Orca's off on his next adventure

[GMCTurbo]

This is a long rambly cathartic post that I wrote for myself last night when I couldn't sleep. This is my first post here, and while I don't think I know any of you, I read through the last couple of months of tributes and memorials and knew Orca would be honored to be amongst the wonderful dogs that have gone on ahead of him.

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On the morning of Saturday, June 25, 2005, Orca took his last truck ride.

He didn’t even get to enjoy it. Normally at the top of his highlights list, a truck ride would be met with that mad dash out the door, a look back to ask whether we were coming, and the trembling excitement as he waited for the door to be swung open. Always lithe for a Rottie, even at his peak in weight, he never broke 100 lbs wet. It didn’t stop him from getting his Canadian championship, competing against boys that had 40 lbs on him. What they had in stature though, he had in grace and joie de vivre, and it showed through his lighter than air trot and those big bright eyes. He could leap without a run-up into the back of any of our trucks and try to occupy the passenger seat if he could get to it. In the end, he was the analog to the healthful marathoner you heard about who suffered a fatal stroke well before his time.

His last truck ride was spent curled up trying to sleep and keep still. No mad dash; he had to be carried. He couldn’t stand up and mock-chase the other dogs he saw along the way – something that was always easier in the back of the Suburban than in the cramped quarters of the front of the pickup truck. No desire to sniff the air to figure out if he was heading to a place he recognized. He was ready to move on and asked as-much of us to let him go.

His near-5 month battle with IBD, and likely a complication that was compounded by it, stripped him of almost half his weight and most of his strength. Each pound lost seemed to add a year to his frame as he turned from the eternal puppy, to an old man, right before our eyes. As I put away his toys this weekend, I realized he hadn’t played in earnest with me for over a month. So often when we played, I would wonder when he’d grow up. Only in sickness did he “grow up” and I wish he hadn’t. As his chin turned all white over time, he never slowed his pace. The killer of stuffed animals, the tackler of footballs.

Orca’s life started just shy of ten years ago on July 7, 1996. As an Ebonstern dog, his lines were destined for show, but rather quickly it became apparent that the things that made him uniquely him, a slightly elongated nose, those big goofy ears, and that lean body we all aspire to, somehow anointed him “pet quality”. He didn’t care; he had a much bigger calling in life. And while we tried to show him occasionally, his only success in the conformation ring was in Canada where the competition was a bit lighter and the judges a sucker for his big heart, which he always wore on his sleeve. His proper destiny was to be Daddy’s boy; more comfortable just being at my side than going off to shows each weekend. Unlike his sister Olivia, who he lived most of his life with, he never reveled in showing off to others. The thrill of victory and the long road trips in the motorhome were never his thing (though the liver treats weren’t too shabby). I’m proud to call him Can. CH Ebonstern Orca V Zeberg, but he’ll always be Orca (or more affectionately d’Orcaman) to me.

No, he far preferred being at my side or close enough to know where I was. As I write this, all his belongings except for a few of his most favorite things, are packed up and the house is relatively clean - the result of my needing a distraction all weekend, and helping to ease the pain of a house I’ve never known without his companionship. No paw prints or clumps of dog hair hiding in the corners, but several worn spots on the carpet, scratched up places on the deck outside, and his flattened nook (or nest) in the backyard amongst the trees, belie the fact that he staked out vantage points to keep an eye on us.

He initially went to live with someone else, but it was clear he really wasn’t fitting in. So at the young age of a few months, he moved into our house with two adults, a cat, and three other dogs, one of which was his sister who he was ecstatic to see. While he tried to be boss once in a while, I don’t recall him ever ultimately succeeding when it really counted. Even the cat would beat up on him if he would try to push Blackjack too far. But everyone was tolerant (though vigilant) of his boyish behavior and impish looks. He was a brat at times, as all teenage boys are, but a certain endearing quality about him softened his rough edges. Being from the same litter, his bratty nature as a boy contrasted starkly with how much a princess his sister Olivia was. Where she could snooze deep-asleep in the middle of a big bed, he never felt comfortable on a couch or bed. Hard ground under his feet was his preference. He was never a lap-dog either, exhibiting his growl-purr whenever you’d give him a big hug or try to spoon him while lying down. But he was a softie at heart. You’d let go of that hug and he’d snake his head back into your arms and resume the growl-purr just to let you know he’s doing *you* a favor by letting you continue.

