Giving up those furry pajamas.

I had my beloved best friend euthanized last night. Kuro has been released from his old, old body, and has shed his furry pajamas.

When he came to me in June of 2000, the vet said he was seven or eight. I truly expected that I'd have him only a year or two. Big dogs don't live long. I had 10 grand, amazing years with this boy, who was a Prince among Princes. Funny, smart, loyal, gorgeous, affectionate, kind, gentle. He loved to be vacuumed and clipped - most dogs hate these! I am beyond grief.

The Big Guy has been winding down the last few months. Kuro's life had become more and more limited as his spine, hips and knees degenerated. It was time.

He had a great day yesterday. K was relaxed, happy, cool and cherished until the very last minute. The vet came to the house, and I held him until he was gone.

I spent much time and energy providing hospice care for the past several months. Someone (some knucklehead) said 'wow, your life with be so much easier when he's gone.' This is true. It's also unbelievably empty.

I do not resent or regret any of the thousands of times I helped him rise, lie down, get up the stairs or down them, or picked him up when he fell. Cleaning up his messes were part of helping him. Shopping for his food and cooking for him were a joy. I'd still be doing it if he had quality of life.

If I'd have been able to throw money at the problem to fix it, to fix him, I'd have done it. The last, best gift I could give him, the last, best act I could do to help my boy was to simply let him go.
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I remember the first time I saw him 10 years ago in June. NL, the director of Akita Rescue called. "There's a big male in Cleveland who needs to be temperament tested. Can you do it?"

"No, I've got 2 weeks of finals, it's a seven hour drive EACH WAY, this is crazy."

Which is why I drove to Cleveland. And back. In one day. The young couple who had retrieved him after he was shoved out of that truck and started galloping down the highway met me at a thruway exit. When I first saw "Henry" I was awestruck. What a gorgeous, lovely, big boisterous boy, filled with life and vigor.

He came home with me. I'd planned on fostering him, since "male Akitas can't be re-homed with another male." I already had a male Dalmatian, Flag, who, fortunately, was way down the pack hierarchy.

Then I had a dream, in which my first Akita Cagney appeared. She told me she had sent me this dog because I'd given her the best 9 months of her life. He was her way of thanking me. I needed to take my grief and put that energy into someone who needed me.

He transformed into Kuro. The word means 'black' in Japanese -- for his beautiful black mask and because he was less than spotless when he came to me.

Barbara Bouyet, the premier Akita expert in the U.S.: "He's gorgeous!" I know.

Michelle Bamburger, local animal behaviorist: "You have exceptional dogs!" I know.


I was so very, incredibly lucky to have this terrific, amazing dog grace my life. I miss him terribly already.

I now have the thankless task of telling friends, family, neighbors, and patients who love him that he's gone. I'm worried about some of my more fragile patients, whom he helped far more than I ever could.

Last night, G said 'Death comes to the best of us.'
'He IS the best of us.'

Memories of K:
Since he was an easy boy and an excellent temperament tester himself, I took him to NJ to check out a young female. My friend J, with whom we stayed, needed to make a late night trip to the grocery store. We loaded up and went for the ride.

As she stepped out of the car a group of young hoods swaggered out of the dark. "Hey, baby, come here, sweetie.' I got out of the car, too, and let Kuro slither around me. His head was down, his ears were flat, and his teeth were bared in a silent snarl.

I looked at this dog, whom I knew, but for an instant didn't recognized. He frightened me. Clearly I was not the only one taken aback. The group scattered, crying 'oh, shit man, it's a wolf!'

As soon as they were gone, he morphed back into my cheerful boy, ears up, tail curled, big proud smile on his face, and clearly saying 'hey! I did good! Where's my cookie?'

Kuro also defended me from inanimate objects. He rarely barked, but when he did, with his deep chest and huge lungs, it sounded like a cannon going off. He'd patrol his territory early every day. One foggy morning, he found a suspicious object in the garden. As he couldn't discern what it was through the fog, K started barking. When I went out to see, he refused to let me near the object of his attention. He kept barking and throwing himself between me and the unidentified It.

When I finally got him into the flower bed, he saw it was a large piece of cardboard (which I used for mulch and weed control). With crested neck, hackles raised, he stalked up, sniffed and then lifted his leg on it, before retiring to the porch to lie down. What a dog! ready to protect me from people AND cardboard!

Time after time The Big Guy proved himself to be an atypical Akita. Because of his round, bear-like face, people loved to get down at face level with him before I could warn them about not doing so. He would smile politely, and roll his eyes towards me, clearly saying 'man, this person is an idiot!' He never showed aggression or fear as people took this dominant position. Many times he'd give them a big raspy dog kiss.

I am grief stricken. Rest in peace, my beloved boy. Always loved. Always cherished. Always, always in my heart.