Eulogy for Rocky 11/19/97
My poodle noodle friend Rocky died today. He was 12 years
old, not terribly old for a little white toy poodle. I adopted him a year
and a half ago from a client (I'm a vet) who didn't want to deal with his
coughing problem anymore. His coughing turned out to be a collapsing trachea,
and with medication and diet, he was able to have a wonderful last year
and a half as my special pal. Even though he was relatively old, he became
very devoted to me within a few days, and I felt the same about him.
He got to go with me nearly everywhere--to work, visiting friends, even
to the grocery store, hidden in a tote bag. When I was working, he would
happily sit under my desk at my feet, or follow me all over the hospital.
I wonder if my clients minded much when he would scratch and whine for
me at the exam room door when I in on an appointment.
He took his job as a lap dog very seriously. Nothing pleased him more than
when I was sitting down, so he could curl up in my lap. Of course, he had
other endearing qualities. Rockster wasn't a yappy dog, but would bark
in a voice like a wind-up toy when there was someone at the door. He could
be walked around the neighborhood without a leash, although he was only
so-so listening to voice commands, he just didn't want to stray to far
from me. He only had two tricks that I could discover--for a treat he would
be the dancing circus poodle, or very snappily sit and give paw. No treat--no
trick, though! He loved to fetch his toys, although he wasn't great at
giving up the fetched item! On rare occasions, he could get all riled up,
playing like a puppy and running around the house wildly.
One habit of his that I found amusing was that before he could comfortably
curl up to sleep (in a place other than a lap), he had to scratch and turn
until things were just right--even on surfaces that didn't seem to need
"fluffing up". His favorite sleeping spots were always within
view of me--a bed in the kitchen, the highest pillow piled on the sofa,
on my bathrobe in the bathroom, on any item of clothing on the floor in
my office. He charmed everyone he met--I often heard "I usually hate
poodles, but Rocky's a great dog".
I've had my own health problems in the last year, and he was always there
to comfort and adore me--he even visited me in the hospital. During this
last October's unusual warmth, he would sit contentedly on the deck, dozing
in the sun as I sat on my lawn chair reading. But the last month he had
been coughing with every breath, except when he was asleep, and had been
having trouble eliminating the last few days because he'd coughed so much
he'd formed hernias that made it difficult for him to go. He was a trooper
though, still wanted to cuddle, walk with me, nibble a treat, even this
morning after a terrible night where he could hardly breath, and was in
obvious pain.
I always tell my clients that they will know when the right time is for
the end, but now I know that there is always a doubt. I feel terrible that
his death wasn't as smooth and peaceful as I had hoped it would be. Rocky
was scared and hurt by the needle going in. We stopped and gave him an
extra sedative, while it was taking effect, he kissed my nose one last
time, then cried but allowed us to inject the solution. Rocky was just
as content as ever to sit in my lap as he died today, and I will miss him
for a long long time--much longer than actually I knew him for, I'm sure.
Dr Bobbie