HE DUCHESS OF CAMP AVENUE
She was a presence with a capital “P”, a force of benevolent nature, one of those astounding creatures that made you stop and take an admiring gulp of air. At 130+ pounds (170 before her diet) she was a commanding figure as she lumbered or galloped down Camp Avenue watching for her audience. Sugar was The Duchess.
A Newfoundland is something to look at, rather like a young bear if you view her from the rear. She even toed inward like a grizzly. What a sight! Combine that with The Queen of Hearts, only benevolent, and you have the picture. She loved any person, and most animals, and was delighted to be out and about, greeting her public.
At eleven years old, though, the walks were now getting short and sweet. Just chain her on the front porch, and spare her poor knees all that bother! The people would come to her, drool and all.
It’s been more than two months since Sugar died. My constant kitchen companion – responsible for some of the dog hair in my meals – elicited questionable language from me daily as she majestically blocked the refrigerator door, or made me straddle her hairy regal mass to use the sink.
I still miss her affectionate and grateful eyes as I risked slobber daily to snuggle her.
Her petulent insistence that she had a right to all vegetable scraps was tough to resist. Not that she refused meat, but she just loved raw vegetables.
Or maybe it was just being hand fed, by her loyal subject.
Indoors she was mostly a quiet lady, and her gait was hulking and rolling, slogging from one favorite spot to another, then plopping down for a few hours. The older she got, the less Her Majesty was inclined to move at anyone’s request. Nature, arthritis and knee dysplasia were to blame.
A miracle happened, though, if a squirrel crossed her line of vision as she sunned herself on the deck in back. Fleet of foot, like you never saw – poor squirrel!
She could also gallop toward any audience on the street. Her sociability was a joy. She held court and inspires smiles! The babies loved to lay down on her huge back and snuggle on all that fur.
I sometimes think about the dying moments of our other dogs, especially since Sugar died. I can say that there is always a memory of the sad satisfaction of being able to shield them, at least from fear.
Now that the reality is well past I can admit that Sugar did not “go gently into that good night.” I wish she had been at home in her own realm, or at least comfortably on the floor in the vet’s office. I wish she had been calm. I wish we could have offered her a choice. I wish she had not been afraid! It was not in keeping with her true dignity.
The stainless steel table was terrifying, and lifting her onto it was worse. She actively “raged against the dying of the light” as Dylan Thomas said, struggling and thrashing, and would not be comforted, no matter how we hugged her and spoke softly. She did not want to go! Such spirit! It was heart- rending.
The memory still troubles me, though the decision was right. I can still cry!
We adopted her when she was 4, since her human parents had divorced, and she was very much alone – not any Newfoundland’s idea of fun, and especially painful for a dignified spirit who needed to reign over and revel in loving people.
For 7 years, she was a funny, affectionate, warm, self-assured animal who brought us such good spirit. We did give her our companionship, other dogs to boss around, the run of the house (which included great tolerance for dog hair and spit), and the chance to socialize with whomever she came in contact with. The pure joy of her life comforts me, and I would say she was a happy lady.
I expect her to meet me gleefully when I cross that Rainbow Bridge. I love you, Sugar. You were a blessing. Thanks for letting me hang out with you!
SCRUMBLES 