Missing Out

“…His nails a' clicking on the floor…” – The Remy Song

I’ve finally decided, after just over two weeks being back, that it’s nice to be home. For the past couple of weeks I was hesitant to admit it, but it’s occurred to me that being a nomad, causes you to miss out on many simple pleasures and some very important events. This post’s cultural topic is:

LOSING A PET
I was often asked in my travels what I missed most about home. The answer was simple: my dogs. This is why, when I got back to London only to find out that my mom’s little dog, Remy, was very sick with adrenal and lung cancer, it was an easy choice to come home earlier than planned. I made it back with just days left in his life. I’ve been trying for the past week to think about how I can properly word this post and though this is my first actual attempt at actually writing something down, I’ve come to realise that it’s just not going to be possible.

Two weeks ago, Canadian Thanksgiving Day, we drove down to a previously unvisited veterinary clinic in the south of the city with our smallest little boy in the family (just over 10 years old and just less than 20 lbs). Everyone in the car was crying and for one of the first times ever, Remy was calm as the car slowed down and pulled into the parking lot. His breathing was laboured, as it had been in the preceding weeks, and though he hadn’t eaten anything all day, he happily got out of the car and peed on some pillars and a small tree. That morning he wouldn’t even eat fresh meat, but in his last minutes, despite his sickness, he did not hesitate to munch on a Milkbone, his favorite treat. Even until his last breath, he saw us with an everlasting and reciprocated love.

Studies show that dogs have a really good understanding of their surroundings and some suggest that dogs have an equivalent comprehension level of a 5-7 year old child. But being animals, dogs also rely heavily on instinct and because of this, seem to be able to foresee certain events. Because dogs cannot talk, however, it is impossible to know for sure what they think about, how they feel, or whether they are in pain due to illness.

For most people, losing a pet is as tragic as losing a human member of the family. I’ve now lost three pets, but I think Remy was the one that hit me the hardest and think it’s because I have the best memories with him.

We adopted Joey when he was already 9 years old and he had a hard life, but he was epileptic and just one year after we got him his disease got the best of him. He, too, was very loyal and craved attention. Golden retrievers are known for having great demeanors and Joey was no exception. The second was my step-mom’s Yorkshire terrier, Bijou, who at less than 4 lbs had the attitude of a big dog, but the non-threatening bite of a little one. She only liked a handful of people in the world (myself, luckily, being one of them) and I’ll always remember the way she would do a cartoon-like shuffle on the terrifying hardwood floors as she mustered the courage to scurry from room-to-room.

But Remy was my little guy. I knew him right from the start and was there from the first time he learned to shake-a-paw to the time he became the supreme ruler of his house. Remy’s personality was one that is unrivaled by any other dog I have met. He was like a little boy who just walked around on four feet, was covered in mountain-goat hair and liked to sniff dog’s butts when they came around to the house. I can’t do him justice in explaining how great of a little friend he could be when you were sick, tired or just lazing around. He was always there (except for when he was eating Kleenex from the garbage) and he though he was mostly obedient, he, just like a real boy, could be stubborn when he wanted to be. My mom always joked that she wouldn’t be surprised if he just one day just got up and started talking. And that’s because Remy wasn’t just a dog, he was real member of the family.

In the past two weeks it’s been a much different welcome party at my mom’s house. The people still say hello, but no little thing comes crashing to the door only to roll onto his back and make you pat his little pink belly. It’s strange to think that only a month ago we didn’t know anything was wrong and now two weeks after he’s been gone, so many things have changed. One thing, though, will never change: the love and great memories we will always have and hold because of the silly little dog-boy who has been one of the most important things in our lives for the past ten and half years.

Thanks to everyone who has supported us, especially my mom, over the past weeks. Thank you also for all the notes, cards, and emails. But more than all, thanks to everyone who has helped us give Remy a great doggy-life.

See you later, little-guy.