where is oscar?

 I'm writing this now because I won't be able to write it afterwards. I brought Oscar into my office so that he could be right here, right now beside me. He lies on a little fleecy bed and I covered him with a light blanket. He looks tired. He had a bad night and so, of course, did I. He was crying in discomfort, and continually trying to change position, but his back legs are weakened and so moving around in bed is an enormous effort. It was like sleeping with a restless lover. Of course I could leave a restless lover and move to another bed, or the sofa but I just held Oscar closer and rubbed his belly, his back, massaged his beautiful short strange dachshund legs with those sweet folds of skin. He nudged his head over my bicep and lay there staring into my eyes, little cries eventually diminishing into sleep.

It is up to me to make a decision he depends upon me for. His heart thuds solidly like a metronome, his appetite never wanes, he tries his best to make it outside for the art of peeing and pooping, but fails now as frequently as he succeeds. He has not heard a word for years, yet seems to be able to tell the difference between the opening of a packet of salami and the opening of a packet of dried fruit. He has begun to startle as another dog runs by him, his eyes flashing with sudden anxiety, he sometimes stands by the wrong bed because he can't actually tell which one I am in. His plaintive repetitive 'whump' like a dry cough wakes me wherever I am and I get up and fetch him.

The last few weeks we've been changing meds and adding and subtracting - nothing elaborate, just simple anti inflammatory tabs and antibiotics, and I still take him to the landfill every couple of days because he comes to the door every time I leave with the others and I believe he wants to go. Then I or Susie or Aida spend most of the walk carrying him. If he is not with me, every other person says 'where is Oscar?'

Oscar's age is a little unknown - but it hovers in the 19 year range. I have cared for him fulltime since September 2005 since his loving mama Aida left him with me when it became clear that he preferred the staid dependability of my Berkeley routine over the more exhiliarating life of the Mendocino country squire that he had been for 8 years before that. He started life in a Victorian in Noe Valley so he has seen the world. But every time I visited his old home in Point Arena, and we hiked the 40 acres of forest and fern and creek he took on the confidence of a country boy. He and I both. Often I would sit at the computer and write, looking out onto the foggy pillows overhanging the Garcia River Valley, and Oscar would be curled up with his cat in front of the space heater, his feet jangling in dreams of chasing rabbits down embankments and finding bobcat poop on the trails.

He was, in the absence of a human one, my photographic muse. I had never known a dog to be so in love with the camera. He seemed to know. 'Hey Jill' photograph me in the front seat of the Plymouth', 'hey Jill, look I'm up on the John Deere', 'Jill, Jill, look, look at me!'

He had back surgery when he was 4, to correct the terrible genetic spine problems that many dachshunds experience, he had half his ear bitten off by Zelda, the cattle dog - and I believe Aida when she says ' he asked for it', we have rushed him to the emergency vet (because these things only happen at night or on holidays) three times to have his stomach pumped and the gravel removed afer he ate more than the intended cat scat in the yard, and he has been dropped (dachshunds have the strangest centre of gravity) fallen down stairs, been tripped over, stumbled over rocks and gone missing (temporarily in the long grass) so many times I can't remember. But like the little trooper he is, he just gets up and dusts himself off.

 He is in short - and he is - one of those animals that one should never ever try to replace. I will not have another dachshund. I had, I still have Oscar. Yes, that Oscar. And now, all that is left for me to do is to listen really carefully to him whispering. And hope that when he whispers, I have the courage to let him go and to break my own heart.

Comments

[RU]

I'm so sorry Jill...

[Deborah]

As am I.

Peace.

[nina]

Jillie I really do love your tender, caretaking soul. Oscar is all those things you say. I have always enjoyed his pictures. I hesitate saying that I wish I could take away the pain of your impending loss because somehow I think that might diminish his immense importance. Your are Oscar's kind and loving friend and he yours. I will be thinking of you and Oscar in the days to come.

neen

[Deb in Minnesota]

Thinking of Prince Oscar and sending you a big hug.

[Jill]

Thanks all - it's interesting how I feel now that I have written it all down and flooded Facebook with the epic photo collection that is 'Oscar's Great Adventure'. I am not panicked anymore - and he senses that I'm calmer. In fact they all sense I feel better. And it has helped me move emotionally closer to that day. The truth is - I am surrounded by elderly animals. Frankie will be 14 in October (old for a border collie), Calvin will be 13 in July, and even Roo will be 7 this year. I have three cats who are 11 plus years...
We euthanised Roxy at 15 in October 2007, Ophelia was 17 when she died in 2006, Nero, Julius and Squeaker, cats who adopted my home all died within a year of each other...and I have helped other people through the process...so I have handled the emotional wrenching often and it breaks my heart...but that's the price we pay for loving these amazing creatures who die before us. I wouldn't trade it for anything -

[jenny]

I totally agree...
Being "save" and unvulnerable means not living really.
Anyway it´s tough and I send you loving thoughts and energy to help going through this pain again....

[Molly Kenefick]

Hey Jill,
Give Oscar a gentle pat for me. I'm thinking of a Robert Frost quote, "The only way round is through."
Take care,
Molly