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November 17, 2009
Saying Goodbye
When she was young, our dog, Frisby, was routinely struck by a condition known in our house as "puppy crazies." Sometimes prompted by some over-enthusiastic play, or sometimes for no discernible reason at all, she'd lose all control of her canine emotions and scramble madly in circles, howling, barking, sniffing and gasping for breath.
Inevitably, she'd exhaust herself, and within a few minutes would pass out, most likely on the old brown chair in our family room. The chair existed under the name "Frisby's Chair," not only because it was the only furniture in the room she was allowed on, but because she owned it with such confidence that it could occasionally take great effort to convince her the a person, even my mother, could be allowed sufficient room to sit comfortably with her.
In a larger dog, puppy crazies (which lasted significantly beyond any chronologically appropriate use of the term "puppy") might have been destructive, or even frightening. But Frisby was a small dog, and she rarely crashed into things, so unless she was outside the range of her electric fence, the crazies could be enjoyed, laughingly, by all.
And they were enjoyable. That was obvious. They were pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Nowhere, she was obviously aware, had a dog ever run so fast, or so free, or with so much excessive, obscene joy.
Frisby wasn't the best behaved dog. (If anything, she ranked near the bottom.) She wasn't the fanciest and she wasn't the easiest (She was once caught on the dining room table happily licking a Thanksgiving turkey. Another time she was interrupted mauling a signed, limited edition copy of Isaac Asimov's "Foundation Trilogy." In both instances she remained unrepentant.) If she were to rank high in anything, it would probably be in volume. She possessed a perfect beagle voice, a bark and a howl combined into a melodious, expressive yelp that could convey volumes, often at significant length.
But Frisby was a part of our family. We loved her. And her love was overwhelming in return.
Welcoming those arriving home from a long trip, or even a short one, she could react with affection and enthusiasm beyond measure. She would whine and bay so intensely that it seemed to cause her physical pain. She was just. so. happy. to. see. you.
Puttering around the house, it was difficult not to talk to her like a human. She was so attentive and engaged that she felt like a person who had been inexplicably but not unpleasantly lodged in the body of a dog.
So it was hard to hear that she died yesterday. She was thirteen years old (elderly in dog years) but until the last few months, she seemed fundamentally a puppy at heart. Even when she got a little stiff, and started packing on the pounds near the end, she couldn't shake her essential, youthful happiness. How could she? It was part of her.
I think that the moments of her puppy crazies were the moments when she was most fully herself. Manic. Overwhelmed. Full to exploding with the joy of it all. And such a pleasure to know. So rewarding and so maddening.
So Godspeed, Frisby, wherever you are. You noisy, willful, joyful, loving, generous friend. You'll be missed.
Posted by Drew at November 17, 2009 09:12 PM