I shared this with Doug when I heard about Maggie, but thought I’d post it here for everyone who has loved a dog. The eulogy my late friend Dave wrote for his dog Biscuit. Dave was a prolific author, thousands of journal and magazine articles and several books; this was the most heartfelt thing he ever wrote.
Biscuit
1995-2006
It was just earlier this week when Biscuit was checking out, well thinking of confronting, a screaming bobcat in heat. The cat had been hanging about the property for 5 or 6 days vocalizing every evening and sometimes well into the night. That same day Biscuit also enjoyed a nice long swim in White Lake, one of his most favorite of all places.
And today Biscuit (alias B dog, and Biskie; most days he thought his name was "good dog," or "hey quit it") is discovering that there is not a dog heaven. There couldn't be, it would have been filled to capacity eons ago. No problem, unlike people dogs are able to appreciate the day, they are not compelled to dream of a future life where things will be better. All is dog perfect here, and now; a warm day, a soft bed, a ball that is easily carried about, and a full stomach. Heaven is being invited on a long walk, going for a swim, or getting your ears scratched. Except for maybe catching a squirrel, it's about all anyone in their right mind should ask for. And lets not hear any of that reincarnation crap where you get to come back as something better. What could be better?
While he was content with staying at home and happy pretending he was our shadow, he was from time to time a traveling dog. Car rides, sometimes some long ones. Smuggled under darkness into motel rooms, and uninvited visits to campsites and friend's homes from Maryland to Florida and west to Tennessee. Life was an adventure. Bat netting, turtle hunts, breeding bird surveys, he taught visiting interns from Asia how to find box turtles, and showed us snakes, toads, hatchling ground skinks, fox poo, and the nesting whip-poor-wills we walked right past. We learned that destroying sticks, naps and stretching were good things, and that dry dog food, unexpected strangers, fleas, and loud noised were not.
Of course he was loyal, loving, demanding and somewhat obedient-- he was a dog for Christ sake. He could get a stranger to pet him or play with him within minutes. It was his job. Upon entering a room full of people eating or snacking Biscuit could size up the crowd and go directly to the person most likely to immediately cave in and share. He instinctively could open hearts, but he also learned how to open doors; no I mean like real doors, he could open one! Self taught. If he had a few more years he would have figured out how to work the keys.
OK, you get it, he was just another dog (in itself a complement—big time) but we liked him, and over the years he managed to get us rather well trained.
For the record he was the grandson of Blackie and Spot, nephew of Brugal, and one fine and very spoiled, sometimes stubborn, Golden Retriever. How stubborn? He was expected to die 11 months ago from advancing liver cancer. Given two weeks to live, he pushed on for eleven months. This was not sickness existence but for the most part quality time. The good stuff that you multiply by 7. Most people are not as high spirited in the best of times. Biscuit had a lot to teach us, my only hope is that we were all good students. He was the owner of more people friends than we can tally, but trust me he remembers you all.
Glad you got to meet him.