I think being in a house full of animals, all competing for attention, never quite suited him. He loved his sister and adored his Rottie-aunt Kasey, but you could see it in his body language that he was far more relaxed when he was alone. Some years later, his human mom and I separated, and after his housemates grew by yet another dog, he came to live permanently with me. While it was sad to leave what he'd known to be home behind, he moved into a house that really allowed him to shine and it was all HIS. A quarter acre wooded dog run with a huge clearing to run around in, a wrap around deck that gave him a commanding view of the street and all those who walk by his domain, and doors into the house from all sides (though he never quite figured out that he could come and go through any of them) was not too large for him to always fill with his presence. He made this house our home and it feels absolutely empty without him.

One of the weekend tasks I did was to mow his run and there wasn’t a single stool to clean up. Months of IBD induced diarrhea really left nothing to pick up and it broke my heart to see a yard devoid of his legacy. I guess that’s something only a dog person would understand…sorrow over not finding any dog poo. I checked the bottom of my boots exiting his run as I always do but nothing to curse about.

Orca was more of a people dog than a dog's-dog. He only really got along with a couple of the neighborhood dogs, but it was more akin to a reluctant acknowledgement of their existence, and tolerance of their company on walks, than anything remotely resembling playmates. He was content being with his extended human family. Olivia was the only dog he ever missed being away from. Fortunately he got to visit her quite often since my travels and vacations saw him living back with his human Mom and Olivia on a regular basis.

Any stranger he met, he would melt their hearts. At 85 lbs during his prime, he was unassuming and few exhibited that, “Ohmigod, it’s a Rottie!”, frightened attitude when they saw him. His perpetually shiny coat, big eyes, and oft-goofy look that earned him his nickname d’Orca (or Dorka) would bring out their hands to pet him. His reward was always that Rottie leannnnnnn as he’d push against your leg to let you know your affections were appreciated and that he was comfortable at your feet. Truck rides to the store just to get groceries, or hanging out off the tailgate sharing a burger with Dad (and the occasional ice cream cone at Vivian’s Pride Dairy) would bring people of all ages over to say hello. He was a great Rottweiler ambassador and I was always proud of him for that.

One clear example of the size of his heart and its effect on folks is the relationship he had with his vets and the staff up at Cottage Lake Vet Hospital. He won over everyone in the office in his many visits, especially over the time that he was sick, and we’d stay after all his procedures were done to garner more hugs. It was mutual too. Whenever we’d get close to the vet office, he’d stand up, start to pant and wag as he anticipated where he was going. This was an office of equally big hearts all rooting for him and he never reluctantly passed through the doors. He knew the scale routine and would strain to get into the ‘back of the house’ where all the techs were and where he spent some of his time in surgery or recovery.

His small stature and boundless energy always masked his true age. As he hit 8 and 9, people would ask for clarification on whether I meant months or years. They couldn’t believe he was an adult until I showed them the various spots where he was starting to go grey, especially his muzzle.

Never much of a guard dog, he still made us feel safe. He tried to act like one, but it was all for show and he could only be tough when a door or fence was in the way. Once opened, he’d wag and be looking for his butt scratch. The most dog-averse people that ever came to the house were shying away from his slimy kisses and occasionally crotch head-butt rather than his imposing nature.

