Mark Twain wrote that “The dog is a gentleman. I would rather go to his heaven than man’s”.
My dog, a golden retriever named General Custer, or as I called him, Custer, was not only a man’s best friend but my teacher, guru and the gentlest of souls ever to walk this earth. A month ago, Custer was diagnosed with a hemangiosarcoma tumour on his heart. The vet suspected something like that when he saw that his heart had become radically enlarged from only three months before. An ultrasound confirmed his suspicions.
Custer and I walked out of the veterinarian hospital, he labouring because he also had partial laryngeal paralysis which affected his breathing and I in that surreal state of mind one goes into when you have just been given some news that you can’t quite process. Six months earlier he had been diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I was witness to a higher level of courage than I had ever seen before.
I asked all the right questions. How did this develop? What will his life be like, is he in any pain, how will this end his life? I heard the answers but felt as though I were living someone else’s life, playing a role in a script written for an actor much better than I.
I helped him up into the back of my truck and looked into his eyes. His face had whitened considerably in the past few months and he reminded me of my father who had passed away only a year and a half ago. He too had heart and lung disease which made each breath a monumental effort. Dad made a brave effort and smiled grimly, hoping he would get better.
Looking into Custer’s eyes all I saw was love. He looked back at me with that trusting gaze, panting and, I believe, smiling in that way that dogs do. I asked him if he wanted a treat and right on cue his eyebrows raised in expectation and he stopped panting. I gave him one of his cookies and he swallowed it, barely taking the time to chew it. Custer loved his cookies.
I got Custer eight years ago. Through a bit of serendipity I went from last in line to first because someone who had first choice backed out. I really wanted a boy but said I would gladly take a girl. Now I had a choice and Custer was the first born, the largest and, gift of all gifts, a boy. Before he was born I met the people who owned his mother and they welcomed me to come see my dog as soon as he was born.
I first held Custer in the palm of my hands at three days old. And every weekend thereafter I visited him and watched him grow into a happy but headstrong puppy. I believe because I visited him so early and often that we bonded from a very early point in his life.
In point of fact we never were apart even though I had to travel at times and leave him with friends who also had goldens. He knew he was with family. I have been told dogs don’t really have a sense of time. While I was away he played with his dog pals. And when I returned his life resumed with me at his side. And that was fine with him.
Like a doting grandfather I had pictures of him and showed them to anyone who showed the slightest curiosity. I have one shot of him sitting on a shale rock that was just slightly submerged in water. The effect is that of a dog sitting on the water. Not only was he a gentleman, he could seemingly levitate.
Custer was the opposite of the alpha male. Practically every dog in the parks we visited would come up to him, do their sniffing and then try to hump him. He never complained, just looked at me as if to say “Dad…what are they doing?” in the most innocent voice. Often I had to pull the dogs off and they would climb right back on again. “What to do?” he seemed to say.
A week ago, it was clear to me that Custer’s quality of life had reached an unacceptable point. He wasn’t interested in his food; going for walks was a perfunctory chore and he just lay in the front hall, panting and sleeping. I had arranged for the doctor to come to the house so that Custer didn’t have to go into a sterile, cold environment.
The doctor and his assistant took great pains to assure me that this was the right decision. They explained what they were going to do and what to expect. Custer was given an anaesthetic which allowed him to drift off to sleep. I was lying on the floor with him, my arms cradling his majestic head and stroking his back, feeling the softness of his golden coat. His breathing was slow and relaxed. The vet came back ten minutes later and administered the medicine which would stop his heart. Within seconds Custer let out his final breath, a peaceful sigh that brushed my cheek.
It was over. The last week I have spent being busy, interrupted by breaking down into uncontrollable sobbing. Emails and phone calls have been endless. Custer’s presence was both extensive and well loved.
I am not a religious man but I am trying to maintain a spiritual perspective on things. Custer helped me see things that way. To him, life was. If it was raining it was raining. If he was being humped he was being humped. He loved and there were no strings attached…it was good if there was the odd cookie though.
