|
Sumo was advertised as having a "heart of gold." He came to us at one
year of age after spending most of the previous twelve months in a
crate. Disappointed that Sumo had not shown potential for "personal
protection" work, his previous owner placed him with us. Josh wasn't
sure that Sumo would get in the car with us, but that big dog knew
opportunity when he saw it and jumped right in like he'd been doing it
all his life. "Sumo has a family now" they said.
A few weeks later we were out for a drive, and stopped in to show his
former owner how well Sumo was doing as a family dog. Josh called him
and instead of responding, Sumo averted his eyes and heeled at my side
instead. For the duration of the visit Sumo refused all of Josh's
commands, and avoided eye contact. When we left our dog was visibly
relieved to get back in "his" car. As we drove away I said to my husband
"Do you realize this dog is actually smart enough to tell a lie? He knew
perfectly well who Josh was, but he pretended not to." When he heeled to
me instead of Josh, he was very clearly saying "this is my master now,
not you."
Sumo loved being able to drink as much water as he wanted. As a crated
dog, he was limited in his fluid intake, but in his new home he could
drink as much as he liked. For a year he regarded water as a "treat" and
looked at me with such gratitude every time I filled his dish. For the
first few months he would hold my hand in his mouth whenever I took him
out for his walk. One day I heard a small child call out to his father
"Daddy look!!! A WOLF has that lady!!!"
Sumo enjoyed the company of the "dog walkers" in Tarrywile Park. He fell
in love frequently, but was inclined to be a serial monogamist if his
lady friend showed up with any regularity. Blonde labs especially tended
to catch his eye. Randy, sometimes known as the slut puppy of Tarrwile
Park, would brush all of her other suitors aside when Sumo showed up.
They were like Lady and the Tramp together, except of course that she
had been spayed. Randy moved and another lab who looked just like her
started showing up at the park. Abbie came from the same breeder, and
was a dead ringer for Randy, but definitely more of a lady. Sumo was
smitten immediately, and the feeling was reciprocated. When Randy and
Abbie one day showed up at the same time, Sumo looked from one to the
other with the most bewildered expression I've ever seen on a dog.
Finally he walked over to Randy and greeted her cordially but then very
pointedly stood next to Abbie. For the remainder of the visit Sumo
deliberately avoided looking at poor Randy and focused completely on
Abbie.
Many of you will remember the long horrible bout of Lyme that Sumo
suffered through at age six. He lost forty pounds and was given up for
dead, but showed enormous spirit as he struggled to recover. In some
mysterious way, his spirit was healed, even though he was left impaired.
His relationship with us changed markedly after we nursed him back to
health. Sumo had endured a very strict home when he was a puppy. He
could not be persuaded to even use a dog bed when he came to us, and he
certainly never begged for treats or got up on the furniture, even if
invited. But after he recovered, one night he walked in to the living
room, looked at me with complete confidence and got up on the couch. He
settled in as if he'd been sitting there all his life. With great
dignity I could sense that he finally knew that he belonged, that we
loved him and he was part of our family.
In the end, he got to retire to the country. We moved last year to a
stone house next to a state park. Sumo wasn't in good health when we
came to our new home, and I didn't expect him to make it through the
first winter, but he lived with us here for fourteen months. He never
got as far as the park, but he liked to bark at the deer, turkeys and
coyotes who were our new neighbors, and to sit out with us under the
stars at night. Strangely enough, we never made a fire, but every night
Sumo would stretch out in front of the hearth to sleep.
Two weeks ago, his legs finally gave out. I couldn't lift him, so he was
confined to a carpet in the dining room. Even at 11 1/2 years of age,
and completely immobile, he still tried to wait for his Dad to come home
after work to take him out. Years ago when we fought the Lyme I asked
him if he wanted to fight or let go, and I got a very strong sense that
he wanted to live. He fought like a champ, but this time we knew it was
the end. Unfortunately his heart was still strong, even though there was
no chance of recovery, so we made the difficult choice to end his life.
Had he been in the wild, he would have been dead after a few days of
immobility.
We were with Sumo in his final moments. I held his head and spoke to him
as the vet administered a sedative. He fell quietly asleep. I continued
speaking to him, telling him what a good dog he had been, and how he had
a family forever. Finally I said "your work is done." As soon as I said
this, he died in my arms. My mind was immediately filled with a picture
of him in a bright meadow, surrounded by a loving presence, and greeted
by new friends. He seemed full of new life, and his spirit was restored.
It was a very vivid image, and deeply comforting. Sumo had indeed
crossed the rainbow bridge. We will see him again someday.
The vet seemed surprised that we intended to take his body. But we had
already made a place for him on the hill behind my office. In the fall
Joe had debated whether or not he should dig a hole "just in case"
before the ground froze. He decided against it and told the dog "you'll
just have to stick around until the ground is soft again." The day
Sumo's hind quarters gave out, was the first of an unprecedented
February thaw which left the ground soft enough to dig easily, something
I can never recall happening before.
The night before Sumo died, our friend Marcyce came over to say good
bye. We all sat on the floor with Sumo, and he shared in the brie and
crackers. He had all manner of treats last weekend, including 24
handmade, excessively expensive dog cookies. For some reason he stopped
at 23, and just didn't want the last biscuit. When we laid him to rest
his dad slipped that last cookie under his paw.
Chapman's Big Dog
Sumo
June 21, 1993 - February 14, 2005
This Was A Dog
Who Was Well
And Truly Loved
|