In hindsight, he always had a sensitive digestive system. A foreign object or some food he didn’t like would come back up one way or another. Perhaps we should have taken that as a sign to look a bit deeper, but he’d always be fine immediately afterwards. He also had a habit of ingesting some of the stuffing from his proud stuffed-animal kills. He’d try to generally spit the polyfill out, but if it got too caught up on his tongue, or if I’d come over too quickly to pry it out of his mouth, down it would go. After all, it was his kill…why share it with Dad? Cleaning up his run always yielded a few polyfill-stools.

It’s hard to tell when the IBD really started. He could have had some mild form of it much of his life, but more likely than not, it flared up this past February when an intestinal blockage exacerbated the situation. I think if it weren’t for that blockage and the necessary surgery/recovery, we wouldn’t have seen the thickened intestinal walls that’s part of the IBD characterization. Failure to fully recover after the surgery, and the subsequent endoscopy and biopsy confirmed the IBD diagnosis, but by that time, he had lost over 20 lbs and was a shadow of his former self.

A mega cortisone shot and other meds got his appetite back but the road ahead would be long. Always a picky eater, getting him to desire food and keep it down was a struggle much of the time. Hourly attempts to find the right window between nausea and hunger where he’d accept an ounce of food would get more urgent as he continued to lose weight. There was about a month during his battle that we thought he’d turned a corner. He put on a couple of pounds and was starting to play again, though exertion would make him nauseas and tired. His appetite was voracious during this period, eating over a pound of chicken a day along with rice and other food, but his weight usually went the wrong direction.

He did take pleasure in finally getting to eat most everything he wanted. Gone was the boring kibble that he’d frequently turn his nose at when he was younger. Nearly every night, some grand concoction, usually of chicken, rice and stock, would be cooked up for him. He’d wait eagerly as it cooled enough to eat, and he’d wolf it down asking for seconds. His daily drug cocktail was given to him with the tastiest high-protein wet puppy foods. And in his final days, when the instructions were to feed him anything he’ll keep down, he got to enjoy his final tastes of many of his favorite foods. He was always “food motivated”. Many dogs are of course, but Orca was classic ectomorph so he got away with quite a lot of snacking.

He always made be laugh when I’d give him a piece of a sandwich or burger. He’d take it gingerly in his mouth, take a step back, and drop it on the ground hard. The sandwich would break apart into many pieces and he’d eagerly search out the meat and cheese and down those quickly. He’d then lick the condiments and eat the veggies. After a meager look to see if another chunk of my food was coming his way, he’d reluctantly eat the bread as if someone was forcing it down his throat.

There’s a lot I’ll miss about him. While I’ve shared my life with other dogs, and their losses were all hard to take in their own way, Orca and I had a dependence on each other that ran a bit deeper. He was ‘my boy’ in a classic father-son way. He never quite grew up, was always a bit clingy, and in turn, he kept me young and grounded. He always reminded me there was more to life than work. I’ll miss his goodbyes in the morning, that forlorn face in the window or between the slats of the gate, and I’ll miss his frantic greetings as he’d bolt through the open door only to double back as he passed me with a, “Oh yeah, high Dad, gotta run into the living room now!”

I’ll miss his clown-ish attempts at getting me to play with him. The tossing of toys in the air, the growling while on his back, and the sometimes constant dropping of various balls and tug-toys into my lap. When that wouldn’t work, he’d settle for some gentle stroking or a big hug and then off to lie down always someplace where he was within eyesight of me.

One of my cherished memories will be of the many times he’d spend the day outside in the pouring rain while I was at work. I’d rush home early, feeling sorry for how miserable he must feel, opening the back door with a towel in hand ready to catch him before he could spread mud and water all over the carpet, only to find him completely bone dry! That was Orca...caring about his coat above relieving himself or checking out what's happening outside.

He slept every night on his bed adjacent to my side of the bed. Before turning in, he’d come by for customary goodnight pets and kisses before lying down for a restful sleep beside me. He’d always sleep in until the last person arose from the bed (i.e. my wife). Sleep was a luxury he never gave up willingly and if someone was willing to share in his lazy weekend mornings, he was more than happy to oblige.

