The Widows’ Dog

Days before my husband’s death, he voiced the most beautiful sentiments.  He rushed his emotionally charged words, as if they had an immediate expiration date, or perhaps to keep pace with the speed we traveled to his last medical appointment.  Whatever the reason, I was equally shocked by the timing of his intimacy and touched by my husband’s concluding words, “I would not have changed a thing.”  I was behind the wheel and unable to thoughtfully respond.  Maybe he didn’t expect a response, but in that deeply intense moment, I longed to veer off the highway and hold onto him like never before; instead, I responded with a promise, “I’ll build your legacy.”  My promise proved unnecessary, not for lack of sincerity, but for reasons I didn’t understand until seven years later, after releasing Ezzie.

Twenty years earlier, my father once asked if I fell in love with Nick before falling in love with my husband.  My answer, “I fell in love with them simultaneously.”  Nick was my husband’s loyal and quirky five-year old black Labrador Retriever.  Getting to know Steven meant getting to know Nick, as they were an inseparable pair. 

Steven and I often walked Nick along the Chattahoochee River trail, periodically tossing sticks in the flowing water for Nick to instinctively retrieve.  Those walks were an introduction to partnering with my husband.  We had a shared love and a shared responsibility.  And to my dad, that’s how I should have explained why I fell in love with them both.

Harry’s arrival in 1998 proved an adjustment period for Nick.  His loyalty never waivered despite the realization he was usurped by an eight-pound infant.  By the time Grace was born, Nick’s tolerance for children had increased as the white hairs under his chin multiplied and his energy level decreased. 

Nick was ten when we moved to Utah in 2002.  Arthritic but always up for an adventure, he enjoyed boating and hiking for another few years.  By age twelve, neighborhood walks sufficed.  Kids rolling or hanging onto him were as commonplace as the special wag of his tail reserved just for Steven.    

When Nick was almost fifteen, we learned he had cancer, and according to his vet, it was most likely quite advanced.  We let Nick go on August 14, 2006. 

Unbeknownst to us at the time, three days later a male black Lab puppy was born in Atlanta who would serendipitously find his way to Utah and into our hearts forever. 

Steven had a prearranged trip to Atlanta for a golf tournament when the Labrador Retriever puppies were six weeks old.  The kids and I eagerly awaited Steven’s call, as the breeder was his first stop after landing.  Steven looked at three puppies, two yellow females and one black male.  He described their personalities but added, “the black male is really cute.”  We synchronously yelled, “the black male!”  When the puppies were eight weeks old, we again had a prearranged trip but this time our friend Susan in Atlanta was visiting us in Utah.  When Susan agreed to bring the puppy with her, I knew he was meant for our family, but I never considered why. 

Naming a new addition to a family must be one of life’s purest joys.  Top on the list of potential puppy names included Bettis, after Pittsburgh Steelers’ star running back, Jerome Bettis.  Much to our surprise, Steven (the diehard Steelers fan) suggested Augie since the puppy was born in August and Nick died in August.  We named him Augie.

Augie arrived three months before Steven’s cancer diagnosis.  I’m certain God graced us with a second incredible black male Labrador Retriever as He knew Augie would comfort each of us during my husband’s illness and subsequent death.

Like Nick, who moved from Atlanta to Utah at ten years old, Augie moved with Harry, Grace, and me from Utah to Chicago at the same age.  And like Nick, we had nearly five more years with Augie after our move until we discovered he too had cancer.  We let him go on February 2, 2021. 

Covid-19 allowed us to spend precious time with Augie in his final years.  Augie had been the stabilizing factor through tremendous upheaval; once he was gone, life again felt untethered.  I concluded that continuing my late husband’s legacy of a male black Lab as beloved pet would heal our wounds and make our family whole.  Despite living in a townhome without a fenced yard and with limited control over applications of chemicals on the grounds, I assured myself that the nearby dog park would provide ample space for a big dog to run and meet canine companions.  My work schedule wouldn’t be a problem either, given various options for doggy daycare.  I had it all figured out and thus hatched an action plan.  I needed to find a black male Lab puppy the summer of 2021 while both Harry and Grace were home and able to help with training.  They were mostly on board, but Harry expressed reservations about my self-described foolproof plan: “Mom, what about places he can run?  Why not adopt an older dog that doesn’t need training or so much exercise?”  I dismissed Harry’s cautions.  After all, Steven’s black male Lab legacy was at stake.  Each in our own way, we held onto parts of our old life that we were determined to recreate.   

