Goodbye to My Dog Ghostface Killa
When my veterinarian told me that my dog, a nine year old Yorkie/Schnauzer mix named Ghostface Killa, had incurable lymphoma about ten months ago, and consequently anywhere from six months to a year to live, I wept uncontrollably for a very long time. I cursed fate and a God sadistic enough to take Ghostie from me before he reached his tenth birthday.
I felt very sad and overwhelmed and confused. For close to a decade Ghostie has been my best friend. He has been my constant companion, my eternal partner in strolls around the neighborhood.
I couldn’t imagine a world without Ghostface. I didn’t want to imagine the world without him.
Then I vowed to live every day that I had left with Ghostface as if it were the last, to savor every moment of connection, every belly rub, every hamburger tossed indulgently in Ghost’s direction after he angrily demanded it.
Here’s the thing about Ghostface: he was a fucking asshole. Seriously. I loved him beyond words, as much as a human being can love something, and I will be the first to concede that he was very difficult much of the time.
If you had food that he wanted, he would bark at you in a high pitched yelp until you gave him the food or left the area code. I once walked several blocks to a park with a tasty sandwich because it was somehow the path of least resistance. He was a terror to my two small boys out of jealousy and incoherent rage.
I adored him all the same. He may have been an asshole and a furry ball of rage but he was OUR asshole and OUR furry ball of rage.
I’m pleased to say that I followed through on my vow to live each day with Ghostie as if it were the last. I did not know how much time I had left with him, so I tried to make the most out of what little time we had left.
We’ve had a lot of good time with Ghost since then but last week he took a dramatic turn for the worse. Despite the Lymphoma, the fight remained strong within him for close to a year but he hit a wall a few days back and seemingly lost his will to live.
He didn’t want to go out for walks anymore. I had to drag him even a short ways. Even more distressingly, I could eat a delicious hamburger mere inches from his face without him even noticing, let alone making my life a living hell until I gave it to him.
the dedication for Postal
Worst of all, seemingly overnight a big, ugly, dry cyst-like entity formed over his left eye, seemingly making it hard to see.
He was losing weight. You know the phrase, “curl up and die?” It felt unmistakably like Ghostface was curling up to die. You know the phrase “smells like death?” That also described Ghostie at the end.
It seemed like he was ready, that his life had reach its natural closing point. And that fucking broke my heart. So yesterday I took Ghostie to the vet knowing that there was a very good chance that he would not be coming back home with me.
My wife, knowing how much Ghostie means to me, left her job so that she could be with me during that awful moment when his heart stopped and he would finally be at peace and no longer in pain.
We’re getting him cremated and Declan is going to decorate the wood box containing his ashes. I already feel an intense, Ghostie-sized and shaped hole in my heart, my soul and my life.
I would love to fill that hole as soon as possible with another dog but I’m not sure how feasible that is right now.
Everywhere I look I see dogs and dog stuff that reminds me of Ghostie. Part of that is the fragile, sad, vulnerable and deeply emotional place I’m in right now, when heartbreaking thoughts of my dog fill any blank space in my head but it’s also attributable to our culture being a uniquely dog-crazed one.
I miss Ghostie like crazy but I am grateful for the time that we had together and the role he played in my life.
It’s been about twenty-four hours since that awful, sacred moment I said goodbye and I cannot stop thinking about him. I feel overwhelmed with sadness, with grief, with anger and confusion and guilt that there wasn’t more I could do to extend Ghost’s life.
How do people do it? How do they live with the pain and the loss? How do they go on knowing that an incredible source of happiness and comfort is gone forever?
The only thing that takes my mind off the loss completely is watching shitty movies and writing. I’m consequently grateful to the movies Hurly-burly and Highlander 2: The Renegade Cut for briefly distracting me from my misery.
After we got home I had to explain to my son Declan that Ghost was really gone, that he was not coming back, that he had died. He took it surprisingly well but explaining the concept of death to my son alongside my wife was almost as emotional as saying goodbye to our dog.
I’m sad. I’m just really, really, really sad, and I’m going to allow myself to feel this pain, and feel it acutely because that’s healthy even if it, by definition, hurts like hell.
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