Last Goodbye to Woody Slowly Soaking In

It’s 2 a.m. and I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about him. After checking the kids, I confirm that Woody is not sleeping in his family room carpet location.

The day finally came that every pet owner dreads. I drove Woody to the vet, and he did not come home.

Back in September 1987, a friend had too many animals and gave us Woody, a 3-year-old 85-pound golden retriever (although he was more red than golden).

He was an obedience school graduate, did not bark or jump up on people. The perfect four-legged friend. He was also a digger, a sneak and a slobberer.

Over the last 10 years my wife Kathie never did have a garden, new flower bed, or planter without something dug up. We tried fences, repellent, but nothing stopped him.

After an entire cooked chicken disappeared--bones and all--from a counter top, we never turned our backs on him when meat was out.

Then there was the constant drool. Never pet Woody when dressed up. Good clothes attract the slobber.

We got Woody right after buying a townhouse with a good-size yard. Christine, 14 months old, was with me the day I picked up Woody. She was big-eyed watching the slobber machine towering over her in the back seat.

Christine was followed by two brothers, Jonathan and Nicholas. They all took turns crawling, jumping, lying on, riding, pulling and walking Woody. He always sat there panting, slobbering and loving being the center of attention.

I was the only one to play fetch with Woody, primarily because after fetching the tennis ball, he expected the thrower to wrestle the drool-covered ball from his mouth.

Woody also liked to take himself for walks. At our first house, he dug out under heavy wire fencing to make his escape.

In recent years, Woody the sneak really started to excel.

In 1995, we returned from a three-week vacation to find a very frustrated dog sitter. Woody had decided also to take his own vacation by learning how to climb--yes, climb, not jump--over our brick backyard wall in pursuit of a neighbor’s female pet. He soon was all over the neighborhood.

Woody found himself confined in our dog sitter’s backyard on a short rope after being brought home by the Ventura County Sheriff’s Department. The answering machine was full of “come get your dog” messages.

In 1996, we brought two kittens, Tink and Tiger, home from the pound. After a couple of weeks Woody and the cats were buddies. They only had to make one adjustment. To my amazement, one day I actually heard Woody growl and bark. I looked in the backyard to see the two cats running for cover. After that incident, Tink and Tiger left Woody’s dish alone while he was eating.

That adage about old dogs never learning new tricks didn’t apply to our golden. At the ripe old age of 13, Woody taught himself to open the sliding glass patio door with his nose so he could get to the comfort of his favorite sleeping spot inside.

In recent months, Woody slept more and played less. He lost weight and could no longer maintain his wonderful running stride. Over Thanksgiving, the chain was rolled up and stored. The last couple of times Woody snuck out, only a short walk was needed to find and bring him home.

Some things never changed. Two days after Christmas, I heard the kitchen trash can being knocked over and caught Woody trying to get to the turkey carcass.

On New Year’s Day, he ate an early dinner, did his back stretch and roll on the lawn and laid down on his spot on the family room carpet. It was his birthday. He was born Jan. 1, 1984.

Then on Jan. 2, I remembered Woody had not been out overnight. He usually comes into our bedroom rattling his collar--his signal to be let out.

I found Woody still asleep on the carpet. When I called, he was too weak to stand up. I carried him outside and he shakily took care of business. He still remembered his house training.

He would not eat. I had that sickening deep feeling this was the day. As he lay there, I gave him one last brushing.

We all cried as I explained to the kids that Woody had to go to the vet’s and might not come home. Christine, now 11, and I took him. I had to carry him to the van; the staff at the vet’s had to use a stretcher to bring him in.

The vet checked Woody--his heart was giving out. She suggested X-rays and a couple of tests. A couple of hours later came the phone call. Woody had other serious complications.

Christine went with me to say goodbye to Woody. He was asleep. We sat and petted him for I don’t remember how long. I woke him up to make sure he knew we were there. He immediately went back to sleep. I had to struggle to force my hand to autograph the form allowing the vet to put Woody to sleep. That was done right after we left.

On the drive home, the van’s engine overheated. While waiting at the gas station for a new thermostat to be installed, Christine and I walked over to a fast-food restaurant for a snack. On the way back, it started raining.

“Woody’s slobbering on us,” Christine said.