His dog was dying. But they
could spend one last day together.
By Jon Katz | Updated Thursday, Sept. 29, 2011,
at 2:41 AM ET
This is excerpted from Jon
Katz's new book, Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die.
It is possible to take something beautiful and lasting out of
the heart-wrenching experience of seeing the animal you love move
inexorably toward death. Nobody can take the grief away, nor should
anyone try, but our love for animals is nothing but a gift, and it
keeps on giving, even when they go home.
A man named Harry, an Iraq war veteran and tennis coach from
Minnesota, hit upon a simple and profound idea to transform this
otherwise sad experience into a blessed one.
It was a gray morning when the vet told Harry that his dog
Duke's heart was failing and that it wouldn't be long before he died.
Harry was not surprised, but still, the news depressed him. Listening
to the vet, Harry later told me, he'd gotten an idea, one he thought
would pay tribute to his life with Duke and give him something to feel
besides sadness and loss.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to give you a Perfect Day," he said
quietly to Duke as they left the vet's office. He would take the day
off from work and create a sweet memory with his dog. It would be a
special day, filled with all the things Duke loved most, as close to
perfect as Harry could make it. He would take his Canon PowerShot along
to capture some images of the day, to preserve the memories.
Duke was a border collie/shepherd mix. He had always been a
lively, energetic dog and would herd anything that moved. Walks, work,
food, Frisbees, red balls—these were the things Duke loved, along with
chasing balloons and popping them.
Harry went shopping for supplies, and when he came back Duke
was napping on his dog bed. He went over, lay down next to the dog, and
hugged him. "Pal," he whispered, "tomorrow is for you, your Perfect
Day." He was embarrassed to tell his wife, Debbie, about the plan, but
she sensed what was going on and gave the two of them the space they
needed. It was her belief that the dog, more than anything else, helped
Harry heal from the trauma of Iraq. He couldn't look at Duke without
smiling, and when he had first come home, he hadn't smiled too often.
At eight the next morning, Harry got up. Duke was lying on his
bed, which was next to Harry and Debbie's. The dog rose a bit
slowly, then followed Harry down the stairs and into the kitchen. Harry
opened the refrigerator and took out a hamburger patty and two strips
of bacon, cooked the night before. He put them on a plate and into the
microwave.
Duke was riveted. When the plate came out—Harry touched it to
make sure it was warm but not hot—he dumped the meat into Duke's bowl,
along with his heart pills. It was as if Duke couldn't believe his
eyes. He was almost never given people food. Looking up at Harry, as if
asking permission, he waited until Harry nodded and said, "OK, boy,"
before inhaling the food.
A feeling of sadness came over Harry as he thought about how
Duke would soon be gone. He wandered into the living room and lay down
on the couch. Duke came over and curled up next to him. Harry began to
sob, softly, then more deeply and loudly; Duke gently licked his face.
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