This is a reprint of Holly's original piece "Goodbye Noodle," which you can get to by clicking here.
It wasn't her fault, of course, but Noodle, my family's glorious white standard poodle, died at a very inconvenient time, just when I needed her most.
Almost nine years before, just as I was moving out to attend college, Noodle had moved into our house. She was a comforting presence, not only for her fluffy white fur, but because of her oddly human facial expressions. My favorite was one of slight bemusement that told me, "calm down already." In 2003, at almost age 30, I went home for a long visit, looking forward to the comfort of Noodle's steady gait on walks to the park, just like the ones we had when she was a puppy and overly concerned with herding the neighborhood squirrels into submission.
When I say "long visit," what I really mean is "utter crisis," because my husband's Army Reserve unit had been called up for what ended up being a 14-month deployment to Kuwait and Iraq. I was trying to get used to a new world of hand-written letters and constant worry. Even though I was an adult, and proud of it, our house near Boston was agonizingly empty without Rob—the absence of his shoes by the door and the disappearance of his calls saying when he'd be home for dinner were getting too heavy. So I fled to my parents' house in Maryland—a place of steadiness and comfort, a place that was still a genuine "home" to me.
I'm sure I knew, somewhere, deep down, that I could get through the time apart. Still, I desperately looked forward to recuperating while surrounded by family, old friends, and Noodle.
But things didn't go as planned, and a turn of events sparked many quips of, "Well, bad things come in threes." Soon after Rob left, my grandmother fell and injured her pelvis, so my mother traveled down to Florida to help with her recovery. Then, while Mom was gone, the magnificent Noodle, only eight years old, suddenly lay down and wouldn't get up. A frantic trip to the vet's, an emergency surgery, and a very sad phone call later, Noodle had died from a ruptured spleen. The walks to the park and games of catch-the-stuffed-hedgehog that I'd looked forward to would not happen. She would no longer be able to comfort me.
At that moment, I wanted a lot of things that I couldn't have. I couldn't have my husband with me. I couldn't have my grandmother walk without pain. I couldn't have Noodle back. Maybe I couldn't even come home again. The Rolling Stones song "You Can't Always Get What You Want" started to echo in my mind, and I reeled with the clichéd pain and frustration of it all.
We ask so much of dogs. We want them to adapt their bathroom schedules to our sleep needs. We want them to be in a playful mood when we feel like running around and laughing, and we want them to live as long as we do, staying consistently energetic and ebullient even as we get older. That's a lot of pressure for a sweet little animal, a high standard, even for a standard poodle.
All the same, in the tragedy of Noodle's death was the final gift of a dog who tried her best to meet all of my needs. On that terrible day I realized that, in the end, home is an awfully big place that includes living beings as much as physical structures. On that day, for me, home stretched all the way to the Middle East, up to Boston, down to Maryland, and up again to heaven, where dogs and dreams live on.
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I'm sorry you lost Noodle. I know exactly how you feel. We lost our male apricot Standard Bob over a year ago to Leukemia and our Brown male Standard to Juvenile Renal Disease about 2 years ago. It's always hard when you lose a beloved pet!
Sandy
http://www.standardpoodlesusa.com
Those humans who don't "like dogs can't truly understand how a beloved family pet is a true family member ans their deaths are as cartastrophic as those of any family member's would be. Like hOlly, I remain convinced that Heaven is the final destination of these loyal, loving creatures, and believe my father is undoubtedly rounding all of our family's pets up so that they'll be there to greet us when my sisters and I arrive there. strangely enough, our first childhood pet was named Noodles! (Notice the plural) Noodles was the first dog which belonged primarily to us kids;our other dogs had always been for hunting ratherthan playing and just loving and thus were Daddy's dogs rather than ours.(Kept in a kennel in the yard.d and not allowed in the house for any reason.) After noodles finally ran away, we were allowed to get another non-working dog and had one from that point on.! My younger sister's Christmas stocking STILL sports a hold near the towe where Cinders, left alone when we went to Christmas eve service one year chewed through to get to the chocolate bar he copuld smell inside; she would and still won't allow anyone to mend it! That was when we all learned that chocolate can be deadly to dogs; since cinders consumed the whole bar, we girls ended up sitting by his bed all nihght to keep watch over him. (He survived). Those memories are among the most cherished of family stories. When my father passed away, my then-seventeen year old son asked to speak at his funeral. One of the things he said he'd always remember was how his grandpa had taught him to train a dog. There were few dry eyes in the room as everyone there realized that this was truly a legacy my son had received that spoke more of who my father had beenn than any of the material parts of his "estate". Holly, please thank your husband for his service to our country, and accept my condolances on the passing of your beloved noodles at ta time when you were most vulnerable.
