By: Revanche

Farewell to the best boy in the world

February 1, 2021

About sixteen years ago, I met him for the first time. My trainwreck sibling brought home this adorable puppy he had no business adopting because he had not one thing in his life that wasn’t a mess. I was furious at my sibling – he didn’t even take care of himself, how could he drag a dog into his shambles of a life?? But in 40 years, adopting Seamus was probably the one unmitigated good thing he’s ever done.

Seamus was smarter than any dog I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of dogs in my years of working with animals. He was dignified,  chock full of patience, and clever as all get out.

Back in the early 2000s, I would occasionally bring him to work with me. It made my horrible office job in LA on and off again tolerable. On his first day, he unerringly identified, and ignored, the most evil person in the office. He sat in our meetings, and even when he was climbing into a colleague’s lap for some cuddles – all 105 lbs of him! – he was whisper silent. We carpooled to work in those terribly stressful days, and he would silently rest his head on my colleague’s shoulder in the front passenger seat, resting his butt in the back seat, the whole ride home.

In my rare downtime with friends back then, we’d occasionally pick up fast food and eat it in our living room. I remember how he “begged” for food. He would politely sit several feet away, across from the person most likely to break under the pressure and watch them until they broke down.

I remember when we rescued him and brought him to the Bay Area several years ago. I had been struggling with wanting to help Seamus but being uncertain I could take on his challenges in addition to my highly stressful job AND Doggle. I was pregnant with JB, too, so I didn’t want to make a rash decision and take on more than we could handle. Then I’d heard that my trainwreck sibling had crossed a line, he hit Seamus, and that sealed it. We went to get him.

6 and change years ago. 15 lbs too thin, welts and weeping rashes and sores all over his body from allergies, bright eyes and a heart the size of the sun. We still had Doggle back then. We we invited Seamus to join our little but growing family, he hopped in the car and tucked himself neatly behind an oblivious Doggle who he hoped to make his very best friend without a moment’s hesitation. He still loved my sibling because that’s just who he was but he was also going to grab the offer to save his life. It was the beginning of the best journey and my biggest heartbreak.

We started our life with him with a bath and a 9 hour car ride back to the Bay Area. He became Doggle’s tan-colored shadow. He was miles smarter than Doggle who had a vague notion of what dogs are, but he was humble and sweet, absolutely willing to use his smarts to get along.

Making squeaky toys squeak, the joy of his life, was verboten because Doggle thought he was hurting the toys. So Doggle would huffily confiscate Seamus’s toys as they squeaked, one by one. Seamus would watch them go, sadly, but without protest. When they were all lined up in Doggle’s animal rescue (the crate), Seamus would come to me and request liberation of the toys. He wouldn’t get them himself, crossing Doggle directly simply was Not Done.

We tackled his health issues on multiple fronts. We changed his diet and put him on steroids. He hopped into the tub on command and submitted to medicated baths three times a week for his sores, he stretched out on the ground and laid still as long as required for me to medicate and treat his hot spots all over his raw feet. He was a blinking mess physically, but he cooperated every single step of the way as we trial and errored our way to a healthy weight and healthy skin and coat. It took months of effort, and I’ve never been prouder in my life of anything than the day I ran my hand backwards across his fur and confirmed that his entire body was entirely free of the persistent and painful sores that once blanketed his body.

In turn, he helped me out. As my pregnancy progressed, he would come help me up when I got stuck on the sofa. He’d let me lie on his side for a cuddle when the back pain was too much.

Months into his health ordeals, JB arrived on scene. Despite never having been around children before, he took one look at the baby and claimed that puppy for his own. We always joked that we had a third co-parent but it wasn’t really a joke – he had opinions about infant JB’s care and he shared them quite clearly.

No one was allowed to come in and pick up his baby without checking with him first. PiC pretending to toss JB like a football? UNACCEPTABLE. Make him stop, he ordered me with a low yodel, that’s not funny. One parent was taking too long to soothe the crying baby? He’d fetch the other human. The number of times I caught myself arguing with him that a particular cradle or solution of his wouldn’t work? An embarrassing number. Up for a middle of the night diaper change? So was he. He would stand up on his hind legs to oversee the change on the changing table – the only time he’d ever stand on furniture. When we were sleep training, he would station himself in the room with the squalling child. Whenever JB was playing or creeping on the ground, he would stretch out casually and “pass out” but he was always really closely paying attention.

Until JB learned to walk / run, he hovered. It wasn’t obvious until he relaxed his guard, seemingly telling us that he didn’t need to worry anymore because they were strong enough to cope without his constant nursemaiding. But he always cared about their well being. Woe unto anyone who scared his baby. He’d never picked a fight with any dog but when a small terrier jumped on JB and startled them into crying? Seamus dashed 50 meters to appear by their side ready to kick that dog’s butt. We had to talk fast, explaining that JB was unharmed, or he might have eaten that dog for supper. When they cried, real crying, not dramatic fake crying or tantrum crying, he would station himself nearby to keep them company. Even when walking was hard for him, even if they were so angry they didn’t want anyone around, he was always there for them. On his last day when they finally realized what his appointment meant for us, when they wailed out their grief, he wobbled over to check on them.