After several internet searches and phone calls, I located a breeder named Kim in Tennessee whose Labrador Retriever puppies would be available for their forever homes in July of 2021. 

Kim and I corresponded regularly, and when the litter of pups arrived, I was thrilled to learn at least two black males were available.

When the puppies were five weeks old, Grace and I traveled to Tennessee for a meet-and-greet.  We had ample time to play, stroke their soft puppy fur, and sniff their delicious puppy smell.  Of the two black males, Grace fell in love with the one who fell asleep in her lap, and I fell in love with the one who kissed my cheek.  But as Grace said on the way home, “you can’t go wrong with any of them!”        

Excited anticipation best described the household vibe – which puppy would be ours?

Conversations with Kim were never short.  She shared funny stories about the puppies’ latest antics and listened to my stories of our two beloved black male Labs.  She understood the importance of continuing my late husband’s legacy.

I also worried about being alone.  Fall of 2021 would mark my first real period of empty-nesting.  Harry would finish college courses on-line, graduate, and move back West.  Grace secured an apartment for her sophomore year of college, and in the event classes were taught remotely, she could participate from her apartment rather than home.  The puppy became my solution for companionship.

When the puppies were seven weeks, Kim decided the one who licked my face would be ours.  

Harry, Grace, and I discussed names with my one caveat: his name be a Biblical one.  Reluctantly, they agreed.  Finding a Biblical name we agreed upon was an entirely different ballgame.  I proposed every Old and New Testament name I could think of…Moses, Davey (for David), Joey (for Joseph), but each was met with disdain.  Grace thought of Z after Zion National Park, but her enthusiasm waned when I explained the Biblical significance.  I mentioned Ezra, an Old Testament priest and scribe.  Harry declared, “we could call him Ezzie.” Grace liked the name.  Again, we participated in naming a family dog.  I experienced another shared love and shared responsibility, but rather than with Steven, this time with Harry and Grace.  Our shared love: Ezzie!

Ezzie proved easy to house train, especially with the attention of three mindful adults.  Although, leash-walking was my greatest challenge.  As he grew bigger and stronger, his pulling became more problematic. 

While Ezzie pulled at his leash, his cuteness pulled at my heartstrings.  Watching Ezzie slide down stairs or tumble over himself if he ran too fast unweighted my heavy spirits.  He brought joy and laughter to the household.  “Chew time” became a cherished activity.  Given a bully stick, Ezzie plopped in my lap and chewed relentlessly until the bully stick was reduced to a choking hazard. 

As he neared his final round of shots, I looked forward to not only beginning a puppy obedience program, but also to doggy daycare and mornings at the dog park. 

Sometime between three and four months of age, rather than falling into place, everything seemed to start falling apart.  The fallout began with minor issues at doggy daycare: puppy bites and a bout of stomach upset.  Each time I brought a matter to the owner’s attention, the issue was resolved, but doubts over his care lingered. 

At puppy obedience school, Ezzie proved to be an average student, or maybe I was his below- average handler.  Either way, his mastery of basic commands improved, but problematic leash-walking continued. 

At an appointment, his vet noted only one descended testicle.  She strongly advised neutering him at six months old if his other testicle hadn’t dropped by then. 

In early December, at five months of age and 65 lbs. in weight, my plan unraveled to the end of its line.

He awoke one morning with a goopy eye, runny nose, and abnormal nasal sounds.  His stool continued to be loose despite dietary modifications.  Ezzie and I, along with a fecal sample, drove to his vet.  This time, she recommended using an outside lab because his previous samples were normal.  His other diagnoses: conjunctivitis, double ear infections, and phase one of kennel cough.  She injected antibiotics and prescribed eye and ear drops.  My sick puppy and I drove home to an empty house. 