Holly; I am sorry for your loses. I can talk about all the horrible stuff that's happened in my life except the loss of my best friend, Harley, 8 years ago. I never even thought about it enough to absorb it because I couldn't. Harley went through the whole trying time of my post divorce, abusive relationship with my first serious boyfriend pos divorce, who was actually Harley's owner, but not from the day that Harley and I met. Fran fell asleep on my couch the first night he brought Harley over and in the middle of the night I rolled over and nearly had a heart attack when I felt some unknown furball. Harley and I never left each others sides after that except for a few crisis we went through. We can never explain why we end up in the lives of the people and creatures that make all the difference in our lives, God chooses those. We are truly lucky when these lives intertwine with ours. Like I said, loosing Harley is something I still can't comprehend and I'm not up for it today either. Holly, your husband and grandma will be in my prayers, and I know that noodle will be watching down on them and you from heaven. God bless, DA
You're so right about asking dogs to do so much for us, adjusting to our lives. This made me take a step back and observe myself. I adore my dogs, and my cats, and I'm very proud of the life I give them, cooking their meals with the best ingredients, taking them for prolonged walks every day, giving them affection, playtime, etc., but all of this is done in my own time at whenever it's convenient for me. Yet, they are there happily by my side, confident that this two legged creature will not forget them.
I've never remembered the especial love my pets have given me and the lessons I've learned from each one of them, dog or cat. When my beloved Frankie died in 1995 I went into a downward spin. Refused to leave my house even for a walk around the block, I went into a depression. This lasted for the better part of 2 months and each day I missed him more. One night in my dreams I saw Frankie walking on a city sidewalk with a pack of dogs, all types, he was the only one trailing his leash...I was across the street franctically calling him, the dog stopped looked at me for a few seconds then rejoined his friends and disappeared around the corner. I was devastated and at the same time noticed that while he was on the sunny side of the street I wasn't. I awoke with a start and from that moment on I began to heal. It was a powerful message to let me know that he was OK, happy, running free, and the trailing leash was my longing and pain keeping him from being completely free.
I still wish he was with me now, but I'm confident that he is in a different form and that one day we'll be together again.
There's a place in my heart (all animal lovers have this!) that is reserved for that special love only your "best friend" can occupy. There's a gaping hole where "Tiffany" used to live. Here's our story...she was the grandaughter of our first Tiffany, a beautiful tri-color collie that would do justice to "Lassie". She was all of 8 months old and I just happened to be up on Long Island that week. We had a house on the Great South Bay and it was a chilly early spring morning. Suddenly I heard my Mom screaming hysterically from the backyard. I ran outside in my T-shirt and sweat pants and to my horror saw Tiffany swimming frantically in circles in the canal! Everyone including a boater who was trying to keep her in view shouting. She began swimming back out into the open water at which time I said "I'm going in!" and jumped! I grabbed her by the fur and hung on for dear life. (literaly) My Dad,having gone through this before with one of our smaller dogs, got the ladder out and into the water along with a length of boat rope. At this point, hypothermia was an issue, it was all I could do to hoist her up the ladder from below while they pulled from above. We both got into a hot shower as quickly as we could. I decided to take her back to Florida with me and leave the older male collie "Mac" with my Mom. I guess I saved her life that day and she repaid me in kindness that can't be quantified. Inevitably some 12 years later the ravages of old age took their toll and my very special friend from me. I still have a younger sable and white "Princesse" trying as best she can to fill the gap. I think she understands my sadness. I just hope she is okay with it. I did bring home a little sheltie "Glitter" to keep her company and they still play with me but not each other. I guess dogs must grieve too. They seem to share every other emotion with us. Hopefully time will heal their hearts along with mine. Don't "All Dogs Go To Heaven" ?
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