My little dog, how sweet - a heartbeat at my feet.

July 4, 2000 found Bub and I as young parents mourning the death of our firstborn daughter only 2 weeks earlier.  We lived with my Mom who had Alzheimer's disease.  Every day she would look at me with her sweet smile and excitedly say "You're going to have a baby!"  I would gently tell her "No Mom, I already had the baby and she died."  It was a difficult time for us, as you can well imagine.

We'd always talked about getting a dog.  Bub had grown up with labradors and I had fallen in love with one as a missionary.  I have to give Bub the credit for being the one to decide that the time had come for us to get one.  While we had previously thought it inappropriate to bring a  pet into my mother's house - Bub thought I needed something to fill my aching arms, and aching heart.  He was right.

He saw an ad in the newspaper asking $300 for labrador puppies.  Having medical costs and funeral expenses we didn't have that kind of money.  Bub called and made an offer of $150.  They turned him down.  It seemed we wouldn't be able to get a puppy.  But the next day, the man called back and said they'd take $150.  They only had one puppy left.  He was a cute little ball of creamy butter yellow fur and ears that seemed to big for him.  We fell in love immediately and took him home.

We named him Cody.  And he is the best dog in the whole world.

From the start, he seemed to intuitively know how much we needed him.  As faithful dogs do, he followed me everywhere, tagging along at my heels.

At bedtime, Bub and I used to sit in bed and read before we turned out the lights to go to sleep.  One night, Bub was playing video games and I went into bed to read by myself.  Cody came in the bedroom, and carefully took Bub's book off the nightstand in his mouth and curled up on the bed next to me.

A few weeks later, I was making dinner when he tried to sneak a nibble from the table.  I wheeled around so fast and smacked him on the snout!  And sent him straight to his kennel.  A few minutes later while we were eating at the dinner table, Cody came crawling - army crawling- gingerly across the floor with his favorite little lobster toy in his mouth and set it at my feet before backing up and going back to his kennel.  He'd left his peace offering of the one thing in the world he loved the most.  My heart melted.

Puppy preschool was a grand adventure.  We had so much fun together learning new things each week.  We used to play hide and seek with his toys.  I'd make him leave the room and wait while I hid his toys, then I'd call him back in and giggle with delight as I watched him sniff out his toys.  He could even find them hidden in Bub's dirty socks!  He became obsessed with balls. tennis balls, raquet balls, little rubber squeaky balls.  He loved to run and fetch them, he loved to jump high and pluck them out of the air.  He loved to chase them rolling around the floor.  When the ball was out, nothing else mattered.  He was absolutely focused on 'the ball'.  We could do nothing to trick him about where the ball was.  And when we were tired of throwing it for him, he sat at the top of the stairs and dropped it down so he could chase it down and bring it back.  Then he'd sit at the top and drop it again. Over and over and over.

He was just a pup when we took him to the cabin in Island Park for the first time.  The snake river runs just out the back door.  Bub's parents had a grumpy old black lab named Nelly, and his brother Chris had a black labrador puppy named Caddis that was just 4 months older than Cody.  They were instant friends and the river was a new adventure for them.  While Caddis took to the water like a duck, Cody was a little shy.  I cradled him in my arms and walked out in the water with him to help him feel secure.  It was 'the ball' that really got him out in the water though.  There is no way he could stand to sit at the shore and watch his prized ball float away.

It was our mistake to leave him in the cabin when we went out fishing in the boat.  He knows where he belongs, and he wasn't going to let us leave him home.  He made his way out of the cabin and to the river bank where he barked and barked and pawed at the water.  He was so scared of it, but so worried and upset to have us away in the boat.  After about 20 minutes of fighting his fears, he finally jumped all the way in the water and swam across the river to the edge of our boat where Bub lifted him in.  So Cody became a fishing dog.  He loves to sit in the boat and watch the line come in.  Only 'the ball' gets him more excited than a fish coming in.  His feet tap anxiously along the bottom of the boat like a toddler doing a potty dance.  His whole body quivers and he whimpers as he tries to contain himself.  When the fish gets in, he first sniffs it, then licks it and licks it and licks it.  Usually, we do catch and release, but on the occasion that we keep a fish, he takes good care of it in the boat, just licking it until the line comes in again.

The river quickly became his favorite place.  Ever after, he has perked up - even out of a dead sleep - near the end of a long 4 hour drive in the car. Still miles from the cabin, he knows where we are and starts wagging his tail, and whimpering in that same excited way till we pull into  drive and let him out where he jumps around in excitement and makes his rounds outside the cabin where he stands watch on the deck and naps in the sunny breeze. 

A little more than a year later in early spring of 2002, he greeted me once again as I came home from the hospital with empty aching arms, my little Aiden fighting for his life in the newborn ICU.  I held him, and he let me.  He stood still while I wrapped my arms around him and heaved lonely worried sobs into his fur.  Soft gentle licks of comfort on my arms.  And months later when our tiny little bundle came home with tubes and machines that made strange beeping noises, he assumed the role of protector and friend.  Attentive and alert and ever patient, he grew along side our boy, and later our two girls. He has graced the pages of countless of my illustrations, and been faithfully at my feet while I've drawn.  He has endured sticky hands that tug and pull and unspeakable things in his fur.  He has played gently, and learned to glean the thrown food and spilled beverages of his little charges over the years. He has stood strong and still as Emma yanks on his collar or places a hand on his back to gain her balance, and forgiven her falling on him with barely a glance. He has laid patiently while Mary calls him "E.O" (short for Cody-O) and climbs on his back begging for a ride that never comes.

Slowly, white whiskers have crept into the soft muzzle of his face.  For the last year, he has not been able to fetch his ball.  His eyes and ears are not what they used to be.  He can't see it as it sails through the air, or hear it's faint bounce in the grass or on the pavement.  And his old bones have become swollen with arthritis.  A couple months ago, we found out that he's got cancer too.  A mass in his chest is crowding his lungs making it hard for him to breathe.  He has a horrible sounding cough.  And while the vet says he is not in any pain, I am weepy today as he sleeps at my feet. Our annual trip to the river is coming closer.  It will be Cody's last trip.  His last anything, as we have decided that as a quality of life issue, we will put him to sleep after our trip. We wanted to take him there one last time.

 I took this picture of him this morning.

I keep begging him to tell me that he's ready to go.  That we're making the right decision for him.  He only ate part of his breakfast this morning, and struggled to come to me as I sat in the living room.  Even with all this, he wags his tail and holds that goofy dog smile on his face, and when I look in his eyes, all I see are the golden brown eyes of the puppy who healed my heart all those years ago.....and I don't know how to let go of such a big piece of my heart.