Truly a Man's Best Friend

I lost my best friend last week. He was only 16. I met him ten years ago, when his mother and I became friends. His name was Cardigan, and he lived in a big beautiful home overlooking the Pacific Ocean in the quiet, unassuming seaside town of Cardiff, California. I quickly learned that he was a very popular resident, as I would take him on walks through town or to his favorite place, Glen Park. The summer camp kids would scream his name and run to him, even surprising him with a cake at the end of camp one year- complete with his picture and a caption that read "Thanks for a great summer Cardigan." Cardiff residents would call him by name, and the employees at the local bakery were always happy to see him- where we'd frequently visit to enjoy a plain-cake donut together. Because of this popularity he was dubbed the "King of Cardiff."
His name was given at 10 weeks, when his mother opened a book on Wales, and laid her eyes on the beautiful and enchanting Bay of Cardigan. He was a Welsh Terrier, with the typical terrier disposition- very stubborn, but full of spunk, vigor, and boundless energy. He absolutely loved people- especially children. If a screen or gate was left open, he would be gone in a flash and would almost always be found at the park with a tennis ball in his mouth that he'd collected from the courts, or playing Kong with the kids. Occasionally he would escape after dark, and I would receive a frantic call from Lori asking me to help her look for him. It didn't matter the hour- we would scour the neighborhood, flashlights in hand, hoping he had found refuge on somebody's porch or that he'd eventually find his way home. Somebody would usually find him and bring him back, and he would just look up at us through his floppy ears as if to say, "That was fun, can I go again?" As the years passed, his coat would lighten and even gray in areas, but his energy and personality remained strong. He was active and feisty right up until just a few months ago, when his 15 years began to finally sink in and take their toll. We celebrated his 16th birthday in August with a cake and close friends, happy that he had made it, and hoping he'd see another. Unfortunately, that time didn't come.
Lori and I had to put him down last Monday. As you can imagine, it was extremely difficult. Her mobile vet friend came over- she had been his vet for his whole life- and Lori could not take it so she went upstairs. I held him while Sue gave him the first of 2 shots that was to put him under. I'll never forget the look of surprise in his eyes when she gave him that first shot and he felt the sting of the needle- it was as if- although he was no longer happy and had been suffering, he looked at me with a look of "What's going on?"- And it was fear. I did not tell her this- I told her he didn't feel a thing. We laid him down on his favorite blanket and when he was still I left to go upstairs with her while Sue finished on her own. My last image is of him laying flat on the blanket- sedated, in a very peaceful pose. We are having him cremated and spreading his ashes at Glen Park. Lori has been handling it better than me. I went home and put on my favorite CD for him. When a melancholy song played, I broke down. He had begun losing control of his bodily functions. Walking was becoming a challenge, and his hearing and eyesight were very poor. I became so angry afterwards as it sunk in that I truly understood how Holden Caulfield felt upon his little brother's death- and at that moment I certainly could have smashed all the windows in my car and I wouldn't have cared a bit. We had been discussing this for a few months now, but really negotiated it seriously all weekend as he was going downhill fast. Lori is lucky to have a friend like Sue that could come over, and also make all the post arrangements. She is even luckier that she had a best friend like him who loved her unconditionally for more than sixteen years.
I chose to email a few select people with the news- people who knew Cardigan and his relationship to me and of course Lori. Of all the kind words and prayers I received in the replies- one common reminder stood out. I was reminded by several people of the fact that, not only how lucky I was to have had him in my life, but of how fortunate he was to have had me in his. It brought me such joy to watch his eyes light up, his body spin in circles- tail wagging when I would ask him if he wanted to "go for a walk", or "play at the park." It was a mutual experience I'm sure. Despite the recent events and ensuing grief, I know how paramount it is to smile when I think of him- remember all the good times and the joy he brought to me, Lori and all who knew him, and lastly the joy we brought each other. It would be an insult to associate all he meant to me with sadness from his final days.