My Ray

Yesterday I put my 17 year old poodle down, one of the most devastating experiences to date. As dog owners know, they aren’t just pets, they are our family, our confidantes, our biggest fans who never ever judge or talk behind our backs.

Ray or “ The Ray” as I used to call him, (a nod to Ivana Trump when she would refer to “ The Donald”) was born in Oshawa Ontario. When I convinced my future husband that I couldn’t live another moment without a poodle named Ray, I made the trek to Oshawa with a car full of girlfriends and picked him up.

He was one of 3 copper red poodles and I gravitated to him because he was quiet and shy. In fact for the first day or two he didn’t make a peep. I was concerned that he didn’t have any vocal cords-- until the third day when he barked and he didn’t stop barking for the next 17 years. He barked if someone dropped a pin 6 miles away, he barked at every real and imaginary person walking past the house, he went ballistic if someone came to the door and would only let up after a 10 minute greeting of jumping and licking.

And the jumping, oh my the jumping. Every one who knew Ray was astounded at how high and long he could jump. He could jump and tap me on the shoulder if he wanted my attention. In later years, or up to a week ago, he would jump and push me in the ass when he wanted a snack. He was legendary for his relentless Baryshnikov jumps.

I should have known something was up when we tried the crate training. I was told that they loved to be in their crates and would never pee or poo in the crate that they loved so dearly. The first day in the crate, he managed to bounce it across the room, rip the blanket inside into shreds and shit all over his new safe home.
This was repeated daily until I caved and realized this was one dog who was not going to surrender to the crate.

The first time I let him off leash in a dog park, he became overwhelmed by a Newfoundland dog and bolted out of the park, running along a busy Toronto street. Six dogs chased after him and seven adults after that.

It was like an episode of Keystone Cops. I was panicking because he was still a puppy and would have no idea where to go. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.As I ran towards our house, I stopped in my tracks and burst out laughing as I saw 7 dogs all squeezed onto my postage stamp front yard with Ray perched at the doorstep.

Ray, or Prince Matchibelli as he also answered to, was a resistant dog. More human in nature really. If you threw a ball, he would look at you like you were insane. If he did decide to go get it, he wouldn’t give it back, putting an end to the game once and for all.

He stalked food like a professional detective. It wasn’t just that he stole food when you weren’t looking. He strategized. He knew where food was in relation to humans at all times. I can’t tell you how many times I have entertained guests where we have left hor d’eourves unattended for mere moments to come back and find Ray horking back a pound of aged cheddar in less than a minute.

He behaved as though he was being starved to death. Christmas was an especially momentous time for Ray. He ate two Advent calendars one year and routinely opened presents under the tree late at night to search for chocolate, tossing useless items like slippers or clothes across the room. I’ve caught him literally opening the fridge with his paw to help himself.

I used to take him to work with me and I remember hearing uproarious laughter coming from a meeting in the room across the hall as Ray sauntered out of the meeting room with a bagel in his mouth.

If you said “ Ray come here” he would look at you with his perfected deadpan and turn and go in the opposite direction.My friend coined it best when she said, “ He looks at you like he’s saying,” Jesus!”

His sense of drama kicked into high-gear when left unattended in a car for more than 10 seconds. I once ran into a grocery store to pick up 3 items leaving Ray and our other less complicated poodle Gus in the car with the window open enough for air but not enough for him to jump out and follow me into the store.

I had been in the store no more than 5 minutes when an announcement came over the loud speaker asking the owner of a green Hyundai with my license plate to report to the front of the store immediately. I was met by a store employee and an angry mob who were threatening to call the Humane Society as there was a traumatized dog in my car who was behaving like he had been abandoned for weeks without food or water.

Of course no explanation could pacify them and they didn’t seem to notice that there was a second dog sitting peacefully in the seat beside Dr. Hysteria. I had to leave my shopping basket and exit with my head hung low as a man shouted, “ How could you be so cruel?”

When I was a couple weeks away from giving birth, I would put Ray in the cradle in my room for practice. When I went to sleep, he would curl into the small of my back.

Ray was there when we brought our new baby Jack home from the hospital. I put the baby on my lap as Ray paced in front finally jumping on the couch to smell him. He shook and cried and they weren’t tears of joy. I’m not sure he ever forgave me for bringing Jack home.

Though if anyone came to visit the baby he would run to the top of the stairs and stand guard in front of the his room. He would also sit patiently when Jack would pull on the hair on his lip or pet him by banging a spoon over his head.

Ray was there when my marriage ended and he was there when I lost both of my parents to cancer. My father used to make him hamburgers when we would visit and they had a standing ceremony when we left of doing shake a paw over and over while my Dad would say, “ Nice to see you Ray.” Shake a paw was his one trick and he would repeat it for hours if you let him.

If I cried, Ray would get upset. If I was happy, Ray was happy and if I was indifferent, Ray did that pretty well too. When we added Gus to the family ( a poodle rescued from a puppy mill) they quickly became inseparable. Gus was the Jack Klugman to Ray’s Tony Randall. I honestly thought I caught Ray giving me a “ You’ve got to be kidding me” look when Gus would do something particularly uncouth.

My friend and I created a high pitched voice to go with Ray’s personality and would entertain ourselves by reciting a litany of Ray’s complaints and observations.

A few weeks ago, Ray started to slow down. He had slowed down considerably in the past year due to his age but now he was tentative in his steps. That turned into occasional falls and sensitivity to light. He didn’t enjoy walks anymore.Back in the day, I would hold the leash over my head and let him run in circles as we walked down the street. Now he was always dragging behind.

This week, Ray was buckling under his legs and by yesterday he couldn’t stand at all. I called my vet who came to the house to take a look. In typical Ray fashion, when the vet arrived, he miraculously started strolling around the living room even managing a quick jump and push on my leg. I was astounded. This was the same dog that I had to hold up to go pee in the yard a few hours ago.

We had a bit of a laugh over his sudden recovery but it was short lived. Within minutes of the examination he started to fall over and the vet confirmed that there were neurological problems, his eyesight wasn’t working and he had some very serious issues that were beyond repair. I couldn’t bear to watch him struggle through another night and knew that the day I had been dreading, the day all pet owners dread, was here and now.

My vet gave me time to take let my son say good-bye to him and for me to gather the strength to go through with it. I held him in my arms as the vet gave him his injection and told him what a great dog he was and how much we love him as he slipped away. It was just me and him, just how it began 17 years ago.

The world feels empty today. Gus is pacing the house aimlessly looking for his pal. I am weepy and deflated. I can still smell him in the house. The hardest part was cleaning his dog bowl and putting it away.Jack told me he believed that his Grandpa greeted Ray with a big juicy hamburger on the other side and Ray was nimble and jumping just like the old days.

I know this is the price we pay for the pleasure of having our pets but I wouldn’t trade a minute of my time with Ray. Well maybe a few involving the digestive aftermaths of a few of his cheese and chocolate raids but that’s it.

I love you Ray, I always will. You truly have been a gal’s best friend.