Atticus is gone. If you’ve been through this, you already know when your dog dies, a piece of you dies as well, and the pain is so sweet and sour it takes your legs out from under you. You sort of recover because you have to, but there’s a part that never recovers. It’s part of the deal you make with the devil when you realize you’re living with a one-in-a-million dog. The devil says “you’ll have the best of it for a while, but as part of the deal you also have a toll to pay”, and pay you shall. People say, “pets are part of the family”. That's nothing but bullshit. One-in-a-million isn’t a part of anything. One-in-a-million stands alone. I never thought of him as a dog. I thought of him as some manner of spirit sent to give us peace and guide the way. I always thought he was a prince. Prince Atticus Finch. Prince of Paws.
Deb will say all that needs to be said about Atticus. I will not spend countless paragraphs and the next few years mourning publicly with photos and stories, but if I may, I’ll just throw out an observation or two. I remember taking the photo of Atticus and Deb standing together in the kitchen. It was soon after we moved into our home in Gig Harbor, WA., maybe 10 years ago. It was a watershed time for both Atticus and us. He was about a year and a half. Until then, Atticus was closer to Atilla The Hun than Atticus Finch. The first year and a half was madness. He was totally uncontrollable, untrainable, unrestrainable, and lost in space. We had a dog sitter actually claim he was “mentally deranged”, and she refused to be with him. I thought we were going to have to give him away. Deb was close to tears trying to find a way to get him under control. Because he was purebred, we knew his lineage and knew it was good, but nothing we could do would even remotely slow him down or get his attention. If you’ve been there, you know. It’s agony when your dog is intent on, fully willing to, and more than capable of tearing you, your house, and everything you own into little tiny bits and pieces.
Deb has her own way of working with and training dogs. Intimidation, strong-arm tactics, and a military approach is not part of her program. In order to train him and give him the structure he needed, we decided early on that Atticus needed to hear only one powerful voice in his life, so Deb took him on. I just tried to be his friend and friends we were. Over the years I never fed him, I never trained him. I rarely took him on walks alone. When Atticus needed something, he always turned to Deb. To her credit, Deb never once faltered in her presentation. She always calmly corrected his behavior. Every single time. She never gave him even a moment where he could learn to gain an advantage. She never punished him, always corrected the behavior, and then rewarded the right behavior. It took almost two years and it damn near killed her. He took multiple mental pieces out of her, and she never once changed her behavior or her attitude around him. The tone in her voice never changed, even for a moment. He was simply awful, and then all of a sudden he woke up.
Most likely it was Deb’s nonstop positive training slowly sinking in, but to me, overnight it looked like a bomb had gone off in his brain. Atilla the Hun was reborn as Atticus Finch. Looking back on it, I can almost hear him saying to himself “Christ, I gotta stop this crap. I can’t go on acting like a fricking idiot. I’m an adult. I need to stand up straight and act like it. I got to be responsible. I got work to do here.” From that instant, Atticus loved everyone, charmed everyone, and for the remainder of his life, he endeared himself to every other living thing he ever ran into on purpose or by accident. Atticus had only friends and he touched everyone. Yesterday, Deb's brother described Atticus as a "legend".
I only have three photos here. I took the first in our kitchen one late afternoon in summer. He just stood there connected to Deb and looking like the idealized interpretation of an Australian Shepherd. The Brad Pitt version of a dog. He was clearly Deb’s dog in every move he made and for the next ten years, he never left her side, even for a second. They were inseparable. For me, his eyes in the second photo show his saintly pristine presence, and his constant desire to explore, learn, and understand - it's rather a portrait of the dog as a young artist. The third was taken shortly after the second when Atticus was spending a significant portion of his life flying through the air - he was not of this earth. He was overjoyed with life and had no boundaries.
From him, I learned more than I can repay. I learned about patience, love, forgiveness, strength, energy, loyalty, persistence, caution, blind faith, mindless exuberance, and undying endless hope for the future. How many people do you and I know who believe those things and teach those things every day of their lives? Of course, many folks know this is what we all learn kneeling at the paws of dogs. It kind of goes with dog territory, but nonetheless, to live in its presence is always an honor and for us, there is always a lesson to be learned.
Two years ago, Atticus sat patiently in the back seat of our 4 Runner, never whined once, and rode with us all the way to Mexico, just as though we were headed out on a short drive for a walk in the park. He fit perfectly in Mexico, and he touched the lives of everyone he met. We would walk with him in San Miguel and people would stop their cars to look at him. He always drew a crowd. Everyone who met him instantly understood his grace and was touched.
When we got the diagnosis, we knew immediately we were not going to let this drag out. Other folks have their own approach and that’s fine. We feel strongly about having respect for quality of life issues as opposed to quantity of life. He had some really good days toward the end, but when it got to be too much of an effort for him to stand up and walk, we had to stop it. You know, I find it incredibly disheartening that at the end of days, we many times treat our animals with more respect than we treat our fellow human beings. Between the heavy shackles of religious dogmas, medical legalities, and a misguided egocentric desire to prolong the amount of life, just to satisfy the egos of the living, instead of having a respect for the quality of life of our loved ones, I believe too often we willingly, and with an almost zealous intent, allow our human family to suffer, instead of bestowing the respect and grace we lovingly give to our pets. And we arrogantly call ourselves civilized. How so?
Atticus lived his last days happy and at ease. Sitting peacefully in the shade, taking short walks through the park, and grabbing as many treats as he could bribe from people. His close human friends knew time was short and they got to pay some respect and say their goodbyes. I believe he knew it was his time. Animals know about this stuff. Yesterday afternoon, Deb gave Atticus his favorite ice cream and cheese treat, and at 6:00, the wonderful vet, Dr. Ricardo Merrill generously made the house call. We had our last moments with Atticus, and we each said goodbye. Atticus died peacefully cradled in Deb's arms. He will now sleep peacefully in our garden.
Today we walk with ghosts. He's everywhere we turn. I walked down the stairs and halfway down I could see the rest of the house and the emptiness was palpable. All of us know the feeling of emptiness that goes with this territory. The "toll" we must pay for living with one in a million. So, we'll sit again tonight on the rooftop patio of the house, where Atticus used to love to sit and survey the world, and we'll drink another toast to our friend and our love. Now that you know, I believe a number of you may choose to do the same. The Prince of Paws is gone, but we won’t forget his lessons. Deb and I will carry on, but Atticus will walk with us every step of the way. God speed sweet prince. God speed.
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