His battle with his health took a sharp downhill turn very suddenly this past week. Down to 66 lbs on Monday, he slipped fast and lost several pounds per day as he visually withered. Knowing that we were running out of options, and not wanting to be selfish about prolonging his life just for us, we made sure those that cared about him most were able to say their goodbyes. He got to spend Thurs-Fri with his human Mom, Olivia, and a quick visit with his breeder Becky. He was able visit those he loved and the places that he helped make homes before he got too weak to smile and wag his tail.

By Friday night, he crashed hard, and the decision was made to help him find peace as his senses dimmed and his body failed him. He was euthanized shortly after Cottage Lake Vet Hosp. opened their doors at 9am on Saturday. The sedatives that preceded the final shot let him relax and take some much needed deep breaths and I think, sighs. He accepted our kisses and love as we sent him on his way to a happier place.

I’m totally devastated. I’ve had other dogs but Orca was “my boy” whose ten years of life saw me through big life changes . He was the one constant throughout my ups and downs and forever will be in my heart for sharing his life with mine.

Take care Orca. I'll see you again one day and take you for that ride you're waiting for.

Love,

Dad

[Rottlva]

Wow. The legnth of this post demonstrated what an enourmous impact this boy had on your heart and your life. I am so sorry he's gone....He's left a print on your heart which will always be there.

[RottiMomCT]

Oh my...I never met the dog yet now I knew him....

How sweet. I was very obvious in your letter to Orca that he was loved, and will always be loved.

God speed Orca - give Baker and Thelda a kiss from me if you would...

[MontanaRott]

Beautiful, very moving. Thank you for sharing that with us.

[szky]

Orca was quite a companion. This loss of such a wonderful friend is difficult and leaves such a hugh void in our lives, a void that only Rottie owners know. Orca is now restored and free of his illness. Godspeed Orca on your new adventure.

[Patty1231]

Thank you so much for sharing Orca with us. It really does kinda feel like I knew him now. He's in very good company at the Bridge. Until you see each other again, fly free sweet boy.

[Birdie'sMom]

I'm so sorry for your loss. It sounds like you have many wonderful memories to hold onto. Rest in peace, Orca.

[Bucky's Mom]

I am sorry for your loss - you wrote a beautiful tribute

Lisa (Bucky's Mom)

[Karyn]

I am so sorry for your loss. God speed ORCA!

[rottgirl]

What a very touching post I am so sorry for your loss Orca sounds like he was a very special boy. I'm sure he is running around the bridge finding a ton of new friends to show him around. Give Snickers (6/04) and big hug for me and fly with the angels.

Michele

[onthedl74]

I am so sorry for your loss. It is heart wrenching to watch them fail when you are doing all you can for them. Ultimately you have given him peace and that is what is most important. Orca was a special guy and will be in your heart forever. Til you meet again......................

[SonnyRott]

Your memorial brought tears to my eyes. I could picture him in my mind....what he looked like, his personality, his likes and dislikes.

Thank you for sharing your special friend with us. I have a special friend like that too. I will think of your words when it comes my time to say goodbye. I can't even imagine....

I know you will cherish all the memories you made together, and in time, this will bring you a measure of peace.

[Spoiled Rott'n]

It is clear to see how much of an impact Orca has had on your life. Like others have said your beautiful post put a picture in our of our minds of your boy. But it is also clear to see the pain you are in, and believe me when we are here to lean on. My heart goes out to you.

[Sharon Marples]

What a touching memorial to your Orca. I know Becky personally and I know the dogs she has bred over the years. His antics and personality are so indicitative of the well-bred, fun-loving dogs that she produces.

I offer my condolences and hope that you can some day give another puppy such a wonderful home as you did your Orca.

[majicka]

I'm so sorry for you loss..what a fanastic story..Orca sounds like he was a wonderful boy. I'm so glad you posted his story.


Godspeed Orca..may you rest in peace now.