My dogs

On Sunday, March 21, 1999, two lost dogs brought about a change to my life as they wandered in and out of a K-mart at Ames and Lapalco on the Westbank. I followed them through a neighborhood behind the store with aspirations of finding the owner, but I didn’t. A lady who lived in the area put the two in her yard and posted signs as well as running an ad in the lost and found section of the paper. No owner responded.

I called each day to check upon their status, and although the lady received some calls, none came from the owner. Later that week, on Thursday, March 25, I returned to her house, and for nearly nine years, I found myself as the proud companion of two of the most loving dogs that I’ve ever known. Both had massive energy and playfulness, and neither had an ounce of meanness.

Throughout the years, we walked together in four neighborhoods. Our strolls took us out early in the morning, often before six, and then usually in the evening hours. We enjoyed the near half mile path outside the condominium, the place where we first lived to together. We spent two stints at Mom’s house, the first for about three or four months following my left hip surgery and then for about one month following Hurricane Katrina. That storm sent us around for sure. We evacuated for two days in Jimmy Davis State Park and then moved into my cousin Donna’s home for a month. Upon returning to Jefferson Parish, we humbly accepted the gracious offer to live with Heath and Tricia, newlyweds of three weeks at the time Katrina hit.

After living with Mom on both occasions, the dogs and I came to this neighborhood, where at times we walked around the block and at other times they played in the backyard. Before the storm, we lived together in a two-bedroom home, and since February 2006, we shared close quarters in the FEMA trailer.

I had always hoped that one day we would share a new home on this property, but that wish will not come true. On Wednesday, December 19, 2007, I returned from work to find Lucky, the smaller of the two beagle girls, dead in her kennel with her sister standing over her. When I had opened the trailer door, an odor prevailed, and I knew something wasn’t right. Through the kindness of my next door neighbor, Lucky was buried in my backyard.

In early January 2008 as I petted Candy, I noticed something different about her right shoulder. A tumor had formed and grew rapidly. Within a few days, we visited the vet, who prescribed an altered diet and some medicine to keep the lemon-sized tumor from growing; however, within a week of the January 15th appointment, several smaller growths had appeared. Although maintaining the diet and medicinal regimen, Candy quickly weakened as the cancer spread. On Mardi Gras morning, I awakened to find her unable to place much weight on her hind left leg; therefore, I remained home with her during the city’s festivities. On Ash Wednesday, I decided to not let my beautiful dog deteriorate and suffer any more. I phone Doc at his home and made plans to see him Thursday morning.

During that last day, Candy and I sat in the sun and let the day pass on. On Ash Wednesday evening, Candy had the opportunity to say goodbye to the next door neighbors and their dog, Tess. David came to dig a burial site next to Lucky, and while he did that, I took Candy for a drive. She loved donut holes. During the early hours of the night, I threw a blanket on the floor and lay by her side before putting her on a pillow at the foot of the bed, where I thought she would stay for the remainder. But she wouldn’t have that. Ever since Lucky’s death, Candy climbed into bed each night. She wanted that again. Maybe she knew it would be her last time. I gathered her up, and she placed herself near me a while. Eventually she went to her place and sprawled out. I held her paw during different intervals, for I woke often. In the morning, she made her way outside before coming back for her breakfast and her last donut hole.

Mom arrived slightly after eight in the morning. I got myself cleaned and dressed, doing those slowly. Mom held Candy during the short, but slow drive. Candy knew; her eyes showed it. Doc, in his kind way, explained the procedure and then gave us time to spend a few moments together. Candy moved her nose from Mom’s face to mine, and I held her and talked to her about our walks and our camping trips. I told that she would join her sister, Lucky, again. The sedative relaxed her beyond coherence, and the final injection took effect in less than one minute. I held her throughout.

Some have said that I gave them a loving life while others wanted them for breeding and hunting purpose, and that may be the case. They gave this single man a sense of family in the home. They loved me without conditions, as dogs so often do. Less than two months ago, I had two wonderful dogs. Today, I have loving memories and a picture of them on my fridge. Some day, I figure to have other dogs in my life, but not yet. Maybe when the new house gets done I can consider that.

For now, Candy and Lucky are at peace together in the backyard and resting side-by-side as they so often did during their lifetime. And that’s what truly matters.

~ Doug Moreau

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Posted March 9, 2008