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(August 2002) Kingston lost a
gentle soul July 12, this one of the four-legged variety, as Susan
and I said goodbye to our 14½ year old German Shepherd friend and
companion, Hawkeye.
He came into our lives in January 1988 by chance it seemed. Days
earlier, our previous dog Sundown had succumbed to illness at the
all-too-young age of 9 1/2.
We were devastated; his sickness happened quickly and we were
unprepared. A few days later, Susan saw a "free puppies"
sign outside a house three doors down from us on Lake Street. On an
impulse, she stopped in and played with the puppies for a while. She
asked me to go back with her that evening – "just to
look."
I hesitated initially, thinking it too soon or somehow disloyal to
consider another dog. But I went just the same. Suddenly, a
15-pound, two-month old bundle of brown and black fur ambled across
the room, onto my lap and into my heart. And we were hooked.
We took him home and named him for the MASH TV character.
In my lifetime, I have had three dogs. During my boyhood days in
Marshfield, we had a Boxer called Ming. When Susan and I moved to
town in 1978, we had Sundown, a Lab-Shepherd mix who graced us for
nine and a half years. Then came Hawkeye. A ‘native’ Kingstonian.
Born on the same street where he would live his life.
We used to enjoy telling our lifelong Kingston friends whose
bragging rights included having lived here all their lives that our
family’s only native son was Hawkeye, who drew his first breath
here.
I’ve loved all my dogs, but Hawkeye was my favorite. Maybe in part
because of the time in our lives that we shared. Ushering in the
1990’s. Then a new century. Y2K. A career change. The birth of a
nephew, and of a great-niece and great-nephew. September 11. During
Hawkeye’s lifetime with us, we lost my father, Susan’s mother
and father, and my brother Paul. Through great moments and dark
ones, Hawkeye’s constant good cheer, unconditional love and
"am I ever glad to see you" attitude constantly lifted our
spirits.
"Bad mood" wasn’t part of Hawkeye’s vocabulary.
"Loyal," on the other hand, topped the list.
For nearly fifteen years he followed us from room to room in our
house, got continually excited about another ride in the car
(whether it was a trip to Vermont or just to the corner store),
shamelessly begged for table scraps (successfully), and lived a
pretty pampered life. He loved to swim, climb mountains, ride in our
boat, and just ‘hang out.’ He loved to have his ears and his
lower back scratched. And he loved soft-serve vanilla ice cream.
All dogs have quirks. Some of Hawkeye’s were endearing; some less
so. In the latter category, the scratches on our windowsills serve
as an ongoing memorial to his younger-years exuberance at seeing
someone or something walk or drive by our house on the street. Maybe
he thought if he scratched hard enough, he could propel himself out
the window to meet the potential playmate. In the endearing/amusing
category, he developed as a young pup a 30-plus second sound
somewhere between a howl and a bark, which we concluded was his way
of saying hello. And, the first time he showed his teeth, it caught
me offguard until I saw the wagging tail and realized he wasn’t
preparing to growl; he was smiling.
He was an exceptional swimmer who would run to the end of the dock
at our house in Vermont and jump off into five feet of water for a
swim. His belly-flops were legendary among family and neighbors. His
first swimming experiences were here in Kingston, in the waters of
Silver Lake (yes, I know that Brockton forbids it, but the statute
of limitations has probably run out). During one of those forays he
spied a group of geese swimming several hundred feet offshore. He
jumped in, swam out to them, and ‘rounded them up.’ I’m sure
he startled them beyond belief, but they went along with his game.
We finally managed to coax him ashore, with both Hawkeye and the
geese none the worse for wear.
His "sixth sense" seemed to tell him when we would return
from wherever we had gone. He usually perched himself at the window
between five and seven minutes before whoever was missing pulled
into the driveway. You could practically set a clock by it. And when
the two of us returned from an evening out, we’d open the door to
his "where have you been" howl.
Maybe it’s just my perception, but it seems that we have humanized
our dogs in the last few decades. I can’t imagine the Boxer who
was my childhood playmate ever taking a second look at cereal,
salads or fruits. Hawkeye, on the other hand, would eat almost
anything, those included.
Each morning, we followed a ritual. I would eat my bowl of cereal
and then prepare one for Hawkeye (if I gave him his at the same time
he’d gulp it down and then beg me for mine). And as I prepared to
leave for work, he would dash furiously over to his dry food and
begin eating it with a vengeance. I don’t know what prompted that.
I can assure you, however, that he should have had no fear that I
would try to share those "tasty morsels" of his.
When we traveled, we carried a cooler. He learned to open it with
his nose when he sought food, water or just to create a little
mischief. When we fastened it with a bungee cord, he would butt it
with his head until we "got the message."
He loved people. All of them. He had a few favorites, one being my
brother Richard, who has an even softer spot in his heart than us
where Hawkeye was concerned. In a large crowd at a family gathering
in Vermont, Hawkeye would always seek Richard out and park himself
there, awaiting the "table treats" that my brother would
funnel in his direction.
Hawkeye grew older stoically. The gray muzzle was followed by
increasingly frequent ‘I need to go outdoors even if it is the
middle of the night" requests. Then, in the spring of 2001,
about sixteen months ago he became seriously ill from a tumor on his
spleen. The doctors said that, given his age (he was 13 at the
time), it was likely malignant and he probably wouldn’t survive a
couple of months. Without surgery, however, he wouldn’t last two
weeks. We went forward with the surgery; and, several weeks (and
$4,000) later, he was pronounced ‘fit as a fiddle’ with the good
news that the tumor was benign. It was the right decision and a
great investment.
We got lucky that time. But it served notice that he was getting
older. He did enjoy another year of a good quality life. But this
past spring, he began to slow down. His appetite diminished and he
became sick. This time, the doctors told us that no operation could
help. The masses on his liver and elsewhere were just too extensive.
We canceled our July 4th week in Vermont and stayed in Kingston with
Hawkeye, where it was air-conditioned and we thought he’d be more
comfortable. We spoon-fed him, held him, spent time with him, and
told him we loved him maybe a few thousand times. But he got weaker
and weaker, and his time finally ran out.
When it comes to pets, we all know the score. They don’t live as
long as we wish they could and the best we can do is provide them a
good life here and hope that The Almighty takes over when their time
with us is finished. But it doesn’t make the loss easier. There
may well be another dog for us in the future. But there won’t be
another Hawkeye.
In the end, it may be enough to say that Hawkeye was an exceptional
dog and a great friend who lived a good long life, was well-loved,
and gave back even more than he received.
The people at Kingston Animal Hospital, Roberts Animal Hospital, and
the VCA Animal Hospital were all great in their care and their
concern, as were so many friends and family members.
Many people believe that when our time on earth draws to an end, we
are greeted by loved ones who have gone before us. I hope that, when
my day comes, that welcoming committee includes at least one wagging
tail, grayish muzzle, outstretched paw and familiar howl.
Till then, Hawkeye, God bless. We’ll never forget you. |
