Memorial

AUG 30, 2024 Westerly, RI – Today we said goodbye to our dog Mickey, the family’s faithful and friendly if sometimes irascible live-in companion since mid- 2010. Mickey, who was just short of his 15 th birthday, had been suffering from Cushing’s disease, not eating and otherwise failing badly, especially over the past few days. The great Dr. J. Lawrence Dunn of Charlestown Animal Hospital handled the procedure, which was quick and appeared painless. Jayne, Cate and I stood by, petting and re-assuring our pal, asking St. Francis’ help and shedding a few tears. Mickey rolled over onto his left side, his classic sleeping position, with eyes open and left ear standing up in a familiar gesture that Jayne noticed and that we all then recognized. He was gone in what seemed about a minute. As tough as his last days were, Mickey retained the key elements of his personality and, if I may say it, his character right up to the end. He spent his final two weeks in Rhode Island, a place he’d been coming for vacation since his early post-puppy days. Though he could barely walk at the end, Mickey persisted in coming upstairs from the TV room every night and sleeping beside our bed, standard practice like forever. He made the trip once more, on what proved to be his final night, waiting until Jayne was in bed and Dad had fallen asleep before making the slow and labored climb. And though he had stopped eating and was only occasionally drinking water, he got up and began searching for the door to the yard when he felt nature’s call. On that last night, he didn’t quite make it. But charge that one to the three non-canines in the house who snored away while Mickey made his bathroom run. This was one good dog. Memories of Mickey: –Jayne and Cate picked him up from Lost Dog & Cat Rescue in July 2010, right after she came home from Camp St. Charles. He took the place of Acorn, another rescue dog they had been looking after but got adopted out before they could act. Mickey soon proved a worthy successor. –Mickey appeared to be a mix of beagle, Jack Russell and probably a couple of other flavors. We believe he was rescued from West Virginia, where someone had his tail cropped before abandoning him somewhere. Lost Dog Rescue thus saved Mickey from West Virginia’s Death Row – a claim not many can make! –We suspect he got in some early dog fights as he was no fan of other dogs (or small children for that matter.) On the street, he would growl and otherwise menace passing canines – as long as they offered no resistance and were smaller. With dogs his own size or bigger? In recent years, Mickey found a reason, an interesting sound or smell perhaps, to look the other way and continue about his business. My kind of fighter exactly! Mickey’s given name, BTW, was “Sherlock” which didn’t seem to quite suit his rambunctious personality. So we changed it. Some years later, Jayne noticed a mostly white dog called “Watson” in the waiting room at our vet’s office. It was his long-lost brother who was already being adopted when we found Mickey at Petsmart in Falls Church that July day. Shortly thereafter, Mickey was re-united for a playdate with his litter mate from West Virginia, who also had had the good taste to hold out for a McLean adoption. See the picture of the brothers’ reunion? They do look alike! What else? He was a fair student in Dog Obedience School, and, like many students, could have done better with more disciplined parents. We didn’t follow up his lessons with more drill at home. Mickey knew the command to “sit” and could do a poor man’s version of the “speak.” That was about it. Mickey came to us fixed, so romance is not a big part of his story. Nevertheless, while attending a large weekend party at the mountain house in Etlan, VA, Mickey made the acquaintance of Tessa, a smaller dog who belonged to guest Sheri. Mickey seemed happy enough to traipse behind Tessa, foregoing the grouchy barking that characterized many of his interactions with fellow canines. He volunteered for watchdog duty, barking from behind the closed front door when neighborhood dogs like Rocky hove into view. He got along well enough with Ollie, the Incardona’s big white sheep dog across the street, in part because Ollie stayed mostly behind a locked gate, was quite amiable and was happy to share Milk Bones with Mickey when we were out on a walk. True to the memory of Pavlov, Mickey always made a point of heading over to Ollie’s gate whenever we were returning from a walk. Day or night. And regardless of whether Ollie was in the yard or in the house. Mickey