Stand by your dog
Original article and photos by S. Veigel 10/16/2016
Reviewed for relevancy and context 07/05/2020
It was said that Smoke and a female named Ginnie, who we offered to foster, came from a hording situation where the owner had passed away. I’m not sure how many dogs were involved but some of them, who were adopted in fairly short order, looked very much like Ginnie. Smoke on the other hand looked more like he could have fathered some of the others. Regardless of genealogy Smoke and Ginnie were a “bonded pair”. That means if they were separated they were likely to suffer long term depression. It also meant that they were less likely to find a home because they were older dogs and had to be adopted together.
When they arrived in February of 2015 Smoke and Ginnie were very anxious and confused after their long ordeal and a lengthy road trip of 173 miles from Charlottesville, Virginia to Virginia Beach. 
They were also very competitive with each other and obsessive about food. That first day I quickly learned that if I carried a food package across the kitchen lower than waist high Smoke was going to snatch it from my hands. Outside Smoke and Ginnie followed me with every step and Smoke kept standing up on me and drooling (indicating anxiety).
To many people Smoke and Ginnie would be too anxious, dominating and totally unacceptable as a pet; even unredeemable. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks” they say. No way would you want to try and feed them a doggy treat by hand. Horrible dogs, right?
I: A Most Profound Commitment
The first night it was obvious that Smoke and Ginnie were not going to able to go upstairs to bed with the other dogs and settle down. They were just too anxious and unfamiliar with their new environment. So up went the baby gates to confine them to the family room and kitchen. My wife took the other dogs upstairs to bed. I then placed two doggy beds near the couch where I intended to sleep and keep Smoke and Ginnie company. This way I could keep an eye on them and let them out to do their business if they were restless. But most of all I did it to help reduce their anxiety; to let them know I was with them instead of just leaving them trapped and alone all night.
Throughout the night I noticed that Smoke and Ginnie would frequently pop their heads up as if to reassure themselves that I was still there. Once they saw me move or heard me say, “It’s ok” they’d lay their heads down and go back to sleep. And then suddenly Smoke rose to his feet, climbed up on the couch with his front paws and laid his body across mine as if he was in mourning. In that moment lasting several minutes I felt this profound sense that he was pouring out his feelings to me. I lifted my head and commented in jest, “Did I die or something Smoke?” Then immediately, remembering where he came from, I was startled by the realization of how dumb that comment was. I suddenly felt his fear, insecurity, sadness and his hope that I would take care of them. It was an overwhelming revelation that flowed into me with the warmth and weight of his body. I placed my hand on his shoulder and in that moment I realized they weren’t going anywhere. They weren’t going to be passed around as a failed adoption somewhere and they weren’t going to be listed as “dangerous” just because someone incorrectly handed them a treat and accidently got nipped. No! I knew they weren’t dangerous. They were just anxious to grab a dog cookie; to get food. I knew how to handle it and I was going to protect them.
II: Love Laughter and Ground Rules
The next day I let Smoke and Ginnie freely explore the house under supervision and I really wish I had thought to bring a camera. Ginnie sniffed around as expected but Smoke was actually funny. He walked into the master bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed his reflection in a long mirror mounted on the closet door. He obviously thought he was looking at another dog in the closet and after a minute of staring he decided he was going to find a way into the closet to see that dog. So he walked into the adjacent bathroom to see if he could find a way in. Then back to the mirror. Once again he studied his reflection then went back into the bathroom to find the back of the closet. Back to the mirror, back into the bathroom and back to the mirror again. Over and over he continued this effort, much to my amusement, until he finally settled on the idea that he just wasn’t going accomplish the goal.
Long story shortened here Smoke and Ginnie required a little persistence but in the first 3 days they were learning to wait for their food (Ginnie more than Smoke) and sleeping upstairs when we all went to bed. On a walk it took some time to get them to wait and to not struggle so much getting out the door, but they learned. The funny part was that once they stepped out they were so excited about going on a walk they started humping each other. Once at the street they walked along just fine. But this is how they often dealt with excitement. Smoke trying to hump Ginnie (though he was neutered) as you might expect, but then I had to laugh when Ginnie would decide she wasn’t going to be dominated and humped him.
III: Those Dogs Don’t Bark
For the first 2 weeks Smoke and Ginnie never made a sound. It concerned us. After a while we wondered if something happened to them that made it physically impossible for them to bark. Our other dogs would be barking at the fence, Smoke and Ginnie looked excited, but no bark. Then one day, 2 weeks later, Smoke apparently got over some of his insecurity and let out the most amazing sound. Not a bark, a long deep straining raspy bellow with all his breath. “There he goes!” I exclaimed. “Owoooooooooooo!” Smoke bellowed. After that Ginnie felt assured enough to chime in and I felt we had made some progress.
IV: There’s Velcro and Then There’s Super Glue
Now, a “Velcro dog” is a dog who needs to be with you all of the time. This is a dog who will follow you around the house. Ginnie was a Velcro dog. She had to be wherever I was. But Smoke is what I call a “super glue” dog. He would push his way into our small laundry room or closet if I were there, lay between my feet wherever I was standing, spent half his day with his nose in contact with my leg, constantly tried to predict where I was going and would just patiently stand behind me until I moved. If I was outside on a cold day, rain or shine, he would sit or lie there on the patio until I went in. Where Ginnie would eventually go inside I had to step into the house and trick Smoke to go in. Then step back out and shut the glass storm door to save him from the harsh weather. When I did that Smoke would just stand inside with his face pressed against the glass to keep an eye on me.