We humans like to get attached to people, animals, things. I have to let him go. He came into my life and taught me what I needed at the time. I believe we all are a form of energy which fills our human form, propels us through this existence, and then moves on as we leave our bodies behind. Custer’s spirit is now travelling through the universe on another adventure. I have my pictures and memories to remind me of our time together. His epitaph reads: Custer, a gentle giant who gave me the gift of humility.
Photo Credits
“Custer In The Water ” Tim Heintzman
“Custer” – Taylor Heintzman Green
Kaitlyn says
This was absolutely beautiful.
Maria says
Tim,
I stumbled across your story about Custer whilst researching for my new dog-walking enterprise and I had to stop in my tracks to thank you for sharing your beautiful and cherished life with Custer – I’ve got tears in my eyes on this Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Sunday morning, while some of the locals make the most of getting ready for their street parties in the rain!
I also believe in your sentiment that we all are a form of energy which fills our human form, propels us through this existence, and then moves on as we leave our bodies behind. Our beloved Rottie Charlie left us some years back, but was at the core of our small family, giving his unconditional love to each of us in his own special way. His energy kicks in at some point every day – reminding me that our cherished pets are always stored securely and warmly in our hearts and ours theirs.
Thanks again for sharing Tim, and a big woofy cuddle for Custer.
PS: I’ve added your story to my ‘dogs tales’ if that’s okay? http://mariasdogwalkingservice.weebly.com/dogs-tales.html
Ryan says
Found this page thanks to Stumble, heart goes out, albeit a little late, hope your pain has eased. Back in 2008 my beloved dog Smitty had gotten out of the yard while I was at work, I looked well into the night without luck, he was 12 yrs old, partially deaf and partially blind, I got up the next morning and headed to the local shelter and found him, having been the victim of a hit and run, a local police officer heard the tires screeching and when she arrived Smitty was there but no driver, so she called animal control, I picked him up and took him to a vet hospital where they found a broken shoulder, 2 broken ribs, and an unknown level of head trauma. That day still haunts me and it’s been nearly 4 years. But as someone earlier said, I do have a photo of him on my desk and share stories of him whenever possible.
Frank says
Hi my friend.
I´am from Germany, and my englsh isn´t so good. But i see and understand, that your dog was amazing and unique. You love´d that guy and that is allright. my heart is with you and your dog.
Rebecca Doane says
This makes my heart hurt! Two months ago we had to put our 10 year old pit to sleep and it was as bad as losing a person. He was the best dog and now our 3 year old pit is grieving because they were best friends.
j says
wonderful article. dog owner myself and i dread the day when this is going to happen. reminds me of the movie “marley and me”. midnight right now, tears in my eyes. hope the passing of a couple of months has made things easier – j
Darth Continent says
“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” — Will Rogers
Kira says
Custer was a beautiful dog. I feel your pain, but it will ease as you’ve learned from him. Thank you for sharing
Todd Hayen says
Hi Tim…I don’t know you, but read your beautiful post about your gentleman dog. I recently lost one of my best friends, Neli (a red Siberian Husky) and wrote about that loss as well (http://www.toddhayentherapy.com/blog/?p=129). I certainly can empathize. It is quite interesting me how powerful the loss of these amazing creatures in our lives can be.
Thank you for sharing your experience with us….and sharing the wonderful pictures of Custer.
I wish you the best….
Nikki says
Custer was such a handsome dog. I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my Chocolate Lab two years ago to cancer. I still miss her. I know she’s in a better place and picturing her running and playing again puts a smile on my face. She got me through some dark times in my life. I believe that we can all have more than one soul mate and she was one of mine. The people who love dogs are blessed to learn many lessons from them. I feel sorry for those who don’t understand what wonderful creatures they are.
mary says
i lost my dog a few years ago. one day she was panting onthe floor with me laying next to her. my parents took her to the vet the next day while i was at school, i came home and they told me they had to put her to sleep. it devastated me, it was like a lost a sister. she got me through a couple of really bad years and always knew when i was upset. i miss my golden so much.
