“Dogs lives are too short.
Their only fault, really. “ – Agnes Sligh
Today was one of those days you just dread when you have a canine companion. The dread is unavoidable. You know the moment you bring a dog home for the first time that the chances are good that your new friend will pass on before you do. Yet the wonderful, inexplicably close relationship possible between a human and a canine is something we seek out, and for many of us, crave. As I’ve often said, life just doesn’t seem complete without a dog by your side.
Rafiki was a mix of Black Labrador and Golden Retriever, favoring the Lab in his coloring and the Retriever in his mellow, docile demeanor. He was without a doubt the gentlest, most sweet-natured dog I’ve ever known. He would come up to me as I sat in my easy chair, lay his head across my leg, and just sit there looking at me. This usually elicited a nice head petting, but sometimes I would take my finger and just touch the center of his forehead, and he wouldn’t move a muscle, seemingly content with the lightest touch. Sometimes I thought of him as a canine zen master. I stand by that.
Rafiki had other quirks. Rhonda and I always found it odd that, given his bloodline, he didn’t like to swim, and would studiously avoid going in the spring-fed lake that is the centerpiece of the valley where we live. Such unusual behavior for a retriever, we thought.
Two weeks had passed since I let Rafiki out for an early morning stroll in the woods, just as we had done countless times. Living way back in the boonies of Brown County as we do, we never thought a thing of it. There’s no traffic, no other dogs about to cause him trouble… it’s a wonderful place for dogs to roam, free to follow their noses and be unfettered by leash or living quarters. And given his advancing age, he never roamed far, usually sitting on the porch awaiting his reentry within 30 minutes or so.
But this day he didn’t return. We contacted the local animal shelter, somewhat comforted knowing he had been chipped and therefore stood a better chance of being reunited with his family if found. But days passed, and we couldn’t help fearing the worst. Multiple scenarios plagued our minds, and not knowing was the worst of it. Was there any truth to the story that old dogs, sensing their end, will run off to die in solitude? We almost wished that were the case, as at least he would be going out on his own terms.
Today I received a message on Facebook from a neighbor, someone who was not “a friend” in the FB sense but had been sent to my page by someone who had seen an alert about Rafiki I had posted not long after his disappearance. Seems his boys had been waiting for the school bus, and said they saw a dog chasing some ducks out across the ice on the lake, and then breaking through….
I immediately jumped in the car and drove down to the part of the lake my kind neighbor indicated. Within seconds I saw something dark floating low in the water that did NOT resemble a log, my heart sinking in my chest and the tears welling up in my eyes as the realization of it hit me. “No no no no…” I cried a dozen times as my racing mind imagined what had happened. Even at his advanced age and as gentle as he was, Rafiki was still a bird dog at heart, and couldn’t resist the primal urge to chase those damn ducks out across that ice.
I found a long stick, reached out and pulled the tragic mass to shore. I reached my arm into the icy waters and claimed the body of our dear departed friend. With grief churning in my heart, I drove him back up the hill, backed up to a shady spot under some trees, and went to the shed for my shovel, the sadness making each step heavy and fateful.
“You never liked the water, did you boy?” I muttered between shovelfuls of brown earth. Here it was mid-January, and it’s been cold enough to freeze the lake, and yet the small patch of Brown County hillside turned easily, as if sensing my grief and not wishing to compound my misery. I dug and dug until my back complained of the depth of the reach, and I determined it was deep enough. I dutifully returned Rafiki’s remains to Mother Nature, arranging his body as comfortably as I could for his eternal rest. I asked God to receive him with the same grace and gentleness he had always exhibited in his life with us.
It was at this moment, praying and gazing through my tears at Rafiki curled up in his grave, as if merely sleeping, that Rhonda called. I wish I could have spared her the bad news until she got back home, but there was no disguising my state of mind. I told her as easily as I could why I was breathing so hard, and how I came to learn Rafiki’s fate. He was actually her dog, she had gotten him for her kids when they were young, before she and I met, so her history with him is even deeper than mine, and the pain in her voice added fuel to my own. The call was, thankfully, brief. I had a difficult chore to finish, and there’s little comfort to be had (or given) over a cell phone.
With a final prayer, tears stinging my eyes, and saying another sad goodbye with every shovelful, I gently lowered earth over our friend. I raked the mound, found a nice stone to place at his head to mark his grave, and hung his collar and tags on a stick pushed into the ground. “You’re back home now, Rafiki”, I muttered, walking slowly back to the shed to put away my tools.
Now we have closure, and knowing that he didn’t suffer very long offers some comfort, at least. Rafiki is resting up on the hill where we can visit him and remember him for the loving, delightful canine he was.
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Back in the house, I pulled Pearl close. She’s a black German Shepherd going on 3 years old… strong as can be, smart as a whip, and unflinchingly devoted to me. I took considerable comfort in petting her head and scratching her ears. She and Rafiki were good pals. She would often hover over him as he lay by the fire and lick his old face for the longest time, and he clearly enjoyed surrendering to her affections. Tomorrow I’ll take her out to his grave. Will she know he’s there? Should I have let her see him before I buried him, to offer her some closure of her own? I don’t know the answers to these questions.
One thing I do know is that the pain will subside, the shock of what happened will recede, life will go on and Rafiki will always be remembered and loved in this family. Rafiki isn’t the first dog I’ve had to bury, and he won’t be the last, most likely. Today was just part of the tragic and (in spite of that) glorious cycle of incarnation in which every living thing participates in this world… and as sad as it is, it’s the life of the loved one now departed that gives tragedy its meaning and bittersweet urgency. When all is said and done… Rafiki was a good old dog.
All I have is this video shot on my old flip-phone of Rafiki and Pearl romping a bit out in the yard a couple years ago. Wish I had something better, but it will have to do.
https://youtube.com/watch?v=3cXsJxOXJgY
