have been deliberately running the pet count down to zero, with the boys out of the house and us wanting to be free to go places without worrying about the dog. We are still working on clearing out the the dog beds, extra rugs we had laid down to help with his footing, dog food and treats, leashes, collars, and more. I still notice that he is missing, but we move  on.

Jackie told me that if we had not decided to keep Emmitt, he was going to a shelter and may have been put to sleep way back six years ago, so I figured every day with us was a good one for him.

Rest in peace, buddy.