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Our dog Ernie has separation anxiety. A 2-year-old dachshund mix, he is emotionally distant in all situations except one in which he is about to be left behind.
The river came into our lawn on Saturday. We had to leave the dogs at my sister-in-law’s. During the trip across town, Ernie wailed, he yodeled, he had an asthma attack.
Continue reading “Barroo”
January is quite pleasant at the house we’ve rented since 2013, in the Florida town where we’ve wintered since 2005, which had been hurricane-free from 1950 until Ian (2022), Idalia (2023), Helene and Milton (2024).
The first week of December, the contractor said, “The upstairs is fine. Come on down.”
“What about the water heater?”, said I.
Continue reading “Going to the dogs”
2023 May 10 – Ernie Beagley Dyer graduates from the PetSmart Beginner’s course.
We had a substitute trainer for the final session. Her first words upon meeting him were, “You’re a little shit, aren’t you?”
Yes. Yes, he is. That’s why he placed fourth in a class of six.
He’s worn out from the ordeal, will probably sleep like the innocent, cradled in my arms all night.
Which is how he gets away with things.
After twenty-three years operating our elevator without mishap, our dog Ernie broke away from my grasp, poking his muzzle through the scissor gate at the worst possible moment. I hit the stop button. The car was three feet down from the middle floor landing. Ernie’s head and neck were squeezed between the gate and a concrete wall.
He cried, lost his water, strained to pull himself out. The gate was more robust than it needed to be. It took four tries to jerk it out of the track.
Ernie came away from the ordeal with a scuff on his neck. I pulled muscles in my back, neck, and hips during a last-ditch, adrenaline-fueled assault on the apparatus.
We were traumatized. Ernie trembled all night, going back and forth between us in the bed. I had to take him out at 3:30 this morning, something I haven’t had to do for two months.
Our friend and elevator mechanic Mike Zeller will install an accordion-style barrier. Until then, Ernie rides in my lap. Both my hands will be around his chest.
It’s Sunday. Linda’s at church, thanking God for a narrow escape.
Teddy was ten weeks old the day we met him at foster care. There was so much joy in his eyes when I picked him up, I knew he wanted to be mine.
I don’t remember which of us spoiled him the most as a puppy, but as an adult, he’d always sleep in our bed curled into the pocket at the back of my knees. We thought it meant he was my dog.
He was 15 ½ years old In January. We’d fought his illness as a family for fourteen months. On Thursday, the veterinarian gave us a circular entitled, ‘How to know when it’s time.’
Linda took this photo while we were deciding what to do. She made the appointment on Saturday morning and we grieved for another two days. The pain was unbearable, but I don’t regret the time we spent letting him know how much he was loved.
We held him in our arms until the very last, tears flowing, breath caught in our throats. Linda kissed his face. I told him he was safe; his daddy was there; he could finally be free of suffering. When the veterinarian confirmed his heart was still, we allowed an attendant to take him from us.
He will never be separated from us in spirit. His full name was Theodore Von Fledermaus; from t’ adore, meaning ‘I adore you’. It was a good name for a sweet, loyal friend. We loved him. He loved us. We belonged together. We will always miss his presence in our lives.
John Dyer Writes 
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