RIP Winston, 2002-2013

ABOVE: Winston and my oldest daughter, a couple of years ago

My wife and I both came into our marriage with some baggage. My baggage was named Maurice, and long time readers or close associates of mine will recall Maurice as a feisty cat that I got right before I went to law school. My wife came with Winston, a ridiculously loveable and sociable, let me get this right, King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. As my wife would often say, they were carefully bred to play, sit in your lap and be cute. He fulfilled his genetic purpose remarkably well.

Whereas Maurice was never really integrated into the family unit (he tolerated my wife's presence at best, and when our first daughter came he had to go outside due to his unpredictability), Winston placed himself right in the epicenter. In his better days, he loved to run, chase balls, sit in your lap and watch movies, scour the floor around the dinner table for any crumb that may fall (we never had to vacuum around the table) and so forth. Winston became my dog as much as my wife's, and my older daughter got quite attached as well. He was fantastic with her, even when she was a toddler and did those annoying things (to pets) that toddler's do, like grabbing his tail, pulling on his ears, etc. He never snapped at her, and let her play and cuddle and run with him.

Winston loved his family very much, but there was something that he loved more. That was food. Winston had a passion for food that I have never seen matched in any animal. He wasn't overweight because my wife carefully managed his intake, but he was incredibly excited by anything edible. Not just dog food, but anything you would throw his way from your dinner plate. And he was a healthy eater. He was as enthused by a carrot or broccoli as he was juicy steak. He would sell out the entire population of the planet earth to intergalactic invaders if they offered him a chicken breast. And he was persistent. If he wanted something off your plate, he would sit next to you and whine incessantly until you capitulated. I would often hold out due to stubbornness, but my wife usually gave in.

Within the last year he was afflicted by some sort of nerve disorder that paralyzed the back part of his body. He lost the use of his back legs, and would drag himself around with his front ones. He still was generally happy, though. In fact, he would still play ball. You just had to roll the ball within reach of his front paws, and he would enthusiastically grab it. But in recent weeks things went downhill, as the vet told us they eventually would. So it was time. My wife said her goodbyes, and I took him this morning to the vet to have done what needed be done. That is the second one of those I have watched (the other was Maurice), and while always very sad, it was peaceful and quick. You don't have to stay for the "procedure" of course, but in both cases I felt I owed it to the animal to see them through the end. Tough to do, though.

Anyway, thanks to Winston for being a great dog in most of the ways a dog is supposed to be great. A beloved member of the family who was wonderful to all of us, but especially to my wife and oldest daughter. And with the loss of Winston, I also lost the only other testosterone in the house. I am now completely surrounded by women, without any back-up. RIP Winston.

Addendum. My wife and I were unsure of how to approach explaining to our three year old what happened to Winston. She was quite attached to him. So we did what everyone does these days when confronted by a difficult question, we Googled it. After reading the sage advice found through Google, my wife solemnly approached our daughter and said "we need to talk about Winston." As my wife was following the requisite steps, my daughter seemed unconcerned and wanted to continue playing. "Oh my God, we are raising a sociopath," she whispered to me. No, I just don't think a three year old fully comprehends the meaning of death. Adults don't even comprehend it. I tried to explain death to her once before when she saw me killing a bunch of ants that got in the house. It didn't really connect then either, although she is now my scout for any creatures in our home. Whenever she sees ants or a spider she will call me over and order me to terminate it. My wife does that too. I always have to do the dirty work.