Frazier

Like birth, death is unpredictable.

Sometimes it comes and you see it a mile away and have time to prepare - an achingly long, arduous journey through the valley.  And sometimes it strikes so quickly you flail in the fall, struggling to catch your own breath in light of the one now forever breathless.

The latter happened today.

Our dear, faithful, noble-souled dog Frazier passed away this afternoon.

He wasn't acting quite right for about 1/2 an hour, and then a howl came from the other room.  I dialed the vet as I went to check on him.

As the vet answered, I watched Frazier take his final breath and go peacefully beyond to wherever it is that dogs go.

Likely a stroke, heart attack, or brain aneurysm I was told, based on how things went.

But you know, none of that matters.  Because he's gone.

Please don't think me overly emotional or ridiculous about all this - he was just a dog, different than a human life in both body and soul.  I have lost human life and that is so very, very different than this.

And yet, grief has many levels and many stages, and it is a miserable mistress whatever the case.

Eleven and a half years ago, Chase and I got married.  We moved to Michigan where we went to college; we got permission from our landlords, and went dog-hunting.  It was Labor Day Weekend when we found him.

Frazier wasn't the one I thought we'd come home with.  Bigger than his siblings, he hung back from the pack.  The little black and brown female was aggressive with her love - chewing shoelaces, leaping into laps.  The other siblings followed her lead.  So unlike Frazier who hung back a bit, more calm and less aggressive.

He was Chase's pick, because he was to be "Chase's dog."

Within a week death was knocking at his door - Frazier had parvovirus, a very serious virus for puppies.  He suffered severe dehydration, and in the middle of the night, I sobbed as we took him to the vet who injected fluid directly under his skin.  It gathered into a hump on Frazier's back, making him look like a tiny, floppy-eared camel.  Over the next few hours, the fluid absorbed into his body, and he was hydrated again.  The prognosis was unsure.

He recovered and became a fixture in our young household.  His birthday was the same day as our wedding, so we never forgot to celebrate him.  In college, he served as the mascot for the intramural flag football team that I was on and Chase coached.  We were The Fraziers, "fierce and sneaky."

He went with us everywhere - on walks, on trips home to Nebraska, to work with me every now and then if I worked odd hours, and on all of our moves.  In his 11 1/2 years, he lived in 6 different houses - all rentals - he flew twice, he toured the monuments in DC, he welcomed 3 babies home.  He welcomed another dog into our family and then grieved with us when she died.  He tolerated the cat we got 2 years ago, and I think they could have been great friends if the cat would have ever stopped picking on poor Frazier!

He never chewed a shoe, bit a person, or got into the trash (except that once).  He didn't bark, except when people came to the door, and he rarely got onto the table or counter, except when I forgot to feed him.

He cleaned up the floor underneath the table and in the kitchen as I cooked and our children learned to eat.  He sat patiently, begrudgingly, when I groomed him.  He rolled in cow poop (or any other kind of poop) whenever he had the chance, and once managed to corner a skunk without getting sprayed.  Kind and gentle with everyone, never meeting a human he didn't love, and patient with tinies crawling on him and pulling his ears.

Essentially, he was the perfect dog.  Just what I needed in that phase of life where I was privileged to have him.  Because, let's be real, he ended up MY dog.

Rest in Peace, Frazier.  Thanks for sharing your life with us.

Trying to sleep in the bean bag.

Mid-bath.  Also, this is where he would go when
there was a thunder storm, because bathtubs are safe.

At the park.

Vacation to Texas, driving through the night.

This guy's life changed a LOT when we had kids.

But he found ways to enjoy even the kids, or at least their things.

He was always looking for the perfect place to nap.
The back of the couch made the cut this day.

This was a good place whenever he was allowed.

Christmas pictures made him yawn.

The face I'll always remember so fondly.

Bringing home babies was exhausting for all of us.

These were the glory days, when we were in college, and he was
just a puppy.  This was before his first haircut.  I let his hair get
so long that we put it in a ponytail on top of his head so he could see.

And after he started getting haircuts, I got him clothes.  Poor guy.
After we had kids, he never wore another piece of clothing.  That
was a good thing for him about us having kids.

In Michigan, the snow would get so deep that we'd
have to scoop a path across the patio to the yard
so he could do his business.  He loved to play in the
snow when he was young.  He'd come in with hundreds
of tiny snowballs stuck in his fur.

Tell Brook "hi" for us buddy.  We miss you both.  <3