Peabody was already old and blind when he arrived at the ranch several years ago with an amazing story. His tenacious zest for life — even with a failing body — was remarkable. Two years ago he survived a stroke that we thought would surely do him in, yet he bounced back. But in the past year he began to have more and more health problems, and increased difficulty getting up. He would have his good days and his bad days. And on the bad ones Alayne and I would look at dear Peabody and wonder if the time had come.
Yet he still loved to greet visitors, and he would trot off the Widget’s House porch with his geriatric Shepherd shuffle to say hello. He positively couldn’t stand Travis, our dog with a fused jaw, and when he knew Travis had come out the door, Peabody would try to take off after him to give that young whipper-snapper a piece of his mind. Despite his health problems and creaky body, Peabody still loved to eat, too.
So it was evident he continued to enjoy life, even with his ups and downs.
But in the middle of last week he started to lose interest in food. He seemed morose and more rickety than normal. On Friday Alayne noticed a few of the other dogs would go up to Peabody, sniff him, and then back away as if troubled. When Alayne went over to Widget’s House Friday night about 9:30 p.m. to put the dogs up, she found Peabody laying down in the yard. Now, Peabody would rarely ever lie on a dog bed or cot; he almost always preferred the ground, which is the last thing his ancient body needed.
But when Alayne started stroking him, he didn’t respond … even though he was very much alive. She tried to help him get up, but he couldn’t stand. It was almost like another stroke. She called me for help. I picked him up, got him to his feet and onto the porch, but he collapsed again. His back legs weren’t working, and his front legs were barely functioning. We carried him inside and put him into a giant dog crate on a thick, soft bed. Peabody is the only dog we’ve ever had who didn’t like being crated, but he lay down on the bed in the crate and didn’t stir. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but he did look like he had given up.
On Saturday morning I pulled him out of the crate and helped him out to the porch. He still couldn’t walk. I laid him down on the big round bed. I hoped breakfast would make a difference, but it was clear his zest for life was now gone. He looked miserable. I knew the moment had come.
I took the photo above of Alayne with Peabody just before we lifted him onto the stretcher and carried him out to the truck. I drove him to our vet clinic in Helena and got there around 11 a.m. A few minutes later I was holding his old Shepherd head in my hands as he slipped away.
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