I wasn't sure about a dog named "Winston" until I met him. Then I knew that no other name could possibly suit such a special dog. I was working for Harley Davidson at the time, and a customer who knew I had been searching for a furry companion told me about Winston....that a friend of his was trying to find a good home for him. The friend brought in a picture, and I must admit- I fell in love with those big, brown eyes and that Shaggy Dog-esque face. So off I went to see if we would even get along.
I walked into Winston's house and sat down on the couch. He came and sat next to me, and didn't leave my side...until I headed for the door. My place wasn't doggy-friendly just yet, but I vowed to return the following day after making a much-needed store run. I still remember how he stood at the door, trying to get out so he could go along with me. I kept my promise, more to Winston than anyone else, and I picked him up the very next day. It was rainy and overcast. As soon as the door to his owner's Suburban opened, he bolted out and into my humble little Mitsu (in the front seat, of course!). Ah, this was going to be a perfect fit. After welcoming him into my tiny two-bedroom apartment and getting settled in, reality hit- this was one big boy! What in the heck was I thinking?! But sixty-five pounds of pure lap dog looked up at me, and my fears quickly faded.
Winston was originally a shelter rescue- a worker at the pound couldn't resist his charm and brought him home with her. She took him out training runs (she was a marathon runner), which he loved. But she had rescued too many and soon enough, Winston (then known as "Jimmy") had to go. He found his way to Gary's house, where Winston's nemesis, Higgins lived. Higgins was a stuffy, prima dona show dog who took delight in tormenting my little dear. So I like to think I rescued him again. : )
Indeed, our eight years together saw a lot of change, and he was right there to pull me through.
A new adventure began when I took a job as a nanny. Winston and I moved across town into a house bursting with energy from a two-year-old and six-year-old. We had a bit of a rough start as he acclimated to all of the activity, but soon all was well. That is, until he found his way out of the yard one sunny day. Luckily for us, Winston couldn't resist the sound of a motorcycle. So we started it up, and down the street he came running...apparently ready to go for a ride.
And then we moved again; this time to a cute, little house outside of Sierra Vista, complete with a large fenced-in yard. It was Winston's favorite place. He especially liked sauntering up to the obnoxious neighbor dogs and ever so coolly, hiking a leg in their face. I never tired of seeing his performance. : ) It was at this house that Winston found a new friend. Apparently, the previous tenants raised desert tortoises (and in between cooked a little meth!), and one of them hadn't dug out of hibernation just yet. But when he decided to make his return to the world, Winston was there to greet him. I went outside to check on Winston, and he turned to look at me as if he had been caught red-handed. But with what? I soon found he had made the tortoise his new chew toy....and then heard the *crunch crunch crunch* of his jaws processing turtle shell. Not to worry- it all ended well for the tortoise. He was a little traumatized, but soon came out of his shell after we bribed him with water. When the tenant came by to pick up the tortoise, we offered its mangled little shell and said "I think a javelina (wild pig) must have gotten it." Yes, it was a rare breed we thought, with long, shaggy hair and black and white spots; very mysterious and stealthy. :)
It was also in that home where I decided to make a stab at the academy. It would mean 20 weeks away from my baby boy, but would guarantee a better-paying job that could solidify a lifetime of rawhide bones and Snausage treats. So we started to train, running upwards of 4-5 miles several times each week. Winston would whine and wiggle as I laced up my running shoes; the thought of running enticed him. He always started off at a full gallop, and I would warn him that this was unwise because we had a very long way to go. He rarely took my advice, and so we would both make our fatigued return to the house a few miles later, with me gently tugging his leash and offering some words of encouragement. On one occasion, I carried him a few yards back to the house because he just couldn't "go" anymore. As we waddled back to the house (hey, 65 pounds is HEAVY!), Winston leaned back and planted a wet kiss on my cheek as if to say "Thanks"!
My academy call finally came in 2005; it was a sad day leaving him, but I knew he was in good hands. My Mom and Dad took great care of Winston while I studied and sweated my way through to graduation day in early 2006. And another move was in store for us; this time to the plush oasis (I jest) of a tiny border town in New Mexico. Winston didn't seem to care much for my new work hours (10+ each day), and he would rebel by chewing up the sofa cushions and digging in flower pots. Simply put, he hated being alone. And I hated leaving him. Oh, the things we do for money. : )
It wasn't long after we were settled in that he met someone who would become an important part of the last few years of his life. The first day my boyfriend (now my hubby) dropped by, Winston put on quite a show. We sat down on the couch; Winston sat down in front of Chris...I knew what this meant- "pet me". Chris didn't and proceeded to make a horrible error in judgment by ignoring Winston's subtle request. Done with the subtlety route, Winston jumped up on my L-shaped couch, opposite of where we sat. He then turned around, giving Chris his "back", and placed his head on the backrest of the couch. But not before letting out a disgusted "sigh". I told Chris that if he didn't already realize it, he was being ignored!!
They got through that rough beginning, and became fast friends. We dated for two years before Chris finally took the plunge and let "us" move in. He was not crazy about having a dog in the house, even a well-behaved one (if you can overlook the potting soil and couch mishaps), but I told him Winston and I were a package deal. You simply can't have one without the other. : )
One night long before the move-in invitation, Chris suggested I bring Winston over to stay with us- we could just put him in the pen outside with his dogs. Had I failed to mention the obvious about Winston? He was NOT an outside dog. Such a regal, stately, sophisticated creature...who on Earth would even suggest a dog named WINSTON sleep outside?!! Preposterous!
Winston lived another 3 1/2 years with us. I dropped him off each workday at "daycare"- Mom to the rescue, again. Have you forgotten he didn't like being alone?! By now, we had given up our long runs, but he would still put on a show and chase his tail for you on a good day. And he sure did love a long walk.