As time went on I found myself as attached to Smoke and Ginnie as they were to me. I mean it was a little frustrating at first trying to get around with two dogs under foot all the time (we had 2 or three other dogs at a time too). But when I looked at them and realized how much I meant to their sense of security my frustration quickly gave way to endearment. I’d go into the bathroom just to shave or brush my teeth and Smoke would be standing behind me, head low, just waiting for me to move. After a while I’d just say, “We’re done here Smoke” and found myself amused with Smoke following me out as if “in tow”.
V: Bad News Again
About a year later my wife and I were sitting in the kitchen when, to our surprise, Smoke stood in the dining room and started urinating. Usually that would invoke a frantic response but this time neither of us said a word. He just seemed to have this helpless expression on his face as he was standing there. And, even though dogs don’t have facial expressions like we do, we both connected with a sense that he was telling us he couldn’t help it and worried we’d get upset with him. But we didn’t. We just knew something was very wrong. And that’s when we learned Smoke had Cushing’s disease.
Cushing’s is a condition where the adrenal glands over produce the steroid hormone cortisol (hydrocortisone) which normally helps the body deal with stress. Cushing’s is often caused by a tumor on the adrenal glands, but in Smoke’s case the adrenals were greatly enlarged with no detectable tumor. The good news is that with the increase in steroid production the animal generally isn’t feeling pain. The bad news is the animal experiences frequent thirst, frequent urination, muscle loss (muscle wasting) and loss of fur. Treatment includes surgery to remove the adrenal glands, medication that destroys the adrenal glands and laser treatments all with varying degrees of effectiveness and potentially serious side effects. There are also some promising herbal protocols that simply counteract the effects of high cortisol production but there is no cure. In general, I’ve read, the animal usually dies within 1 to 2 years from the day of diagnosis.
VI: Life Goes On and the Bond Is Never Stronger
Almost a year and a half after Smokey-Joe’s diagnosis I was still often quietly amused. He would trot into the kitchen and I’d hear my wife exclaim, “Smoke, move!” I don’t think she always felt that was a loveable moment but I loved hearing it. Because Smoke was just that big loveable boy who poked his nose into everything but never hurt anyone. His head looked a bit hallowed out from the muscle wasting, his ribs stuck out as if I’d been starving him, the shaved patch on his belly where the veterinarian performed the sonogram never grew back, he lost the fur on his front left paw and a few patches here and there, but he is not in pain and he was still full of life. He wasn’t as fast on a walk, but neither was I (I was 64 back then in 2017). Just two old guys hanging out together.
VII: Never Without a Caring Moment
November 2017 I had knee replacement surgery. One day I was lying on the couch icing my knee and Smokey – Joe gingerly climbed the doggie steps placed there, looked at me and delicately pawed my chest to see if I was ok. I reached up and stroked his face after which Smoke stepped down and laid next to the couch.
Thinking back on my time with Smoke and Ginnie I’m reminded that it took them 6 months, a thunder storm and a visit from a toddler before they figured out it was ok to get on the couch with me. That first day Smoke overcame his trepidation, awkwardly climbed on the couch and timidly braved trying to lay on my lap was monumental. The emotional need he expressed in that action was again profound. Everything he expressed from the beginning of our relationship was profound.
So what am I trying to express here? Maybe I’m struggling with this because there are no words to adequately convey a profound experience.
We share our lives with our pets. We hopefully love and care for them. They are there and we go about our business, as we must. And from youth to old age we often take them for granted and objectify them. When push comes to shove objectifying makes it easier when we decide, or we’re forced to make a choice terminating our relationship with them. But if we must, that decision should never be casual, a matter of convenience or a desire for a “new product”.
When Smoke made a decision to get up and lay across my body, not knowing me or my language, he conveyed everything that cannot be said. His act was a prayer for him and his “sister” and an outpouring that spoke volumes defining the very meaning of “sacred trust”, “hope” and “love”. The definition of which you can only understand through experience.
Yes, Smoke was going to die. He is probably around 12 years old and he is sick. “But not today”, I’d say out loud after a thought like that. And Ginnie, his bonded friend, was learning to do things without him. If Smoke was asleep on the couch I’d encourage Ginnie to slip outside and bond with me. I made sure Ginnie got individual attention. I took them separately to the vet or to get groomed so the one left at home in the company of our other dogs could get use to separation a little at a time. So they could see that when we came back, it was ok.
As long as Smoke was not suffering in pain, as long as he was functioning, enjoying a walk and trotting outside Smoke was not going anywhere. And when the day was going to come, when he showed me he just couldn’t manage anymore, I would be (and was) at his side. And Ginnie? She was going to be fine. Because she deserves that life and Smoke asked me to take care of her.
Final Note
Smokey-Joe passed on peacefully with his head in my arms
on August 18, 2017.
He is estimated to have been between 11 and 12 years old.
I kept my promise Smokey. Ginnie did fine.
It’s difficult to qualify how profound Smoke was. He became immortal to me in ways I cannot explain. In this pic we were burring ashes in the garden. Two of the hospice dogs we took care of (Caitlyn and Mittens) died of aggressive cancers. By this time Smoke’s fur was looking a bit patchy because he had Cushing’s disease. The entire time we worked on this Smoke stayed really close. He never did this before. Not while digging any hole or planting any bush. And then this happened. The scene was so moving I don’t think it can be mistaken. All we could do is step back and take it in.
Smokey-Joe and I couldn’t speak with words but he had a way of communicating to me exactly what he was thinking. His timing, the circumstance, the look. There was never any doubt to me.
The first day with us where he suddenly stood up and laid across my body still speaks volumes. Smoke was laying his hopes on me and I knew it deep in my soul. And that’s not a sad story. It’s a story of two spirits bound together forever. And very, very happy memories.