The next morning, his vet called to report Ezzie had Giardia.  “I’ve heard of Giardia, but what is it?” I asked.  “Giardia is a parasite found in contaminated water, soil, or infected feces; it causes digestive issues”, explained his vet.  Ezzie and I headed to her office for medication to treat Giardia and for assistance administering eye and ear drops.  She inserted antibiotic ear plugs to eliminate at least one medication I struggled to give (since Ezzie ran as soon as I approached with the dreaded bottles).  Ezzie reacted adversely to the Giardia medication prompting more phone calls to his vet.  “If he could get at least six doses, I think the Giardia will clear,” she said.  But after realizing the Giardia medication was sprinkled on his food, Ezzie stopped eating.  I brought him back the next day for a recheck and for specialty canned food he would actually eat, despite it being laced with medicine.    

Slowly, he recovered.  Doggy daycare was no longer an option, and since the dog park may have been another source, it was out too.  I hired a dog walker for the days I worked.  But the looming decision, to neuter him in two weeks, was hanging over my head like a heavy weight about to drop and crush me in its fall.   

Kim and I communicated regularly during Ezzie’s illness.  She knew I was overwhelmed; she offered suggestions and encouragement.

I could no longer deny my exhaustion.  I had taken a week off work to care for Ezzie, rather than my bursitis-ridden shoulder which developed from repeated leash-tugging.  I awoke often that week to let Ezzie outside at night.  Standing in the dark one windy evening as leaves swirled in our driveway, I recognized that while my external life had calmed, the dust of my inner world still swirled like the leaves in my driveway.  Ezzie’s illness triggered fears of inadequacy, sickness, being alone, and finally, the inability to provide the home I intended.  The dust from my husband’s death had not settled. 

Grace returned home for the holiday break a week later.  She offered help with Ezzie’s recovery from a more invasive neuter procedure scheduled for December 29^th, but Grace didn’t know Kim and I had been discussing Ezzie’s surrender.  Her friend, Joan, could foster him.  Kim reminded me that I met Joan during the meet-and-greet, but I didn’t remember; my mind was focused on the colossal mess I created and the sweet puppy hurt by my plan.   

When I told Grace, she erupted with an emotional outburst of epic proportion.  Through tears of rage and sadness she screamed, “but we love him and ARE caring for him!”.  Disappointing Grace felt like walls caving in without a way out that would satisfy her.  I knew she loved Ezzie, but she didn’t know my exhaustion.  Breaking her heart broke mine.  All of a sudden, the void Ezzie filled overflowed with sadness.    

Grace demanded to know where Ezzie would go after the foster home.  I didn’t have an answer.  She was right – we needed to know before releasing him.

Kim agreed to let me talk with Joan.  Kim had already told me a bit about her.  Joan lived on ten acres near Kim and had two older yellow female Labs.  Her daughters lived nearby and owned Labs.  I also knew Joan recently lost her husband.  She, too, was a widow.

With a heavy heart, I called Joan.  Within minutes, we converted the phone call to FaceTime so she could take me on a virtual tour of her property and I could introduce her to Ezzie.  The second I saw her face, I remembered her from the meet-and-greet; a seemingly random connection was about to carry forward in unexpected ways. 

Joan asked questions about Ezzie’s recovery.  We talked about her dogs, and I briefly expressed my condolences over the loss of her husband.  We didn’t talk much that day about our shared journey — widowhood — but I sensed a mutual understanding. 

As Ezzie’s health improved, Grace dissuaded me from releasing him.  I prayed to God one night for His guidance.  On a walk the next morning, Ezzie and I faced obstacle upon obstacle, beginning with fresh goose droppings that I knew may have been the source of him contracting Giardia.  We changed direction only to be met by two dogs, one of whom lunged at Ezzie.  We changed directions again, and a coyote stared us down in the distance.  In that moment, it felt like God revealed to me that my world was too small for this wonderful dog.  He deserved a life free of pesticides, excess excrement, fertilizer, garbage, and coyotes.  We offered him love, but it wasn’t enough.  The final straw:  I couldn’t bring myself to neuter him the following week.  I didn’t believe his immune system would be ready, and I was concerned the procedure would be highly invasive from which his recovery might be prolonged.  My decision was made.

