Rolling Dog Farm Blog

Of all our losses in recent years, this one hit us the hardest.

I have never known a dog more devoted to a person than Oscar was to Alayne, nor a person more devoted to a dog than she was to Oscar.  And now he’s gone.

Alayne’s "best little dog buddy ever," as she called him, died this morning.  It was 4 a.m.  Oscar was in his favorite place, doing his favorite thing, which was sleeping in our bed curled up next to Alayne.  That’s when his little heart gave out.

I had woken up at 2:20 a.m. for some reason — very odd for me — troubled by something but not sure what.  I finally got out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get something to eat, checked email, read a little, and then went back to the bedroom a few minutes before 4 a.m.  I had just settled down and was trying to fall asleep when I suddenly heard quiet sobs coming from Alayne.

I bolted up in bed and asked her what was wrong. 

"Oscar’s dead," she cried.  "He just died!"

Alayne had come awake when she heard a tiny burp-like sound from him, reached out to pet him, and realized something was wrong … he hadn’t responded.  As she ran her hand down his body, she could feel the bed was wet underneath him from urine leaking out.  And then came the awful realization that he was lifeless.

She got up, carrying his body in her hands, and walked into the bathroom.  She sat on the floor, cradling him and crying.  I rushed over and wrapped my arms around her.  I led her back to the bedroom, and we both sat on the bed, crying over this deaf, old miniature Dachshund who had come to mean so much to us.

Oscar was already 10 years old when he arrived at the ranch.  He had belonged to a little boy who absolutely doted on Oscar, and Oscar loved the little boy in return.  They did everything together, and Oscar would follow his friend everywhere, never letting him get out of sight.  At night Oscar slept on the little boy’s pillow.  The boy and his Dachshund were inseparable.  But the boy’s parents were convinced their son was spending too much time with Oscar and not enough with "real" friends, so they decided to take his little dog away and give him to someone else.  They came up with all kinds of reasons why Oscar had to go, but we learned from a relative what the real motivation was … and the relative was responsible for Oscar coming to the sanctuary. 

The little boy’s family had been Oscar’s third home thus far in his 10 years, and so when he arrived here he was scared, confused and terribly anxious.  But after hiding for days, he started coming out of his shell, and within a few weeks Oscar had attached himself to Alayne.  He had decided he was going to devote himself to her, just like he had to the little boy.  From that point on Oscar worshipped her. 

Alayne was everything to Oscar.  He would patiently wait by the window to keep an eye on her when she was outside, and then rush to the door, jumping up and down, barking, to greet her when she returned.  Oscar followed her from room to room, always staying by her side.  She had special "Oscar places" stashed around the house so he’d have a place to snuggle and burrow wherever she ended up.  Early on I started calling him "Alayne’s minion," as I’ve posted before.

She always took him in the truck when she went to Missoula or Helena, sharing cheeseburgers on the road with her little Dachshund friend.  He liked going in the truck so much that Alayne would have to take him along when she took the mail out to our postbox, about 1/4 mile away.  Oscar would see Alayne with a stack of mail in her hand and he’d start barking, jumping up and down again, demanding to go for a ride.  Even when the truck wasn’t going anywhere, he just loved being in it.

His relationship with me was much more complex.  While he and Alayne adored each other, Oscar wasn’t wild about sharing her with me.  At bed time, when I would lean over to kiss Alayne good night, Oscar would invariably rush out from underneath the covers to start licking her on the face.  Then he’d stop, look over at me and growl, and go back to licking her on the face.  It got to the point where I’d have to hold the growling Dachshund back with one hand so I could get a decent kiss.  (I wish I were making this up but I’m not; that’s what I had to put up with for the past six years!)  At times I’d finally growl back at him, "She’s my wife, buddy, not yours!"

But as much as he thrived on Alayne’s adoration, there was a part of Oscar that wanted to be treated like a big, rough-and-tumble dog.  So he loved to roughhouse with me.  At night Alayne usually headed to bed first, and when I made my way to the bedroom, Oscar would be lying on top of the bed, staring in my direction, waiting for me to come through the door.  He’d growl, leap to his feet and then rush to the edge of the bed, barking ferociously at me.  I’d chase him around the bed, then he’d come running at me, snarling and snapping and acting like he wanted to chew my hand off.  (Fortunately in recent years he only had one tooth left.)

To bring the wrestling match to a close, all I’d have to do is bend down to kiss him .. and he’d suddenly stop, reach up with his little head, and start licking me on the face.  Then he’d turn to look at Alayne — "See, I won that round, didn’t I?" — bark triumphantly, and head over to burrow under the covers next to her.

Only to come roaring back out when I tried to get that goodnight kiss.

This morning, hours after he died, Alayne was still holding Oscar in her arms.  She couldn’t let go.  I offered to drive him to our vet clinic in Helena for cremation, but she insisted on taking him herself.  "It’s our last ride together," she told me.  Honestly, today I am grieving as much for her as I am for him.

Finally, Alayne mustered up the emotional strength to get in the truck.  We wrapped Oscar in a fleece blanket and I laid him on the passenger seat.  And off they went together, one last time.