A Eulogy for Izzy

Where do I start for a dog that changed my life? We crossed paths when we needed each other most. I had gotten divorce a year earlier and had put down my Cocker Spaniel Murfi who I had for 15 years. She died of cancer. I had started dating again, but still felt so alone. So I went down to Mingle with the Mutts in downtown Columbus. It’s an event for rescue dogs. I had barely walked into the event when this beautiful girl with piercing grey eyes caught my attention. Her name was Isadora. Izzy, for short. She had had a rough childhood. She was 7 months old. I was sure this was the dog for me. I made arrangements for her to visit my house and play in the fenced in yard. She loved it. We did the paperwork and she was mine.

The first day that I had to go to work after getting her I thought it’d be ok to enclose Izzy in the master bathroom with puppy pads and the door closed. Boy… was I mistaken. When I came home she had clawed the door open, entered the bedroom (where I luckily had closed the door), and proceeded to tear down the blinds and rip up the carpet. Not to mention relieving herself in several places. Oops… I goofed. Thus began the crate training.

She loved the big house. I had a dog door from the years with Murfi. She would go out anytime to the fenced in yard and sit up on the patio in the evening. This is something she would continue to do through the rest of her life. She loved to watch nature and feel the cool air on her face. She also liked the peace and quiet. She didn’t like a lot of noise.

As I became serious with Jane, a woman I was dating, it became the 3 of us. I also had a cat named Tuesday, but she spent a lot of time outside (she was put down a few years later). We’d go on walks, have barbecues with Jane’s kids, watch TV… and Izzy was always there. She loved people. She especially loved children. She was so delicate with them and showed concern when a baby was crying.

When Izzy was 7 years old, we moved to a new Condo. Izzy had never been without her dog door. She was confused. The first night she had an accident right in the middle of the Great room. Thus began the ritual of more walks and letting her out on a tether. She never had another accident in the house until she got much older. She was a fast learner.

Izzy was good with other animals and especially our cats. We’ve had 5 cats in the time Izzy was alive, and she was gentle with all of them. Some of them didn’t like her much, but Maya (our current cat along with Mia) loved her. She thought Izzy was her mother and they constantly were found sitting side by side.

Izzy went everywhere we went. To Sandusky and Cedar Point (she hated staying in the Kennel up there why we played). She loved Hocking Hills (until her legs got bad). She would NEVER lie down in the car (until the day she died — more later). She always sat upright looking out the window, even on a 3 hour trip! Every year she took the Anniversary walk that Jane and I took every year on January 1st to celebrate our first date at Highbanks Metro Park. She loved walking. She loved nature. She loved sniffing. And occasionally she would grab something so quickly and eat it, I had no idea what she had just swallowed. Well… except the one time she barfed up a dead baby bird in the house. Yuck!

As the years went on, Izzy started having some health issues. She tore her ACL on her right back leg and had to have reconstructive surgery. The recovery was hard and thus began our years of being her caregiver and spending more time fulfilling her needs. Later they found a tumor on her spleen, which turned out cancerous, and so she had to have that removed. A long scar on her belly. Her back left leg started to have arthritis and was becoming increasingly unusable. At any one of those some people might have decided to put Izzy down. But she was a trooper and part of our family. We did what we felt was right.

As the Coronavirus pandemic hit it started a whole new way of life and schedule with Izzy. She loved having us home all the time. Every morning at 7:20am she would paw the bed and get me up. We’d go downstairs, I’d let her out and then she’d come in and eat her breakfast. I’d go up and shower and she’d poke her nose through the crack in the bathroom door, reminding me that it was time to take our walk afterwards. Ah… the walks. We live next to a big park with a walking path. Just about a mile around. This 16 year old dog loved to do that twice a day. She was strong and would pull me along as she explored the same tree she had already explored the previous day. This was our thing. For 2 years we stuck to this schedule, whether it was humid out or there was a foot of snow. Izzy managed it all, even with her gimpy leg.

But Izzy was getting some dementia. She would pace at night. Nervous. It made me nervous too. She would ask to go out multiple times. She would sit right on the edge of the patio and watch the wildlife and feel the cool breeze. Like I said, that was her thing. That’s what calmed her down and then she could come back in the house and take a nap.

Izzy had also become deaf. It broke my heart that she couldn’t hear my voice anymore, but it did work to our advantage when opening bags of chips, etc. Speaking of which, Izzy LOVED crunchy things. She would eat tortilla chips when we had Mexican. She would eat Nori (seaweed) when he had Japanese. Jane and I would crack up at the crunching sound the Nori made in her mouth. What dog eats seaweed? I didn’t even have to hide her pills. I just put them in her dry food and she would gobble them up.

Then came the fateful day. It was Martin Luther King Day. I had the day off. It was cold, windy and snowy. But 3:45p rolled around and Izzy wanted her walk. It was just another walk out of the thousands we had taken over at the park. We set out, unaware of what was about to happen. As we turned the corner to enter the park from our neighborhood I saw another individual with a dog. I quickly realized that dog was not on a leash. A violation of the city ordinances. I should have done something, but instead I watch the dog run across the parking lot, come sniff Izzy, and immediate chomp down on her backside. I screamed! It took me a moment to realize what was happening. I started to tear them apart. The owner of the other dog was still running over. I don’t remember if I got them apart or he did, because the next thing I saw was blood in the snow. Izzy’s blood. I panicked. I yelled FUCK at the guy. It didn’t register to me who he was. I ran home with Izzy and called Jane to get the car started. We were gonna run to the vet.