Harry arrived home for Christmas as the drama was unfolding.  He unleashed words with the sting of anger, “I told you so, mom!”  Harry knew my plan was riddled with potential problems, but I refused to recognize what he saw all along.  I had deeply disappointed my young adult children.  They had already lost so much, and now they faced another loss that wouldn’t have happened had I not tried to recapture an era that had long since expired.

Conversations with Joan increased, mostly about the logistics of getting Ezzie to her.  But occasionally we talked about her life in Tennessee and the difficult navigation after losing your husband.

Once after speaking with her, I googled her late husband’s name and found his obituary.  The sentence, “he is survived by his most loyal companions, his two yellow Labs…” caught my attention.  More and more, I wanted Joan’s home to be Ezzie’s permanent home, but once I released him, I had absolutely no say in his life afterwards.  Joan hinted at the possibility of keeping Ezzie, but she hadn’t committed.  Her husband passed a few months earlier.  Maybe she would decide a young dog would be too much for her and her Labs.  Maybe she needed to find her unique way of processing grief which wouldn’t include a six-month-old puppy.  Grief runs a course like that of a stream, flowing in the direction it must travel to reach its destination of healing.  And each grief current travels its own path with its own velocity.  Only Joan would know the course of her journey.     

Uncertainty about Ezzie’s life after Joan’s foster home was tremendously unsettling.  I believed God guided me to release him, so I had to trust Him with Ezzie.

A date was scheduled.  Rather than neuter Ezzie on December 29^th, I would alone drive him to Tennessee.  Joan indicated with more certainty that she would keep Ezzie as her own.    

Saying goodbye to a beloved dog due to terminal illness was far easier than saying goodbye to an amazing pup in hopes that a better life awaits: the life I envisioned but my mimicking didn’t create.  

Harry, Grace, and I were ready early on December 29^th, and despite their refusal to speak with me, through tears, pats, and hugs, they said goodbye to Ezzie.               

When I arrived at Joan’s that evening, she and Kim quickly approached my car to help unload Ezzie. 

Joan’s smile was as warm as her holiday-adorned home.  After Ezzie ate, we watched him explore his new surroundings like mothers watching their toddlers play. 

An hour later, it was time to say goodbye.  I thought my tears stopped falling in Kentucky, but the floodgates reopened when I kissed Ezzie’s head; he returned the gesture with licks on my cheek just like he did the day I met him.  I walked out the front door not knowing if I’d hear about Ezzie ever again.

I wanted to text Joan daily and ask how Ezzie was settling in, but she owed me nothing.  I danced a fine line between overstepping boundaries with her while demonstrating my concern for his welfare. 

Joan promptly replied to each and every text.  Ezzie adjusted well to his new surroundings.  When she texted videos of him, he was often seen running with his new Lab companions in Joan’s fenced yard against the backdrop of the Great Smoky Mountains. 

Texts to Joan became less frequent.  But during one particular text exchange, I confessed, “I found your husband’s obituary on-line.  He sounded like a wonderful man and a great husband/father.  I’m so sorry for your loss.  I knew you were the one for Ezzie after reading about your husband’s love for your yellow Labs.”  I stepped out on a limb which surely could have broken with my weighty text, but Joan replied, “A few months prior to my husband’s death, he said it’s time to get another Lab.  Ezzie has helped me through difficult days.  He’s brought new life into our house when we needed it most.”  When Joan eventually changed Ezzie’s name, joining him as a member of her family, I knew the decision we collectively made was the best one for him.

I journaled about Ezzie for several days following his surrender.  In a post in which I rambled on about my failure to continue one of my late husband’s legacies, I finally understood that Steven’s greatest legacy was not built by me nor could it have been, but was instead the undying spirit he left behind: his legacy was his love.