wanted his treat and on the rare occasion when I had already run out, I felt bad enough to cross the street to our house to secure replacements, leaving Mickey outside in expectation. Looking back, I think I was genuinely reluctant to disappoint such a good pal. A promise is a promise, after all, and a dog’s memory is long. Mickey was a voracious and very catholic eater. There were only a couple of things he didn’t like – tomatoes foremost among them. But he more than made up for it with his taste for the contents of the human table. I learned not to leave my Subway sandwich on a plate on the dining room table if I got up for some reason. Everything but the tomato disappeared, and quickly. Once an entire Subway, still in its distinctive wrapper, vanished. Mickey had secreted it in the bedroom near his private space – a canine crate filled with blankets, dog toys and well- chewed bully sticks. He didn’t protest when I took it back. Looking back at this now, I almost feel like this was an understanding between friends – “I get that you have to hunt and forage for tasty trophies. You get that now I want my Subway.” Mickey loved Christmas, at least I think so, since he tolerated getting dressed up in Christmas sweaters and ornamental collars. And there were lots of papers to shred. Hiking was a great two-man activity. Up and down at Great Falls Park, through the woods on what we named Turtle Rock Trail, and the Champlin Glacier Trail in Westerly were favored by us both. Mickey knew the McLean streets by heart, and we always – always – took the route he preferred. And his canine memory could be amazing. Some years back, a family in a corner house at least ten blocks away put up a bird or small animal feeder in a small grove of trees in their side yard. Some animals, squirrels maybe, had knocked some of the treats to the ground. Mickey smelled them from the street, and that was the direction we were taking. In the future, whenever we got near that house, no matter which direction we were coming from, Mickey lit out for the feeder. Only this year, when the family seemed to have stopped leaving food out, did he only make a cursory visit. No big deal, you say? Nonsense. To me this was Westminster Kennel Club-worthy. He could be injudicious. Once, at one of Cate’s birthday parties, he got into sugarfree chewing gum that had an ingredient that was toxic for dogs. The poison control people said he needed to see a vet and, fortunately, the daughter of Mickey’s was at the party. Dr. Stork opened the office to give him meds to vomit up the gum – and everything else he had eaten off the girls’ plates! Back home, he waddled out of the car on shaky legs, and our neighbors’ kids helped Cate carry him into the house. Mickey’s hearing was good – until it wasn’t. Sometimes, maybe too good. Jayne once hollered for “Cate!” when Mickey was standing nearby. He thought he heard “Crate!” and made for his dog den in the corner of the bedroom. Similarly, he perked up and then looked confused when Jayne, watching the cable show “Ray Donovan,” yelled at Mickey Donovan, the character played by Jon Voight who as usual was about to do something bad. Her “Mickey, no!” got our dog’s attention –he gave us the “what have I done now?” look – and we all had a good laugh at his confusion. Just what we would have done if a human family member had been caught in such a dilemma. His many nights on the couch with me downstairs while I watched sports made him a great fan. Sort of. There was the time in October 2012 when the Nats were deadlocked with St Louis in a crucial playoff game. Bottom of the 9th, Jayson Werth at bat, and me, Cate and Mickey watching on the TV in Jayne’s office. Jayson got down two strikes, then took some balls, then fouled off what seemed to be an artillery barrage of pitches. (Actually, it was 12 pitches altogether, counting the three balls. I just looked it up). Werth hit the 13th pitch into the left field bullpen. Cate and I jumped up and down and yelled. Mickey, not be outdone, began racing around in frantic circles, as the cheers blared from the television. He was not to be outdone in his fandom. As I finish this note, it is Sept 4, five days since Mickey’s departure, and I am realizing that I miss him in more ways than I knew. Mostly I miss what a faithful and unwavering presence Mickey was in all our lives. I am grateful for our family’s chance to be Mickey’s rescuer for all these years, but come on:When you add it all up, who was the real rescuer here? — Richard Willing

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