For all the heartbreak we’re enduring now, we both feel that having Linus in our lives
has been a tremendous gift, and if we could do it all over again, we would—bloat, DM and everything. One way we thought
of to keep the spirit of Linus alive is to remember his many tremendous qualities, and try to emulate them as often as we
can in our encounters with both two- and four-footed creatures each day. The lessons:
Be kind and loving, no matter what’s going on.
When he was at his bed-ridden stage, Linus would get uncomfortable if he was on one side too long, and would gently “woof”
to let us know it was time to flip him over. He did this during the day and at night, but without fail, if one of your hands
got close to his muzzle when you were moving him around, he would give you a little “kiss” on the hand, by
way of saying thanks.
Always take time to say hi to your (furry) friends. Linus
was a social animal, and had a great many dog friends at his usual haunts. He also was open to meeting new dogs, and was definitely
of the “I never met a dog I didn’t like” school.
One can never have too many belly rubs, ear scratches, butt scratches, and beyond.
A furry Mae West!
He who barks loudest wins. But if that doesn’t work, roll over
and show your belly.
On occasion, Linus would come up against a new dog that didn’t respond well to
his loud shepherd hellos. In these instances, he usually found that rolling on his back set the right tone, and so charmed,
the new dog soon became a new friend.
Always check the perimeter before bed. When he
was ambulatory, Linus would end each night by walking around the perimeter of the back fence, checking for critters and other
security “breaches.” He usually found nothing, but one night, he found a young skunk. Let’s just say that
went as well as his encounters with our cats. (We found Scope did a pretty good job of masking the awful, awful scent. Tomato
juice? Not so much.)
Start the day with vigorous exercise. When our
cat Butler
was still alive, we had no need for a snooze bar. Each day would start with Butler
and Linus having a major kafuffle. If you woke up quickly, you could watch 18 pound Butler
force 80 pound Linus to back up down the hall, crying and barking all the way. While Linus tried to prevail in these “fights,”
it was no contest. Butler won with attitude, pure and simple,
amply demonstrating the wisdom of the old saying, “It isn’t the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of
the fight in the dog.” Or cat, as the case may be.
Don't worry what they call you; worry when they stop. Linus has been called many things over the years, mostly with the deepest affection. He began life as Guinness,
then his "official" name became Linus. As portions of this site suggest, he also has a number of unofficial names, including
(but not limited to): Lamby Man, Mr. Magnifico, Super Doggy, Mr. Barker/Marker/Whiner, Romeo, Linus-Fo-Finest, Mr. Mellow
Man, Sweet Pea, and more.
Stay dry, and give Mother Nature the respect she deserves.
Linus hated being wet, and he particularly hated being rained upon. Taking walks in the rain was a very brief, business-like
exercise. If thunder was in the forecast, we also knew we were in for a bumpy night. Linus could not be convinced that he
was safe, no matter what.
Don’t let anything get in the way of your heart’s
fondest desires. When Linus wanted something, he got it. End of story. Whether it was a walk with his sister,
a cappuccino or a nice, fresh pie tucked away on the counter, if he wanted it, he got it.
Dairy is good for you. Linus was a big fan of
nearly-empty yogurt containers, ice cream boxes, cottage cheese cups and more. If it had dairy in it, he was happy to help
clean it out, and there were few things more adorable than Linus with a large yogurt container. He would hold it between his
front paws and stick his head right in it and get every drop (leaving a few teeth marks, too).
Tend your gruff exterior, but also keep your soft, squishy center
intact. (This is a lesson that particularly resonates with his person Linda.) Linus had the look of a fierce
German Shepherd, but inside, he was pure marshmallow. We often were amused when people were afraid of him because of his breed,
when we would have trusted him with anyone we know, including babies (he gave them nothing but kisses). Shwea, on the other
hand…..
Roll in the grass every chance you get. Linus was a big fan of rolling
around in the grass, especially after a long walk. Perhaps the grass felt cool on his fur, perhaps he just liked a little
"rubdown" after stretching his legs, perhaps he was making sure the yard knew who was boss, who knows?
Walking on trails in woods and parks is wonderful.
Linus was no city boy--even walking in downtown Florence made him jumpy--but get him into nature and he came alive. Thanks
to his love of nature, we found ourselves looking for new places to take him and Shwea for walks, and as a
result have discovered places as diverse as Fitzgerald Lake, Becket Quarry, the Appalachain Trail, Look Park,
and more.
Walking off trails is better still. Linus would start off on the trails
of all of these parks and places he led us to find, but before long, he would wander off--the dog was definitely a "road not
taken" type of guy. Of course, the fact that we would get excited and carry on when he didn't come back to us promptly may
have also been part of the appeal.
Always take the window seat. Linus loved to look out of windows--car windows,
house windows, slider door windows, you name it. Keeping an eye on things was programmed into his marrow. As a result, every
"dog-level" window in our house and cars has what we've heard call "pupkus" on it. Delightful! Not so delightful are the many
scratches he left on the bay window ledge, but come to think of it, they are a sign that he was here and he was watching out
for us--so delightful they are.
Always take the best seat in the house. After our last cat died and cat
scratches were no longer a threat, we bought a big, beautiful chaise lounge that Ann had her eye on for years. Shortly after
the chaise was delivered, Linus made it his favored perch--it was a perfect height for looking out the front bay window as
well as incredibly comfortable. Now that Linus is gone, Shwea has taken up residence there. We call it our $1500 dog bed.
Just because the vet says it doesn't make it so. When Linus hit a
rough patch in the fall--he was refusing food, barely able to keep his head up, and generally not engaged in what was going
on around him--Ann had the house call vet come over to assess whether he was a candidate for euthanasia. Well, the vet
said he was, and Ann said she had to think about it, thanked her, and saw her out the door. Then Ann had a very good cry.
When she went to check in on Linus, however, he was sitting up, his ears were in their locked and upright position,
and he was practically saying, "Hell no, I won't go!" We don't know if the vet's "verdict" did it, but if that's
what inspired Linus to keep on keepin' on for another three months, that visit was worth every penny--even more.
If you get the chance, pee on a rhody. (This may be a lesson for dogs only.)
For some reason, Linus loved marking the rhododendrons in our backyard. Linda thinks it may be because any time she caught
him doing this, she would start yelling. (From shy guy to anything for attention? It could happen.)
Love heals. One of the most gratifying things about
life with Linus was having people we barely knew remark on how much he had improved over the years. Linus was a regular at
many local dog walking spots, and became familiar with many other dogs and their owners over time. Every once and a while
one of these owners would say something along the lines of "I remember when I first met Linus," and then proceed to tell about
how much he has changed, how much more friendly and happy he was, how his "real dog" has come shining through thanks to his
life with us. Linus was living proof that with enough love and care, you can overcome a quite terrible start in life.
Accept what you must without complaint. During the course of his disease,
Linus lost the ability to walk, to control his bowels and bladder and, on occasion, the ability to hold his head upright.
But no matter what he lost, he never got angry. He would occasionally "woof" lightly to let us know we needed to change his
diaper or move him, but otherwise, he seemed to accept everything that was happening. We hope we can be as accepting
when our time comes.
