Some years ago I wrote a post on the death of my dog, Felony the Dog, that came to mind today when I learned that Kingpin, the dog of my friends, Jason and Patty Roe, was on his last legs. As a person who spent many years in the company of Kingpin I thought I’d republish. After all, if the people in politics were more like dogs, we’d have to watch our backs a bit less and our shoes a bit more. To me that would be a fair trade.

Eat many burgers in your last days Kingpin, and take many walks.

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FELONY THE DOG

For some thirteen years I’ve had a British Staffordshire Terrier named Felony the Dog, or Felony for short. One of my peers in my first year of law school had purchased a puppy, but his apartment manager had very particular and definite views about the acceptability of pets that required either Donald and Felony, or just Felony, to move. Donald chose to stay, and I, who had just moved into an ancient Victorian downtown that happened to have a yard, became Felony’s new owner. Felony proved to be an intelligent dog who picked her friends and her enemies at first site and generally stuck with the decision. She has the disquieting habit of sitting like a person, on her rear end, upright, with her legs crossed in front on her and her back to a wall. In fact, with bulgy eyes and expressive eyebrows, one of which she keeps crooked as if questioning your taste in wine, Felony often looks more hobgoblin than dog

"To call him a dog hardly seems to do him justice, though inasmuch as he had four legs, a tail, and barked, I admit he was, to all outward appearances. But to those of us who knew him, he was a perfect gentleman." – Hermione Gingold

Felony became the fourth dog I’ve owned in the course of my life. My first dog, or rather my mother’s dog, was a miniature daschound named Hildiguard. She was very old, and more than a little senile, by the time I was born, as was put down in the early 1970s. My next dog was a Beagle named Rosie. About once a month she would follow the bus to the small rural school I attended and wander through classes. She was hit by a car in the country in the early 1980’s, and we planted a pumpkin patch on her grave. After Rosie came another miniature daschound called Natasha. She was a good ratter. She was also the kind of dog that, one holiday, jumped fully up on to the formal dinner table in front of the relatives, grabbed a large beef tenderloin, ran across the table and jumped off with the tenderloin strung out behind her, already half way down her gullet. When my parents moved up to the mountains in the early 1990’s Natasha, who was already old for her breed, was taken by wild animals. I can’t imagine having grown up without these companions.

"Heaven goes by favour. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in." – Mark Twain

Felony is the veteran of many campaigns, many late nights in the office when I was younger stuffing envelopes or making calls, many trips to small towns in cars without working air conditioners, many late night San Diego political BBQ’s where I have no doubt she ate close to her body weight in london broil or sausages. After I got married, when I left for weeks at a time, Felony has been of great comfort to my wife who was often alone, in a new city. As my daughter Ella ‘Onecy’ has grown up, feeding and brushing Felony have been life lessons and responsibilities better learned early. I can’t honesty write that I’ve been the kind of owner one sees in dog food commercials, one that makes sure their dog gets a full massage every other day or who buys dog food that looks better than most of the lunches served in our K-12 schools. I grew up in the countryside, where a dog is a dog and a person is a person. But I’ve tried to pretty much do the right thing, and from what I can tell she’s pretty much tried to do the same. I think we have a pretty good understanding.

"Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but just tribute to the memory of Boatswain, a Dog." – Lord Byron

Today at five in the afternoon I will be putting Felony down. For the past few months my wife and I have had to take her outside a few times a night to vomit. In the last couple of weeks she’s lost half her body-weight. In the last few days, after I found her sprawled out on the floor unable to walk, we’ve had to carry her from place to place to do whatever it is she’s had to do. At the start of all this we went to the vet and the gist of what we found out is she has terminal cancer. She’s basically hit her lifespan, and further trips to the vet aren’t going to make her life any better or much longer. I’ve already probably delayed too long in making the final decision, in the hopes that she would recover. So last night I sharpened my spade and dug Felony the Dog’s grave.

"I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten to twelve years, what would it be if they were to double?" – Sir Walter Scott

While I was digging I had some time to think. Once in the late 1990’s Felony wandered off our property in Mission Hills, San Diego, and got picked up by the Pound. In the process, she’d lost her collar, so I didn’t get a call from the local authorities. Instead, I spent three days searching here and there in the neighborhood. On a hunch I popped into the Pound on the third day (hint – there isn’t a fourth day) and rescued her. In essence, Felony and I won some more time. There isn’t going to be a last minute rescue this time… the hole in the backyard yawns. And while felony is a dog, and not a person, and there are inherent differences between the two, not always for the better on our side of the gene pool, I re-drew the obvious conclusion that we all mouth but which I am ashamed I for one do not act on as much as I should – that life is a precious gift (for dog or man), that not one minute of the life that we spend with a loyal friend is lost, and that in the closing days or hours or minutes of a life we care about, the value of time passed and squandered that cannot be regained is suddenly dreadfully clear and horrible.

"If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven, and very, very few persons." – James Thurber When I come back home tonight I’ll have two toasts in Felony’s honor. First, ‘here’s to the company of the loyal friends and loyal dogs who accompany us through life’. And second, ‘here’s to making good use of the little time we have been given with them’. Rest In Peace, Felony the Dog.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010 at 12:00 am and is filed under Blog Posts.