Meaghan Alexandra says
My family adopted Maximilian when I was seven. My mother had just remarried a man with two boys, and getting Maxi was a way to bond her three children with his two. It worked. Maxi became one of us. I am the youngest of 5, the only girl with four older brothers. Maximilian was another brother. When I would get picked on, teased, or left out (which was all the time), Maxi would sit in my room with me, patiently, as I plopped him on my bed wearing dolls’ clothes and pretending we were on a pirate ship. As I got older, I began to look at him like my child. My baby. My brothers went off to college, I took over every responsibility . I fed him, bathed him, and snuggled with him every night (he slept on my bed with me). When I went off to college, I would Skype with my parents so that Maxi could see my face – he loved that. Last November, we noticed he was drinking large amounts of water and asking to go out almost every hour. Over the course of week, it became every 10 minutes. We figured he had a bladder infection and took him to the vet to get meds. They didn’t work. We took him to get X-rayed and saw he had a tumor growing in his prostrate. Within a week, after seeing that his quality of life had diminished and realizing he was in a great deal of pain, we decided to put him down. I felt helpless, holding him in my arms, knowing I couldn’t do anything to help him except take him out of his misery. I keep his collar on my bed post, and dream about him all the time.
There is nothing more amazing to me than the relationships we develop with our pets. They become family. Humans. Ever faithful, ever loving humans. I certainly hope that all dogs do go to heaven so that I can see him again someday, and I hope you are reunited with General Custer too.
Tim Heintzman says
Ditto Meaghan
Tim
Amanda says
Tim,
I lost my dog almost nine months ago, it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to go through. I had had her since I was eight years old and she was more like a sister than a dog. The whole family was devastated by her passing.
About two weeks after she died, I had to read a book for one of my classes (I’m a student at the University of Arizona) called The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. The book is narrated by an old dog (Enzo) who is ready to die, and he tells the story of his life with his people. It’s a stunning book, and as difficult as it was to read so soon after the loss of my dog, it did help me heal and gave me something to look forward to for my dog’s afterlife. Enzo has some beautiful ideas about what happens to a dog’s soul when he dies that he learned from watching tv (he’s a very perceptive dog!), and even though I’m not a religious person either, I do like his ideas!
I’ve recommended the book to literally everyone I’ve spoken to about dogs in any context. I loaned my dad my copy of it a few months after I read it (he wasn’t ready for it quite as soon as I had to read it) and it helped him heal as well. I honestly cannot say enough good things about it, so if you have the time or interest, I definitely recommend reading it, Custer sounds like he was very much a dog after Enzo’s own heart!
Best,
Amanda
Tim Heintzman says
Bless you Amanda,
I read the Art of Racing in the Rain this summer before I knew the extent of Custer’s illness. I too have recommended it to everyone as Enzo’s insights are brilliant and not unlike some of the ones I received from the General. I guess it helped prepare me for the next chapter in Custer’s life. I echoed the parting words of Enzo’s pal when I released Custer’s ashes in our favourite walking place north of Toronto. I have told friends if they are there and something gets in their eye, say hi To Custer.
Best to you,
Tim
Everybody says
I like this story:
http://www.upgradereality.com/a-dogs-purpose-from-a-6-year-old
-”People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life — like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?”
-”Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don’t have to stay as long.”
Taylor says
Tim,
I sit here hugging my mini husky tight with tears on my cheeks as I type this — loving a dog has a strange way of shaping our lives, and losing them is such deep grief, I am so sorry to hear you had to lose Custer, he was a winsome man! I lost my best friend, a German Shepherd, when I was in my mid teens, I know the pain well. Just remember to keep his picture on your desk, and don’t stop telling his stories! That’ll keep him around you far longer than you thought possible, “letting go” doesn’t mean completely forgetting. Sending you blue energy from across the pond!
julia mclean says
Don’t worry about Custer. he has gone to the Great Kennel in the Sky. Just remember that DOG is GOD spelt backwards which says it all. Dogs are a bit of divine presence which we are privileged to experience during our lives.