He always intervened when we were frazzled and disciplining too harshly – you’d find a gentle paw on your hand or your shoulder, and get a look. But he didn’t just tell us what to do as parents, he was also our hall monitor. When I worked from home, he was my work buddy. We’d sit on the rug together and he’d hog the space heater, leaning back on my legs. We’d sit like that until it was time for his walk. When Sera came along, the two of them would simultaneously loom on either side of my laptop when I lost track of time. On mornings I slacked off and ran errands before starting work, I heard my marching orders. He expected me at my desk and working before ten am and told me so in no uncertain yodels. No excuses, get to work!

It wasn’t just us, the world loved him on sight. We took him anywhere we could and he always collected a band of admirers, hoping to pet him. He welcomed it all with a tail wag and a grin. Children of all ages would come right up to our boy and ask to pet or hug him and he basked in their joy. When we took friends around town, he’d come along to soak up the adoration of the masses. He was a loving charmer, full of smiles and good cheer for anyone who needed it, and thrilled to meet a new face anytime.

He wasn’t just an attention sponge either. He could read people. He always knew if someone was scared or uncomfortable and he always gave them exactly what they needed to they needed to ease their fear. He was so good at this, he won over our friend who has been deathly afraid of dogs his entire life. Our friend is still afraid of dogs but Seamus? Seamus was invited to their home and hand fed treats by our friend who has never once petted a dog because he was so afraid of them. Seamus was magic on four paws.

I’d say he was brave but it may be more that he was fearless. There wasn’t a thing in all these years that unnerved or scared him. He strongly disapproved of certain things: rudeness, fireworks, and the postal service coming right up to put mail in slots (mailboxes were ok, mail slots were “trespassing”) but he wasn’t afraid of them. They simply did not meet his standards. 

His favorite destination was the vet where he could meet all manner of new pets and people. To my embarrassment, in his later years, he would yodel-scold people if they were standing around not petting him. Worse, when I apologized and explained why he was yodeling at them, they would comply. I could only shake my head. There’s something about him.

Just last week he dug his geriatric heels in. COVID had stolen a year of his social life and he had had enough. On a walk on a rare sunny day when all the dogs were out for a walk, he demanded to meet at least one puppy before we went home. 

He should have spent this last year sunbathing, being doted on by passersby, running his heart out, playing fetch. He loved us all but he felt the world constrict around him as the pandemic took away physical contact and his health began to fail.

Unfortunately, in the course of this past year, he suffered from more than a dozen UTIs, several eye ulcers (one severe enough I thought we’d lose the eye), hot spots as his allergies flared intermittently, urinary incontinence, hyperthyroidism, increasingly severe arthritis, advancing neurological weakness that severely affected his gait, and mysterious weight loss. We did every single thing we could to heal his hurts and manage his pain but inevitably, we reached a point where there was nothing left to add to his personal pharmacy. He had a complex sheaf of prescriptions rivalling that of any human senior citizen and it was painful watching him stumble and deteriorate. I’d give just about anything for a few more good years with this good boy, but for his sake, we finally had to make the decision to let him go with our love. I’ll never be ready to live without him. I’ve cried a river and my heart is shattered. But we couldn’t be selfish and keep hanging on for one more day.

“Why does he have to die?” asked JB. Why indeed. Of anyone, he deserved another decade of good hard running, fetch for days, and all the good food he could handle.

PiC often reminds us that when someone we love passes, they’re still in our hearts. JB on the first of many hard nights without our boy cried, “I don’t feel like he’s in my heart because he’s dead.” I feel the same way. There’s an enormous hole where Seamus was. We miss the sound of his footsteps. We catch ourselves reaching to refill his medicine, checking his water bowl, planning for his next every two hour outing. We miss his politely inquiring nose at the dinner table, nudging our elbows as he draws exactly level to the table top but never reaching higher. We miss his meander under the dining table to roll under the feet of the person he deemed worthy of petting him with their toes. We miss his popping up when the baby is crying to gently snuff the head and confirm it’s ok. We miss the weight of his butt resting on our laps as he backs up to share my lap with JB or Smol.

I keep expecting him to come open the bathroom door to tell me to hustle myself out to breakfast, or hear him tapping down the hall to fetch me to punt Sera off the bed he wanted, or to tattle that something wasn’t to his liking. I can’t shut my office door without half expecting him to shove it open because he likes keeping an eye on all his people. He didn’t like to be separated from us, so he always picked the spot that was equidistant from everyone to monitor. If that wasn’t possible, he’d go guard JB.

The nights may be the hardest. We can almost see him out of the corner of our eyes during the day as we keep busy, but at night, the silence weighs heavily.

We miss him so much.

It was an honor and a privilege to care for this giant among dogs, the best dog we have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

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