Seamus, my 13-year old Labrador, died today.
Having suffered with arthritis for too long, this 125-pound brute
was finally brought down by a cancerous tumor on his spleen.
The vet sent Seamus on to the angels with humanity and
understanding for him, my wife and me.
Even at death's door Seamus still sported that shiny, soft, black
sable coat, outstanding by even Labrador standards, which
contrasted so well with the bright red collar we put on him each
Christmas.
Stephen E. Ambrose tells the
story of Meriwether Lewis, on his famous expedition up the
Missouri River with William Clark, in which three Indians stole
his dog, Seaman, a Newfoundland for which he had paid $20. This
"sent him into a rage."
Lewis sent three of his men to follow the thieves and told them,
"if they made the least resistance or difficulty in surrendering
the dog to fire on them." Fortunately, the Indians released the
dog. "Lewis may have been ready to kill to get Seaman back, but
the Indians weren't ready to die for the dog," said Ambrose.
Lewis had it right. A dog is more than just a mere possession. He
is a friend worth fighting for.
In a famous closing argument to a jury in Johnson County,
Missouri, on September 23, 1870, U.S. Senator George Graham Vest,
representing the plaintiff in a $50 claim for the death of his
beloved dog, Old Drum, spoke for all dog lovers when he declared,
"a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in
health and in sickness."
"When all other friends desert, he remains," said Senator Vest,
who also served in the Confederate Congress.
Vest brought the jury to tears with his concluding argument:
If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world,
friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher
privilege than that of his company to guard against danger, to
fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all comes,
and death takes the master in his embrace and his body is laid
away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue
their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found,
his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert
watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.
Senator Vest's jury argument has appeared in legal publications
in Missouri over the years and was included in William Safire's
collection,
Lend Me Your Ears: Great Speeches in History (1992).
IF YOU HAVE BEEN to Edinburgh, Scotland, you may have seen the
statue
of Greyfriars Bobby. Bobby was a Skye Terrier owned by a local
constable who died in 1958. However, Bobby continued to visit the
constable's grave in Greyfriars Kirkyard for 14 years, which
caused quite a sensation and vindicated Senator Vest completely.
We have 7 children, 8 grandchildren, and countless cousins at the
cottage Up North in Wisconsin; but not once did Seamus growl or
snarl or show anything but joy toward the countless little ones
loving, hugging and piling on top of him. Of course, there was
the occasional ice cream cone or hot dog that he pilfered right
out of the hand of this or that unsuspecting child.
Seamus was the first water retriever I ever owned. As with the
larger breed of Labs, the ones with big wide, webbed paws, a
chock-a-block head and a barrel chest, he was an impressive
swimmer. Diving off the dock with a huge splash, he would follow
the kids canoeing or greet them water skiing back to the pier.
One time he swam out to intercept a small flotilla of ducks, his
head jutting out of the water, paws working furiously beneath the
surface, pursuing either curiosity or a snack. The kids on the
pier were screaming at Seamus, fearing a massacre of the duck
family was in progress.
The mother duck, waiting until the last minute, transmitted an
indiscernible signal to the ducklings sending them in all
directions. She turned on Seamus, waving her wings, quacking
loudly and generally raising a racket. Seamus executed an
immediate 180-degree turn and headed back to shore never to
trouble a duck again.
Seamus's size, bulk and handsome head, dimensions loved by goose
hunters, often caused us to joke about his search for his "inner
Newfoundland." Whether crashing through the snow or chasing deer
near our former home in Michigan, he was the embodiment of
tremendous mass and momentum.
His mother, a diminutive Chocolate Lab, was a great hunter, but
Seamus was not a very good "gun" dog. In fact, lightning and
thunder scared him terribly. More than once, my wife and I were
awakened in the middle of a stormy night as a large dark, dense
form tried to get into our bed.
Harry Truman famously said, "If you want a friend in Washington,
get a dog." We brought Seamus to town and found that he made
friends very quickly, be they kids in the neighborhood or the dog
lovers who would call us when he showed up at their front door
several blocks away, having enjoyed a good stretch of his four
legs.
A FRIEND'S ITALIAN grandfather used to say, "The more I get to
know people, the more I like dogs." Yet, the more I am around
dogs, the more I appreciate people. Dogs seem to bring out the
best in Homo sapiens. Search dogs serve their masters
who are trying to find survivors in collapsed buildings. Kennel
clubs bring their dogs to entertain, engage or distract senior
citizens in retirement centers. Seeing-eye dogs testify to the
indomitable spirit of those without sight. Whenever I took Seamus
for a walk or to a public event, I encountered innumerable
friends who simply shared our affection for dogs. We're all for
dogs.
This is not the first time I have had to undertake this sorry
duty of putting down a loyal and loving hound. But it seems
harder as I get older. Reminders of mortality, I suppose.
Inevitably, such a sad event prompts spirited theological debates
in the family as to whether or not dogs go to heaven. Orthodox
opinion says they do not, but the Heterodox push back hard. In
the salvation of the world there must be a place for dear,
beloved canine friends such as Seamus.
I miss the beast mightily. I hope I get to see Seamus again.
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