His lungs were riddled with cancer,the vet awkwardly mumbled to my family as our uncontrollable sobbing drowned out whatever medical mumbo jumbo that followed.
To look at him,you would not think he could do such toxic farts,nor inspire such love in his adopted humans.Supplied
He was 15 years old,so we knew he had a better innings than most mutts,but the grief has been jarring. I wasn’t prepared for how disoriented and overwhelmed I would feel.
I understand the narrative from some folk that it’s “just a dog”.
That surely a bond between a human and a non-verbal animal couldn’t contain the same complexity and mortal love that has plagued poets,playwrights,and songwriters for centuries.
And that I should reserve my mourning for the many two-legged friends in dire straits.
I’m not one of those kooky caninophiles who would spend most of their wage on matching outfits for themselves and their furry friend.
But I had a relationship with my dog that was extraordinarily tender,almost symbiotic.
There was a synchronicity to our days that I never really understood until he was gone. It almost feels like the rhythm of the house has lost a beat.
The clomping of his feet on the wooden floorboards in the morning as he got the first whiff of toast. The impatient whimpering in the kitchen waiting to gobble up my son’s unfinished cereal. The barking and bellowing at anything and everything that dare breach his territory.
During all the years working from home,he would plonk down at my feet and not budge. When I walked around the house,he followed in my wake as if we were tethered together with an invisible rope.
At the risk of treading into the madness of sentimental pet anthropomorphism,Oakley was un-judgmental,kind,gentle and loving.
“I felt an uneasy guilt for using rolls of taxpayer-funded dunny paper to wipe away the reservoir of snot and tears rolling down my lanyard.”
And his ending was anything but dignified. Moments after the vet pronounced him dead,he ungracefully plopped a box of tissues on Oakley’s body,with the cold politeness of a barman placing a drink on a bar. Just another day in the office.
The vet then asked if we wouldn’t mind leaving via the back door,perhaps fearing our wailing and blubbering might terrify the animals in the waiting room.
With all the immense,senseless suffering in the world,my heartache for a hound might seem a little self-indulgent and misplaced. But grief is a hard beast to contain or explain.
It doesn’t help that many of the social norms or societal mechanisms of support are lacking when a pet dies. If we collapse into ourselves,we are deemed emotionally fragile.
American social psychologist Francis T. McAndrew says society doesn’t validate the heavy heart that comes with the death of a family pet.
“This can leave people isolated and feeling ashamed or unable to express their grief,which can increase the intensity of grief and inhibit resolution,” he said.
“Unfortunately,there’s little in our cultural playbook – no grief rituals,no obituary in the local newspaper,no religious service – to help us get through the loss of a pet,which can make us feel more than a bit embarrassed to show too much public grief over our dead dogs.”
At work,I repeatedly bunkered down in the toilets to hide my unbearable sadness. I felt an uneasy guilt for using rolls of taxpayer-funded dunny paper to wipe away the reservoir of snot and tears rolling down my lanyard.
Oakley,pictured here with my son Frankie,was part of the family.Supplied
I had a prepared speech about how my rubbery face and swollen eyes were just a mild case of Ebola. But the overwhelming feeling was of embarrassment;of shame,about the severity of my sorrow.
Oakley wasn’t perfect.
He chewed through our newly planted trees and French doors (twice) like a nearsighted North American beaver. His guttural snoring could rattle windows,and he always had a peculiar pungent smell.
He would lay his back against the bedroom door and let out a symphony of farts that produced a toxic gaseous bouquet that could halt an army in its tracks.
As he began to have trouble walking,you could sense his allegiance towards my family was becoming burdensome. But his boundless devotion to my partner and three kids never ceased. He just wanted to be near us.
Professor McAndrew says the loss of a dog is so painful because owners aren’t just losing the pet.
“It could mean the loss of a source of unconditional love,a primary companion who provides security and comfort,and maybe even a protege that’s been mentored like a child,” he said.
“Many times,I’ve had friends guiltily confide to me that they grieved more over the loss of a dog than over the loss of friends or relatives.”
I know it’s moronic and myopic to compare the death of a pet to a loved one,but we should also recognise animals can provide an unwavering companionship that some humans can’t.
Although I certainly have no plans to have his ashes tattooed over my heart in the shape of his paw-prints,as former Jandakot MP Joe Francis did with his German shepherd,and I’m still undecided where I sit overall on the “dogs are family” bit,I can sincerely say Oakley was a true love.
More than “just a dog”,anyway.
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