Muffy found us or we found Muffy years ago- not sure how the story starts. He was only 6 days old, was sick and could barely stand. He needed the warmth and food since his mother and siblings were sent to Chennai and we bought him home.
He was a 10-year-old Pug and probably one of the best dogs we ever had. And we’ve had plenty.
It seems trite to say that losing a pet is like losing a member of the family. The fact is, though, it’s actually a gross understatement. Pets are unique and hold a special place in our hearts.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying that dogs are more important or more valuable than other people in our lives. But they do trump humans in many ways.
For one thing, they love us unconditionally. And that’s more than I can say about many human companions.
It doesn’t take much to make them happy. Even the smallest gesture evokes unequivocal joy — throwing a toy, asking if they want to go for a walk, handing them a treat. How many of us show such appreciation and adoration for such simple pleasures?
Their loyalty is only matched by the way they care for us — perhaps even more so than we could ever care for them. Dogs can sense how we’re feeling. It doesn’t matter whether we’re happy, angry, or sad, they just inherently know what to do. So many times I’ve come home exhausted, frustrated, upset, but no words or explanations were ever necessary to convey my emotions. Muffy got it.
My mom mentioned, “In some ways, it’s harder than with people. At least with humans we can talk with each other, say goodbye. With animals, there’s no way to have that kind of interaction. And somehow, maybe that’s what makes us feel it more.”
Dogs are immediately emotionally accessible. No barriers. That’s more than I can say about most people. Maybe we can say goodbye, but far too often we cloak our feelings with words.
So, we humans are stuck nursing our feelings when it comes to our relationships with pets. Dogs are pretty straightforward. And, for the most part, they don’t complain.
Muffy evaded death a number of times in recent months. He survived ailments related to heart. When his vocal cord was later tied back and he almost lost his ability to bark, he tried all his best to make communicate regardless to pain he went through— even though the sound coming out sounded more like an old frog’s cough. Still, he went along without complaint.
Progressively he became blind with a syndrome that also weakened his hind legs. Only our loud voices became his direction to move around. Every time he skirted out the side door there was applause. Muffy seemed just okay with the new way of communicating and movement only towards the voice he heard.
His sidekick, jumps, plays and walks almost shrunk gradually. It was quite hard for us to accept his struggle and immobility.
More recently, Muffy developed a urinary tract infection along with pain in his hind legs. When he lost his appetite and could hardly stand at his food bowl, I thought we were facing the end. But we brought him to the vet like 30 times or so, and thanks to a combination of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medications, he did pretty well. We started using doggy diapers that must have been terribly uncomfortable as he always hated his birthday t-shirts, even in winters when we tried to keep him warm. Still, there was never a sob, and he soon learned when he came in from relieving himself each time to wait patiently while we affixed his diaper.
He also developed a mass on his chest, probably some kind of tumor, still NO complaints from him.
(I certainly complain. I can’t imagine not complaining through such ordeals.)
What made all of this more unbearable was that through it all, Muffy continued to move his head up and try making sound every time his name was called out. If his legs were weak, if he couldn’t walk down the stairs, if he tried to bark and nothing came out, he just received a pat on the head and panted happily. It might have been easier for me if he could just whine or moan in some way.
This morning around 3.20 AM he had a seizure. That was the final blow. The immediate family was around him since last night, and although we decided there was nothing more we could do, amma insisted we take him to vet as she didn’t want his latest condition to progress and cause further suffering as a result and we drove all the way. And, the vet was not optimistic. The decision was made that he was no more.
Four days ago, my sister forcibly offered him carrot cake-his favorite dessert, he barely could gobble a tiny portion. It simply didn’t occur to us at that was his last supper.
But it was nearly impossible for me to edit his pictures without feeling a deep sadness and emptiness. Beyond all of us, it is my mother who is in the void the Muffy has left.
Muffy, had one master, guardian— my mother. She took on the responsibility of his well being just the way she did to all of us. It was her child.
I am unsure if I am weak or maybe I’m just too attached to these loving, playful, and forgiving creatures.
Real perspective is difficult to maintain in situations like this. But one thing is certain: Our canine buddies can teach us humans a lot.
Perhaps resilience is the need of the hour.
Where ever you are Muffy, just rest in peace. We miss you forever.
