Posted on 12/05/2011 11:37:30 AM PST by Altariel
“You better be careful. Dobermans are traitors, they turn on their owners.”
That was the “advice” I got from friends and family when I announced I was getting a Doberman.
Despite having asthma, I have always been an animal lover, and after a breakup in 2001, I decided to get my first purebred dog. While many dog enthusiasts would recommend a small or medium-sized canine to start out with, I threw caution to the wind and picked out a Doberman. And that was how Diesel entered—and forever changed—my life.
He was scrawny, lanky, and a total klutz. I, on the other hand, quickly realized how needy and expensive a puppy can be. He was solely my responsibility, and I quickly learned that premium dog food coupled with vet bills cost an arm and a leg. I soon realized what responsibility meant: If I didn’t replenish his dog food supply, he would go hungry. If I missed a vet appointment, he could catch heartworm. I was only a sophomore in college, but I already found myself spending my hard-earned money from writing on him, no questions asked.
I quickly became obsessed with raising Diesel the right way. There were no Cesar Millans back then, so I turned to books and the Internet on how to properly rear strong breeds. When Diesel was about six months, I found a group of people on an online dog forum who agreed to, one Sunday, bring their dogs to Ateneo to properly socialize them.
Now if you knew me, you’d know that I usually keep to myself and rarely go out of my way to make new friends. I thought that Sunday dogwalk was a one-time-thing. We ended up meeting every Sunday for about a year and a half. I made friends with these people and looked forward to seeing them every Sunday, where we’d let our dogs off-leash on the Ateneo grounds, and later cap off the night with a beer and some food in one of the restaurants along Katipunan.
Diesel was oversized, a bit taller than other Dobermans. But that 120-pound ball of energy developed a personality that was the exact opposite of a textbook Doberman. To say he was a sweetheart is an understatement: He snuggled up to humans, totally trusting almost anyone in the hopes he’d get a belly rub or even just a pat on the head. He made friends with any dog he encountered, and if the dog didn’t reciprocate, he’d move on.
When most Dobermans would growl and bite, he’d romp and lick. Our helper’s son, who has down syndrome, would throw toys at him and even pull his ears. Instead of fighting back, Diesel would simply walk—not even scamper or run—away.
At around this time, I was tasked to write an article about The Philippine Animal Welfare Society. I had heard about them beforehand, but dismissed them as a group of radical granola tree-huggers—that is, until I spent a day with them. They were more than a group of people who detested fur and dog meat. They were a passionate bunch that genuinely cared for animals, and I quickly gained interest in their many causes. Mostly, their Dr. Dog Program.
The Dr. Dog Program, adapted from Hong Kong’s Animals Asia, is an animal-assisted therapy program wherein dogs are brought to hospitals to cheer up patients or to schools to teach humane education. Dogs who wanted to enter the program had to undergo a test, to see how well the dog can handle the stresses of being surrounded by crowds of people and being touched by strangers. It was no surprise that Diesel passed with flying colors.
His first Dr. Dog visit was at the cancer wards of the Philippine Children’s Medical Center. Diesel entered each room with such gusto, and, amidst the frailty, sickness, and gloom, nuzzled up to each patient, hoping to bring joy. At first the children were scared—and who wouldn’t be? If you’re bedridden and strapped to an IV, the last thing you’d want to see is a dog bigger than you approaching your bed. But while the adults started expressing their concerns that the “big dog might bite the children,” the children warmed up to him instantly.
I’ll never forget the first time I saw Diesel interact with one of the children, Cyril. She was crying, begging to see the dogs. After petting Diesel, started crying again to her mom that she wanted her own “Diesel.” It was hard to pull Diesel out of that room. But off to the next room we went, and then the next. And in each room, Diesel loved the attention he got from the kids.
Oh, how he loved it. He loved it so much that whenever he saw me approaching him with his Dr. Dog bandana, he’d get giddy at the thought that he’ll once again be petted by kids. We went to PCMC a few more times, and even visited the British School of Manila and Museo Pambata to lecture the kids on proper dog care. We even went as far as Tagaytay to promote the program!
Alas, the Dr. Dog visits became scarce once I started working full-time. And while Diesel was still able to partake in many of PAWS’s events (he was a staple at their annual fund-raising fashion show for two years in a row), I was getting busier with my own job, and I no longer had the luxury of time to attend Dr. Dog meets.
But I never forgot about PAWS. When I got married in 2008, my husband and I decided that, in lieu of souvenirs, we make a sizeable donation to PAWS instead. I invited two of my closest friends at PAWS to be “dog handlers” at our wedding, since we had Diesel as our ring bearer and my other dog, Loki, as the coin bearer (yes, our dogs were part of the entourage). After the wedding, I moved in with my husband in a condo that didn’t allow dogs, leaving Diesel to stay behind at my parents’.
