Dustin My Little Monster

by Juliet Strauss
(Princeton, NJ)

This is an obituary for my dog. Sort of. Just had some memories to get on electrons, get some stuff out of my head.

I got Dustin My Little Monster Strauss in December 2002, he was born September 15 2002. I had met him when he was 4 weeks old, and just fell in love with his mischevious spirit. There's a picture somewhere of him pulling almost-the-bottom newspaper out of a 3-foot stack, looking over his shoulder to see who would catch him toppling everything over. That was so him.

Note to anyone bringing home a puppy; I recommend AGAINST getting a puppy in December in an area that's nicknamed "The Icebox Of Pennsylvania", especially when you're from Florida! I spent more hours freezing in snow and ice housetraining that little stinker. I first experienced -25F walking him up and down the yard, knowing he had to go and also knowing if I stopped too soon, he'd go in the house. Again. I also discovered that a training trick of hanging bells on the back door knob, so he could ring them when he had to go outside (the back door was in a hallway) backfires quickly with a bright dog. Whenever he wanted to see his owners jump, or was just plain bored, he'd ring those bells. It was every 20 minutes. Those bells only lasted about two weeks.

Obedience training went pretty well, considering he was a spaz. He really learned everything they wanted to teach him, but he wanted to play more. We worked on his manners every single day. When you have a 65-lb black dog with energy to spare, you have to! I will always be grateful to the trainer who told me, "Be in charge of this relationship, or you'll have a nightmare on four legs." Truer words were never spoken.

When he was about a year old I went to work outside my home, and found out how much trouble one puppy can cause when they're not crated. I don't know how many times I called my husband to tell him, "We're having puppy kabobs for dinner!" One memorable evening I walked in to find my dog with a half-gallon of Breyer's (vanilla) between his paws, happily feasting. He'd opened my bottom-freezer, slid out the drawer, unloaded the meat and veggies, fished out the ice cream, opened it, and was enjoying himself surrounded with about $100 of thawing food. He was crated from then on.

When he turned 2 and I was pregnant, his personality changed. Suddenly he was protective and possessive. Huh? I started working from home again, and he became my shadow. I got a dog walker, who is still a good friend, to help me exercise him and while he was very happy to see her when they got back he'd immediately check to see if I was OK. When I went to the hospital in labor he was anxious, and when Stephen came home he decided he had become an uncle. If the baby had a poopy diaper, I was notified. Immediately. If he was crying too loudly, I was told in dog-language, "Do something about that!" I would often have a furry foot-warmer when I was nursing, and Monster would sleep outside the Stephen's door at night. This is not to say he was a perfect dog. He'd try to "clean" Stephen or his poopy diapers if I didn't get them away from him fast enough. He got jealous. He got frustrated because he didn't have much of a job to do. And, for the first time, he started getting sick. We thought they were food allergies and changed some things, and saw improvement. We didn't know that this was the beginning of his Addison's Disease, and possibly his liver disease as well. He got better, then suddenly worse, then better -- just a touch quieter. We just coped.

My husband was working long, long hours in those days, and Monster would patrol the house. God help you if you knocked on the door and he didn't like you. I found out that he was a great drug dog -- he chased two guys out of the house who ended up being drug users, they were day laborers that a contractor had picked up to help out on our job. Seriously! He was a big mush for people he liked, but if you had the wrong vibe he didn't let you get past the door.

When he was 5 we moved to New Jersey, and he loved it here. Lots of other dogs in the neighborhood to play with, lots of kids, lots of interesting smells and things to chase. He decided that the "pocket playground" across the street from our house was his kingdom, and while he was out there holding court he would accept all the fuss and petting that the neighborhood kids would hand out. Oddly enough, he also decided that teenaged boys on skateboards were the enemy. Summer before last there was a group of boys that liked to chase the little kids off so they could sit in the equipment and smoke, and Monster was having none of that. He barked and snarled and lunged and generally behaved like a lunatic dog that was going to eat one of them, and the boys found another place to smoke. He was the neighborhood hero after that.

Monster loved Sammy, and did the same protective stuff he did for Stephen. He was just quieter about it. He didn't seem to get as perturbed about the crying and poop, and slept through some monumental fits and drama. I thought he was just a seasoned uncle. Apparently his disease was progressing, and he was exhausted.

Six months ago one of my neighbors, whose older children play with Stephen, had a baby girl. Monster worshipped this baby. He would smell her on the way back from his walk, find her being held by a parent, and lay at her feet. She would giggle and run her toes through his fur, and Monster loved it. Her parents just laughed. Fortunately they're good enough friends to know that our dog was a character, but harmless. Monster did less sitting and more lying down, and moved stiffly. I took him to the vet.

He was diagnosed with a trifecta -- Addison's Disease, a misfiring of the adrenal glands; progressive liver disease; and bladder stones. He was put on a handful of pills and we took him back every two to three weeks for monitoring. He got better, he got worse, he got quieter. He was very gentle with all the children, still barked at boys with skateboards, but only glared at rabbits in the garden and took longer naps.

Three weeks ago we had the bladder stones taken out, since there were 4 and they were growing. We were told that his liver didn't look good, and he might only have a couple good years left. (Standard Poodles generally live to be 12 or 14.) We hunkered down, got him on a new routine of drugs and exercise, and he was OK for a week -- then started going downhill again.

Sparing you from the details, Monster died in the hospital Tuesday from multiple pulmonary embolisms. He was going through something called DIC, when your organs shut down. He died on his seventh birthday. He was a merry, mischevious spirit, a faithful friend, a social butterfly and a ferocious protector. And I will love him and remember him always.