You’ve heard the old cliche’…
Dog is man’s best friend.
That has never been more true than in the case of my best friend, Sting, and today I had to say goodbye.
By all accounts, Sting wasn’t much of a dog as compared to other dogs.
He didn’t know any tricks, unless you count knocking over trash cans 10 times his size.
He didn’t obey any commands.
He never sat, rolled over, or spoke on command.
Oh sure… he did all things, but never because I asked him to. He sat when he got bored or tired, he rolled over only when he found a mud puddle that needed some attention, and he only spoke when he needed to go outside to investigate the shenanigans of a rouge squirrel or rabbit that might have been trespassing in his yard. And catching a Frisbee…forget about it. Why should he run over there and try to catch that thing? I am the one that threw it.
Like I said, compared to other dogs he was quite useless.
But I never compared him to other dogs. He was just my friend, and I don’t expect all the things listed above from any of my friends either…except the Frisbee part (most of my friends would at least try to catch a Frisbee). I think Frisbee just wasn’t his game. Now that I think about it, if I been throwing squirrels or rabbits, then we might have had some fun.
As friends go, he was the best.
He was humble, unassuming, generous, and loyal.
And though he would never win any awards for his dogness, he won my love and attention for over 14 years.
In the summer of 1996, I had traveled to Muffreesboro, TN to attend a Sting concert. After the concert I stayed with some friends before returning to Knoxville. When we got out of the car, a little scrappy puppy ran up to one of my friends as if to say “You came back for me.” I assumed my friend had a new pet. My friend explained to me that while he was filling his car up with gas earlier that day, he saw this poor little puppy outside the gas station trying to eat gum off the pavement. My friend said he felt so sorry for him that he gave him some of the dog food that he kept in his car for his dog because they traveled together so much. He said he had never seen a dog so hungry, and he couldn’t just leave him there.
I asked my friend what he was planning to do with the dog. He didn’t know.
We went inside the apartment, and I didn’t think another thing about that little puppy…until the next morning.
This little dog had decided to make camp underneath my car. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed him, but when I opened the car door to pack my things he jumped inside and hunkered down in the floor of the back seat.
What could I do? “I guess you’re coming with me,” I said, and off we set for home.
That was the foulest two and a half hours of my life.
Dear Lord did that dog need a bath. Had I not been so light headed from trying to hold my breath and breathe only through my mouth, I might have come up with a better name, but since I acquired this mutt during my trip to the Sting concert, I figured STING to be a fitting name.
Up until this point in my life, I had never been a dog owner, so I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for de-stinking a mutt. I drove straight to Walgreens and purchased everything on the shelf related to dog grooming that I could afford.
That dog stink didn’t have a chance. I hit it with a plethora of shampoos, conditioners, flea treatments, and dog brushes. When I finished with Sting’s first bath, he looked worse than when I started, but he smelled clean, and I think he appreciated the attention.
Sting went everywhere with me that summer. He became a constant in my life.
So when he didn’t get up to greet me one day when I came home from work, I knew something was wrong. He wasn’t eating or drinking a thing, but he was “going” everywhere…I’ll leave out the details, but let’s just say that he had re-introduced the dog-stink into my life.
I carried Sting in my arms to the vet just a few blocks down the street, and I just knew that things didn’t look good for this little guy.
After the vet’s examination, he said that Sting had Parvo, and that this virus would most likely cause such a high fever that it would kill him.
The vet said he would give him some fluids to ease his dehydration, but if his condition didn’t improve in 24 hours, it would be best to put him down.
I was a broke college student, and I didn’t have the money to try to save this dog’s life (especially since I had just spent all my money on dog shampoo). I told the vet, “Do what you can for him, and I guess I’ll check back tomorrow.” Then I left; expecting to have to put my new dog down the next day.
I don’t know what went through Sting’s little fevered brain that night as he lay in a cold metal cage at the vet’s office, but I like to think that he thought, “This guy really needs a friend like me, so I better get well so I can look after him.”
When I called the vet the next day, I couldn’t believe what he told me. Sting’s fever had gone, and he looked like he might be just fine, and I could take him home the next day.
I walked into that vet’s office carrying a dog and left a few days later walking home with a friend.
Sting shared my life for the next 14 years…college craziness, the heartbreak of a girlfriend, moving to Seattle, returning home to Knoxville, a new roommate I called “My Wife”, job losses, business ventures, another roommate I called “a child”, remodeling a house, another roommate called “Trout” (our 100-pound chocolate lab), more roommates called “children”, the diagnosis of MS, a miscarriage, a new home, the loss of Trout and countless other events I am sure that only he remembers.
And I, too, shared his life during those 14 years…having to leave him with family while I chased my dreams in Seattle, him being hit by a car and having several surgeries which left him with only 3 good legs and metal rods in his front legs (personally I think he limped around for years just for the sympathy), eating numerous holiday desserts left on the kitchen counter, inhaling an entire bag of Hershey’s Kisses (aluminum foil wrappers and all), 2 hernia surgeries, being the sole canine survivor of a house fire which claimed 4 other dogs (his roommate Trout being one of them), and the introduction of 3 small children to his home and countless other events I am sure that only I remember.
As he got older he lost a bit of the giddy-up in his step (being hit by a car will do that to you), his hearing was all but gone, and I think his vision started to fade…either that or he just flat out ignored me when I came around. And even though he spent most of the last few years of his life curled up in the corner underneath my wife’s desk (he would hang out there because he hated ceiling fans) and making the nightly trips to the dinner table where he would patiently wait for the tasty morsels that rain down like manna from heaven when you have small children living with you, he was always loyal to me.
He never complained, even though he must have been in quite a bit of pain and discomfort the past few weeks. He never asked anything of me except for a good scratch behind the ears and a dog biscuit every now and then. He never judged me for all my faults, but loved me every day that he lived.
I don’t really know what caused Sting to take such a drastic turn for the worse these last few weeks, but I like to think he has watching me these last few years from the corner of the living room and saying, “You’re doing pretty good now old friend. I’ve taught you all I know. I best be going now. You can take it from here.”
Sting, I will miss you…
and if the book is true, you’ll be the first in line at Heaven’s gate.
(Don’t worry. God doesn’t need ceiling fans.)