I have lost about 7 Border Collies in my life and each loss is very painful because each dog had brought different gifts into our lives. They are all amazing creatures. My latest is not as loving (in fact quite difficult and temperamental) and I held her in my hand when she was a day old. She will be 12 on Nov 1 and is as blind as a bat. I know we will have to choose her moment of departure sometime this year probably and I shall feel very guilty because I have not been as fond of her as I have of the others I had. I don’t think she is a full six pack (being over bred)but she still has great qualities.Her coping strategies for blindness are amazing and she still has her sense of fun.
Hope you are coping better now.
Gail Cooper says
I am so upset to hear about Custer. He truly was a wonderful buddy. We loved him….even with all his hair!!
Regards,
Gail, Beam & Q
Janice Butcher says
Hello There, Thank you for sharing your story about your beloved Custer… We had a beloved “Buddy” for twenty, yes 20, years and he was truly a very loved member of our family. We had to make the same decision for our sweet old man… miss him everyday, between smiles and tears,
Janice
Tim Heintzman says
Thank you Janice. We are fortunate that we can ease our pals of their burden. Wish it were so for our human companions. Life is a finite journey and this, however painful, is a bittersweet lesson.
Janet Somoroff Lubell says
I am close to the point you had to reach with Custer. I wonder if I can even go through with that decision, but his laryngeal paralysis is worsening. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I am so sorry for your loss.
Tim Heintzman says
Janet, many thanks for your kindness. It is by no means an easy decision but the thought of further suffering or pain is too great for either pet or parent to endure. Life is finite and we are fortunate to be able to ease our loved companions of their burden. I was fortunate enough to have a vet who came to the house to set Custer free. He assured me that my decision was the right one as did his assistant who rescues older Goldens. She has had to put 13 old Goldens down in the last 9 years and knows whereof she speaks. You will do the right thing at the right time. Your pal will let you know. Blessings to you.
Tim
Wanda says
Tim, your love for Custer is etched deeply with your words in your article. He obviously had a wonderful life with you as you did with him and I feel your loss. Losing a friend and pet that loves, like you said, with no strings attached is very painful and only time will turn that pain into fond memories and bring a smile to your face. Thank you for sharing and my deepest sympathies to you.
Tim Heintzman says
Thank you, Wanda. He has been, and continues to be, a great teacher. I take comfort in that. He has also been the subject of many heartfelt messages from those who knew him or are coming to know him. What better way to connect with the world???
Tim
Eric Brad says
Tim – I am so sorry for your loss of Custer. He sounds like he was one of those “magical dogs” that only come along once in a great while and give us so much.
We have had our share of loss in the past year, losing two dogs. We said goodbye to our Vince just this past June after 10 wonderful years together. All of us who have loved a dog, a spirit such as Custer, feel your loss with you. It’s never easy to let go of our dogs. Their presence is so all pervasive in our lives from the time we wake until the time we sleep.
Fortunately, time will dull the pain of your loss and it will sharpen your joy at the memory of the wonderful spirit that was Custer. Cherish and hold tight to everything you had together; the laughter, the play, the quiet moments and the silly ones, and mostly the love.
There really is nothing like the love of a dog.
Our thoughts are with you.
Eric & Petra – Tiramisu and Rizzo (Belgian Shepherds)
Tim Heintzman says
Hi Eric,
My apologies for not responding sooner. Life has taken another twist and it’s in a bit of turmoil right now. I do appreciate your kind words. It’s funny the lessons we still have to learn even at this late stage. Writing is such sweet therapy.
Tim