Winston took every vacation with us, and in a few short summers managed to see the Grand Canyon, Lake Powell, the entire state of New Mexico and even made the long road trips home to Iowa and Louisiana. He was always happy to jump in the backseat, awaiting his next adventure. One trip sticks out in my mind. We were driving back through Arizona from Lake Powell and I was attempting to feed Winston his "yummies". This term described nothing "yummy" at all- in fact, his yummies were glucosamine/chondroitin and Vitamin C to make his tired hips and legs better (something I now know was a ridiculous idea). I would crush up the capsules and do my best to conceal them in his food. This day, I picked up a drive-thru hamburger for him, which he enjoyed so much....until he discovered the "ickies" on the patty. Defeated, I gave up.
Chris thought he could trick Winston into taking his pills. But Winston was very smart, and soon found that his beloved Chris was in on this nasty trick, too. He faced away from Chris towards the window, letting out another disgusted "sigh". As Chris called to him, Winston wouldn't even turn in his direction; he just kept staring out the window. I swear he must have been thinking "traitor!". He expected that type of thing from me, but NOT from his buddy, Chris. : )
Getting into the car had become quite difficult for Winston now, and I took the extra time to help him go in and out. It was proving especially hard, as I was 36 weeks along and getting more tired by the minute. But he had taken good care of me, so I felt it was the least I could do for my special friend.
The bigger I got, the slower I went. When Chris and Winston would take off on the occasional triumphant hopping gallop (he had to hop with his back legs to run now) because Winston pooped like a champ, he never let me get far from his sight. He would simply stop, look back and wait for me to catch up. Then they would take off again!
One of the sweet memories I have of Winston is the day I went into labor. This being my first child, I wasn't sure if I was just being a weenie or if the pain I had experienced was the real deal. I was scared, anxious, nervous...there I was on all fours, swaying back and forth as I timed what I assumed to be contractions. Winston slowly made his way into the bedroom (gone were his limber running days), and put his face next to mine. He laid down and waited it out with me before I decided it was time to head for the hospital. I felt awful having to leave him, considering he was my comfort during such a scary time. But off we went- and we came home with another sweet, little boy.
Anytime our son so much as cried, Winston would get up as quickly as his failing legs would let him and take off for Caleb's room to check up on him. And if I didn't hear the commotion, Winston was certain to search me out in the house and notify me that Caleb needed me. We would take Caleb out in his stroller to walk with Winston, one of us pushing Caleb, the other walking Winston. But he never liked getting too far away- he always managed to work his way over to the stroller and stay near the left side, seemingly "watching over" our little man.
Shortly before I returned to work after being on maternity leave, Winston took a turn for the worst. He could barely get up now (even with his magic shoe booties), and when he did, he stumbled into things and/or became so weak he had to lie down. I looked deep into his eyes, and they said "Let me go". I regret that I made him hang on for another few weeks before I realized my selfish ways. But what do they say? Hindsight is 20/20.
About one week later, I knew something was wrong. Chris had been packing up for a trip and somehow I feared that Winston had gotten out of the house and into the night. I was right. Chris couldn't believe he had gone too far; Winston was walking just a few yards and would give out before Chris would pick him up again. We looked for hours, my mind imagining the worst. My baby had tried to tell me it was time to let him go, but I hadn't listened and this would be my punishment. He had gone off to die. I pictured coyotes tearing him apart, or him dying alone in a hole somewhere because he couldn't find his way out. We hardly slept that night, and resumed our search just two hours later at 5:30 in the morning. I called my neighbor, Judith, who said she would look for him. My Mom and Dad searched for hours; Chris and I scoured the yard looking for any sign of Winston's whereabouts. But there was nothing to find.
I hadn't been off the phone long with Judith when it rang again. She had found Winston. I could not believe what I was hearing; he was alive after being gone nearly 9 hours?! Judith told me she had said a prayer for Winston's safe return before going out the door, and there he was- walking toward her, tired and hot, but alive.
This escapade came from a dog who could barely walk a short distance, and he somehow managed to make it all of one mile, maybe more. We still aren't sure where he went off to or why. Maybe it was his last hurrah- we will never know.
It only seemed right to let him rest; he had lived a good, long, rich life (15-16 years worth!), and he deserved some peace.
We talked a lot about where his resting place would be and decided it should be near our other dogs. Perhaps you already guessed it, but he still liked to gloat about his freedom when we let him roam outside. He would slowly make his way up to their fence line and squat now, no hiking for this old man. But he still had the same spunk of years past that I had grown to admire so much.
Chris and I did everything we could to make his last few days enjoyable; we went on car rides, we let him up on the couch. I gave him as many hotdogs as his big belly could hold. I cooked extra bacon, and gave it to him just because. We ate brownies, meatloaf and steak. We went on walks (as long as his legs would last), and I praised him like a crazy lady for being such a "pooper star". I prayed and prayed for strength and it was granted to me. But there were moments where I would break down and sob as I counted down the time, now just hours, before I had to say goodbye.
Isn't it ironic that in his passing, he is now truly an "outside dog"? So I venture out each evening to say goodnight and kiss his collar, carefully propped up on his grave. It probably sounds a little nuts, but I don't care. He was my "best, good friend" in the words of Forrest Gump. Truth be told, I catch myself listening for the "click" of his nails against the tile floor and I still expect to see him watching me as I rock our baby to sleep. Or I "remember" he must be outside and I need to retrieve him. I look, but he's not there. Nor do I find him laying in his usual spot by the fireplace.
I told him as he left this life that I was happy for him, but sad for me. Who can even argue that this was not a life well-lived? I hope I can time it just right, too.
