Tiger Dog

July 6, 2006

I spent the night on the floor watching one of my best friends dying. It was my last chance to stroke her soft, velvety-golden Labrador ears.
Tiger has been the kindest dog I have ever known. If I had known that last night would have brought her so much discomfort, I would have put her down yesterday afternoon. Her liver and kidneys are gone. She can barely walk. In her typical nature, she let us spend the night seeing her hurt so we would know without doubt that this is the time for her to go. After the sun rises, we will have the vet put her down so she does not starve to death.
I remember when we brought Tiger home almost eleven years ago. She was small enough to curl up and sleep in your lap. She never stopped being a lap dog, even as a rip-roaring 86 pound hunk of muscle. She loved being petted.
Last evening some good friends stopped by to say good-bye to her and pray for us. We sat in a small circle around her, everyone petting her. Tiger knew we were pleased with her so she was happy in spite of her discomfort.
Tiger's life was all about taking care of us. This dog taught me so much about unconditional love. Watching her was watching love in action. When we lived in New Jersey, we watched her demonstrate how seriously she took her job. At that time, Tiger was chest high to our son and his little friends. They would play in the back yard for hours. Tiger was constantly vigilant, never coming inside until the kids did. She would not leave them.
I have seen as many as three kids sit on her at once. I had to shoo them off, because Tiger would never complain. It was her job to give. However, the giving took a totally vicious form when she saw strangers walk down the street. She would force herself between the kids and the fence, hackles raised, head lowered, barking ferociously. The kids stood with their hands on her back, feeling the vibrations of her roars, watching the strangers quicken their pace.
After eleven years, Tiger is now knee-high to my son. He spent the night crying himself to sleep, knowing his protector was at the entrance to that rainbow bridge. Yesterday, when my husband and I told him what we had to do, we all stood in a circle, arms around each other and we all cried.
What is it about these furry creatures, our friends who never utter a word to us? Their actions speak so loudly, they do not need words to tell us they love us. We humans should be so honoring to each other.
Saying that she's been a good dog, is not enough. She only chewed the corner of one piece of furniture when she was a pup. Her only vice was stealing bread off of the counter. She would steal nothing else, only bread...or bagels. For her entire lifetime, everything else was good.
It is hard to imagine what it will be like without her furry presence, without her morning tail wags when I say "'Mornin' Big Girl". My son's floor will seem vacant. When she stretched out, she covered a good part of it.
Since Nate was two, she stayed by his side at night. Nate grew up through widely publicized kidnappings; evil people breaking into homes and killing or stealing children. I never worried. No one would get past that dog to harm my son. Maybe that is why she is such a good friend to me.
The sun is rising, I need to call the vet. I think I will go sit with Tiggey for a few minutes first. I know this friend. When she hears me sniffle, she will haul up her now heavy head and turn to look and make sure that I am alright.