When we got to the vet they discovered multiple puncture wounds. They shaved those areas, clean out the wounds, gave her a pain injection, and sent us home with antibiotics. She was so miserable. When we got her home, it was becoming apparent that she couldn’t walk. Her hind legs kept giving out and she couldn’t get back up, especially on the laminate floor. She was so frustrated and we were so scared. We took her up to bed, without eating (she wouldn’t) and without peeing (she couldn’t). At first I thought I’d try her crate. She didn’t want that. So I locked her in the bedroom with me. She cried and cried. She just lay in a lump on the floor. So I opened the door and put the gate across the stairs. Again… she just whimpered all night long. I think we got 1 or 2 hours of sleep. Early the next morning I found her out in the hallway. Jane had slid her bed under her at some point during the night, but she had wet herself and couldn’t move. She remained there, while I call the vet.

It was 7:00a. The vet clinic had just opened. I called in a panic. I told them Izzy couldn’t move. They said I could come in and see someone around 11:00a. I asked if they could PLEASE call Dr. Harris. He knew me. He had put all my other animals to sleep and had taken care of Izzy since she was a pup. In about 15 minutes I got a call back from Dr. Harris. He could sense my panic. He said bring her in at 10:00a and he would look at her personally. I was relieved. For the next couple of hours I sat with Izzy. I looked into her eyes. Oh, those eyes! The ones I fell in love with the first time I saw her. They had faded over the years and were getting cloudy, but she looked up at me and let me know what the right thing to do was. I guess I didn’t communicate this well enough to Jane, but I knew Izzy’s trip was going to be a one way trip, unless Dr. Harris had some miraculous news.

We travelled to the vet. I picked Izzy up, carried her downstairs to the car. Jane drove. Izzy rested her chin on my lap the whole ride there. She had NEVER lied down in the car, as I had mentioned before. This was the first time. She close her eyes and just rested against my legs. I was in tears. I knew what was coming.

Dr. Harris confirmed my worst fears after taking x-rays. One of the bones in her spine had been fractured and was causing swelling against her spine. No wonder she couldn’t walk. This was it. Decision time. I asked Dr. Harris if this was his dog what would he do? Most vets wouldn’t ever answer that question. But Dr. Harris knew me, he knew Izzy. I’d been having health issues and I wasn’t sure we’d be able to give Izzy the kind of care she required. We all agreed that it was time to let Izzy go. Jane was so sure we were gonna be taking her back home, and she broke down. We all broke down. This was it. Poor sweet Izzy had been injured by another dog, forcing our decision. Something I had prayed would never happen. In fact, as she got older, I continually prayed she would pass in her sleep so I wouldn’t have to make this decision. But a brutal ending like this? I never would have imagined.

Dr. Harris and the nurses took Izzy away and brought her back somewhat sedated and lay her on some blanket on the floor, with an I.V. sticking out of her. She wasn’t very responsive, but we hoped she could see us. I knew she couldn’t hear us. We all sat on the floor for 10 minutes while we said our goodbyes to this sweet girl. I told her she didn’t deserve this. Jane told her she loved her. Dr. Harris then came back and gave the lethal injection. Those beautiful eyes I fell in love with as a puppy began to dim and her breathing stopped. She was gone. Jane and I both wailed. Dr. Harris told us to take as much time as we needed and he left us alone with the dog that was once lively, energetic, and full of personality. Now that was all gone. Jane said her goodbyes and went out to the car. I spent another 10 minutes remembering everything good I could about Izzy. The day we met, the trust she showed me, the crunching of the chips. Everything. I stroked her beautiful fur coat and imprinted that feeling into my memory. I kissed her forehead and told her she was the best dog ever. I walked out of the room bawling and headed to the car where Jane and I both consoled each other. Izzy wasn’t going home.

We have so many mixed feelings. Anger, sadness, confusion, and guilt. Why did someone else’s irresponsibility make me feel guilty? That dog trusted me to protect her. And I had failed. What if I had gone for the walk 5 minutes later? What it I had jumped between her and the other dog? What if we didn’t put her to sleep and we did what was necessary to keep her alive. I’m angry that we were put into this situation. Izzy did not deserve to have her life end in pain. She was the most gentle and sweet thing. She must have been so confused. She must have wondered what was going on. She must have been so scared. Fuck! We miss her so much. She is everywhere in this house. The cats are depressed. They wonder when she’s coming come. God! I want her back home! I’d give anything for 5 more minutes with my sweet darling. One more look into those eyes that stared into our souls. How are we going to move on without her?

Some people are saying I should sue the owner of the other dog. That I should hire a lawyer. That I should let hate rule my feelings. But I’ve chosen not to live that way. I did file a police report. The person, who later I realized was one of our neighbors, was served a citation and the case was referred to animal control. I did my part. Hopefully they follow through.

Izzy, you will be missed. We grieve your loss. We are so sorry you had to suffer. You were a member of this family, and it will never be the same without you. It was so hard to let you go. I’m still questioning whether we did the right thing. What if we had another year with you? What if. But we had 16 wonderful years. Full of laughing, belly rubbing, chip crunching, and many many walks. I’m sorry that the final one was the end. Oh… my poor sweet Izzy. You are forever in our hearts. We loved you.