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