Early this year I found out I was pregnant, and as my morning sickness took over, I moved back in with my parents. Unfortunately, along with my pregnancy came the strong dislike for doggy smell, and soon, Diesel was forbidden to lounge around the living room with me lest I throw up.
Because of personal problems, my pregnancy turned out to be extremely emotionally draining. Diesel was the only “constant” in my life, and as I reveled in my personal problems (not even in preparing for the baby’s arrival!), I found myself taking his presence for granted. He was always just there … sitting by the steps, patiently waiting and hoping that I give him a belly rub or even just scratch the back of his ears.
At around 10 p.m. last June 25, I heard a loud “moan” come from the garage. It sounded human-like, and while I found it weird, I chalked it up to maybe the groundskeeper bumping into something and hurting himself in the dark.
The next day, as my parents and I were walking in the mall, my dad told me he received a text and that we had to go home for an “emergency.” They refused to tell me what it was about. As we entered the house, my mom told me to “brace myself.” I immediately asked if the “emergency” had to do with the dogs. She burst into tears and simply said, “It’s Diesel.”
The groundskeeper was complaining of a foul stench that morning, and later found Diesel in his favorite sleeping spot in the garage. While he was in his usual sleeping position, he was gone. We suspect it was a heart attack, and maybe a seizure, as he bit his tongue.
I was inconsolable. The tears wouldn’t stop. I never thought I could feel so much pain in an instant. My brother had to hold me up lest I let myself fall to the ground in tears. Words couldn’t describe what I felt. That evening, someone told me to “get a grip” and to “focus on your baby, Diesel is just a dog.”
But Diesel wasn’t just a dog. Diesel was kinder, more compassionate, and more understanding than most humans I know. He taught me what responsibility meant, how slacking off on one small thing—such as flea medication—has serious consequences. Through our dog walks and PAWS events, he taught me how to get along with other people, how to coexist with other personalities. Through our obedience and potty training, he taught me patience and respect.
Even though he was growing old, he remained young at heart. Two weeks before he passed, his vet, Nick Carpio, was surprised to learn that Diesel was already nine years old. “He looks like he’s only five,” he marveled. “He must have a positive outlook in life to look so young.”
And Diesel did. He loved unconditionally. He didn’t care if I made it on the dean’s list in college. He didn’t care if I bagged an award for an ad campaign or if I won a pitch at work. He loved me regardless of how much money I had in the bank. He loved the children at the hospital even when they tugged at his tail or pulled his ears. All he needed was for you to pet him and he would instantly love and be loyal to you.
But perhaps the greatest thing Diesel taught me was how to let go. Apparently I was the only one in the house who heard that loud moan the night Diesel died. My mother said it was probably Diesel letting me know he was going. She said: “Maybe Diesel is saying, ‘Mama, you’re going to have a baby in three months. I’ll go now, it’s time you focus on her and not have to worry about me as I get older.’”
And so I let go. It saddens me that my daughter will never meet my first “baby.” After all, Diesel was the only dog I could trust around a newborn baby. But from that day on I put my personal problems aside, and I started to take better care of my pregnancy. And I followed it through even after birth.
Looking back, that dog taught me more things than any human did. Maybe the advice people should have given me then was, “You better be careful. Dobermans are lovable, gentle giants that will steal your heart and change your life forever.”
Outstanding organization.
If I make it to heaven I know I will be hit with a four pound black and brown bullet named Phudd.
Quite a few other dogs will be flying in too.
Ahh, so if we could harness your dog’s energy, we could declare the energy crisis solved?
;-)
I hope your back is feeling better this evening.
Sounds like paradise to me....:)
Actually, it’s -killing- me.
About two weeks ago, I lifted something I shouldn’t have and the already pinched nerves got pinch-ier and laid me out.
[that’s why I’ve not been saying much, here]
Today was Odin’s vet appt. and Mr I Can’t Jump Into The Yukon By Myself [my eye!] insisted that I lift his big arse up onto the seat.
Now I’m flat out again, pecking posts with one finger while looking the laptop screen sideways.
I’m trying to learn this stupid “Dragon Naturally Speaking” thingy hubby got me so I can “talk” again.
:)
That is a very sad story. She hints at a troubling aspect to this story that is not explained. She moved home for her pregnancy? She was preoccupied with personal problems to the precllusion of taking care of herself during her pregnancy? There is another story here that is even sadder than the loss of her dog.
But, she is right about one thing — animals can teach you a lot. And, I can tell her something else — she will never get over her guilt for ignoring her dog in his last days.
Has Mr. I Can’t Jump Into The Yukon By Myself earned your forgiveness yet? ;-)
I will pray for your pinched nerves.
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