We said goodbye to Huckleberry Finn yesterday. I had thought that us having 3 dogs would keep me from being overly attached to one individual. I was wrong.
Last night in bed, I made room for Huck where he usually sleeps beside me. Only now, the space is empty. It took awhile before I got to sleep.
The last time I had trouble sleeping because of grief was in 2018. It was the first night with Erin being in the hospital. I’d taken him to the emergency room that morning. He’d had a dangerous reaction to a new drug combination prescribed by his doctor. Erin couldn’t answer any questions, he was in delirium. We weren’t sure what had happened. Medical staff treated things as a poisoning. And a potential suicide attempt. Erin would be in the hospital for a week before he was well enough to come home.
That first night with Erin in urgent care, I couldn’t sleep. My mind prepared for worst case scenarios, practicing what I’d say to Erin’s parents to notify them of the situation, etc. I felt afraid and heartbroken.
Huck got beside me and put his head on my chest, maintaining eye contact. He’d never done that before. I could feel his breath on my face, his comforting weight on my rising and falling chest. He kept his head on my sternum, even as it convulsed with sobs.
And I fell asleep like this. With Huck’s healing presence watching over me. Holding space.
Throughout Huck’s life, he was always by my side. A true Velcro dog. If I woke up in the middle of the night with a migraine and decided to stand in the hot shower until my Imitrex kicked in, I’d come out to find Huck laying outside the bathroom door. Waiting.
He was super intelligent and enjoyed training. Once we established good communication and obedience, I could completely trust Huck off leash. One of my greatest joys was a simple walk in Walnut Creek park with him.
Huck was a great ambassador for the breed – patient and gentle with kids (despite his 100+ pound size) and other dogs. He was a master at de-escalating things when encountering poorly socialized dogs on the trails. He projected confidence and other dogs seemed to naturally treat him like a leader. On the trails, he’d make room for folks on mountain bike without getting spooked. And was always calm and friendly when strangers approached him.
He was also a no-nonsense deterrent — I never worried about trail running in the dusk with Huck on the Walnut Creek trails near my house. Huck always inspected and vetted anyone approaching from the front or behind us. He also liked to scout ahead, perhaps looking for potential ambush situations?
The Doberman Pinscher breed is named after a tax collector in central Germany in late 1800s. He developed the breed to be escorts on tax collecting rounds from village to village. I would imagine tax collectors might be a tempting target unless they had a few of these dogs with them. I know from roughhousing with Huck (his favorite play was sparring), how powerful, lightning fast, and agile a dog he was.
Huck had a “Working Dog” mentality on our walks. He could be in the midst of dog-pandemonium at the dog park, and he’d drop everything to come and sit in front of me when I called. I tested him a few times by walking through a gathered crowd to continue on the trail — Huck never got so distracted as to lose sight of me and quickly caught up each time.
The downside to being so intelligent, though, was his need for constant stimulation and attention. When he was a puppy, I wanted to strangle him every day as I struggled to get work done at home. His pitiful high-pitched whines were like nails on a chalkboard. I’d tell myself “I know I’ve made a terrible mistake with getting a Doberman, but it’s my mistake and I have to suck it up and live with it!”
We joked about Huck being so needy, it was like a bottomless black hole of need for attention. I gave up on crate training him…I couldn’t hack it with the whining that seemed would probably go on all night long every night. Huck won that one. I finally broke down and allowed him on the bed at night.
We also joked that instead of Huck being an emotional support animal, we were his emotional support humans.
But now, I miss his high-pitched vocalizations. I’m realizing the extent of Huck’s contribution to our lives.
It’s a comfort to know he had an amazing dog life, with humans who loved and doted on him, pack-mates to play with, a big backyard with doggie door access, miles of off-leash trails within walking distance from home, etc.
We knew his lifespan was coming to an end in the last few weeks but with some pain meds (a newer, once-a-month injection) he was able to have a good enough quality of life to stick around a little while longer with us. Yesterday, we made the call that it was time. He passed at the vet’s office, with us cuddling him on the floor, and me petting his snout like he loved.
Huck’s memory will always be a blessing.
Huckleberry Finn!
Huckleberry Finn!
Huckleberry Finn!
Huck telling me it’s time to knock off work and pay attention to him.
“Be Here Now”
Giving my sister a taste of what a trip to Petsmart can be like.