Hokie Clendenon
1994-2010
Today was one of the hardest days. We have known for a while that Hokie was not going to live forever, and over the past few months, he has lost an incredible amount of weight and had become emaciated. He was blinder, deafer, and didn't always have his balance about him. But he still was living a decent beagle life--dumping our kitchen trash can, valiantly defending his food dish, checking out the back yard, roo-rooing at other dogs. For the past two weeks, I actually believed that he might be putting on weight again (he had a voracious appetite, and we were feeding him 3-4 times a day trying to add anything back to his frame), but on Friday, he started to look very, very gaunt. Friday night I found him hiding underneath some blankets and clothes on the floor of our laundry room. Saturday morning, before I left for my Dad's house in Pulaski, I had to guide him into his crate because he was wandering aimlessly, and he felt like he was hollow when I picked him up. Then Kerry called to say that he knew why Hokie was looking so skinny again--he wasn't eating or drinking. He had been given food several times, and he just walked away. Anyone who has beagles knows this is a sign of serious trouble.
Last night was rough. Hokie went outside and went under the house and wouldn't come back out. I was out of town, but Kerry was afraid that he was going to have to send a child under to get his body. But he lived until morning. And then he started vomiting, and it was deep, smelly vomit coming from his intestines. He went to the emergency vet, who concurred with what our vet has suspected, that he has liver or stomach cancer. We could have taken him to a veterinary oncologist tomorrow, but chances are, his condition couldn't be fixed anyway, and the treatment would just be further trauma. And then, when I saw him when they brought him in from the back of the office, it was clear that he was not likely to live until morning anyway. Poor boy was actively vomiting while they gave him the injection, but now I know he is out of his pain and he will not have to starve or dehydrate to death, nor would he have to die without us if he had to stay for treatment. We were able to be there with him in his final moments and to pet him afterwards. We were given some clay pawprints from him.
Hokie was my baby long before I had human babies. I got him from the Rio Hill pet shop back in my last week of my first year of graduate school. I know better now than to buy a dog from a pet store, but in his defense, he was from a local breeder who was not a puppy mill, and though he may not have necessarily been bred with the utmost care for health and conformation, he was a gorgeous, healthy, perfect-tempered beagle, and we had been to shelters all over the state looking for the right dog, and he was it. I hid him in my apartment and slept with him in the tiny bathroom there so that he would not howl at night or pee on my floor that week. When I took him for walks on Montebello Circle, I would have to carry him home because his tender pink pads on his feet weren't callused yet and the road was too rough for him. He lived with me on 14th Street, and he worked with me every day of his first summer, when I was helping to edit Piers Plowman for an electronic edition. We went up to Shenandoah National Park several times a week for most of his first year and a half and hiked every hike under seven miles. He had many good buddies at the dog park and at the park down the street from us.
During later years, after the Shenandoah Era, which ended with Tucker, who wasn't very reliable off lead and who got carsick, he shuttled back and forth between Charlottesville and Craig County, where he had the opportunity to chase horses, romp in fields, and play with our kitten. He was always gentle, tolerant to a fault, and affectionate. His only vice as an adult dog was that he could be aggressive toward puppies. As a family dog, he put up with all kinds of pulling and dragging and falling on top of him. Like most beagles, he was a couch potato, but if called to action, he was more than ready to leap up and stay with you as long as you needed him to be rugged and athletic. During his prime years, he was the kind of beagle that people who stop us on the street to walk to because he had such a beautiful coat and square muzzle.
It feels odd to be in a house that doesn't have Hokie in it. The picture above was from just last year, when he still had a healthy looking body. At 14.5, our vet called him "The best looking fourteen year old beagle I've ever seen." Bilbo is pretty subdued tonight.
I am putting my energy now into helping Bilbo become the dog he should be. I have not been a good pet owner with him. I have done a very poor job of training him. He's a sweet, affectionate, calm, tolerant beagle as well. But after the previous owners' dogs marked the carpet and floors and then Tucker had trouble in his old age and then Hokie backslid when Tucker did, he isn't the best housebroken dog. I recognize that this is my fault. We have a crate, and to some degree we have "crate trained," but I know I haven't done it by the book, and I've let him out unsupervised too often and we have also slacked off because we have a fenced back yard that he can go in while we aren't home or while we aren't watching. Just because he goes outside doesn't mean he's not going to go in the house, also. In the past few weeks I have started regularly walking him for a mile or two a day, trying to get in a short morning walk and a longer evening walk at the least. I've never had to walk a dog in order to housebreak before, but this is a new dog, and we're always being asked to adapt and learn, aren't we? I'm also being meticulous about having him in the crate when we are not able to active watch him. So far I haven't seen any accidents, but then again, I may be missing some of what happens upstairs. Since we are getting new carpet in three weeks, even though we will gate the stairs so that he can't go up, I would still like to feel like I have not been a complete dog failure. Over the past few weeks I've been researching dog breeds and thinking about what our next dog might be, and it has really hurt me that even close friends have said that I should absolutely not get any more dogs because I have been such a bad owner of the ones I have. The immature side of myself wants to get one just to spite them (not that they care...I'm the one cleaning up the messes), sort of a "ha, I'll do what I want." I'm not the best human parent, and I'm not the best dog parent, and it is perhaps selfish of me to want living things as a comfort and companion for myself, but I can say with all honesty that my life has been much, much better for having had Hokie in it, and the sixteen years I spent with him not only would not have been the same without him, but have given me so much love and so many wonderful memories that I wouldn't trade them for clean carpets or even an intact sense of accomplishment as a trainer or person. Hokie, may you find much peace and happiness over the Rainbow Bridge, and I hope the bunnies are plentiful there.
1994-2010
Today was one of the hardest days. We have known for a while that Hokie was not going to live forever, and over the past few months, he has lost an incredible amount of weight and had become emaciated. He was blinder, deafer, and didn't always have his balance about him. But he still was living a decent beagle life--dumping our kitchen trash can, valiantly defending his food dish, checking out the back yard, roo-rooing at other dogs. For the past two weeks, I actually believed that he might be putting on weight again (he had a voracious appetite, and we were feeding him 3-4 times a day trying to add anything back to his frame), but on Friday, he started to look very, very gaunt. Friday night I found him hiding underneath some blankets and clothes on the floor of our laundry room. Saturday morning, before I left for my Dad's house in Pulaski, I had to guide him into his crate because he was wandering aimlessly, and he felt like he was hollow when I picked him up. Then Kerry called to say that he knew why Hokie was looking so skinny again--he wasn't eating or drinking. He had been given food several times, and he just walked away. Anyone who has beagles knows this is a sign of serious trouble.
Last night was rough. Hokie went outside and went under the house and wouldn't come back out. I was out of town, but Kerry was afraid that he was going to have to send a child under to get his body. But he lived until morning. And then he started vomiting, and it was deep, smelly vomit coming from his intestines. He went to the emergency vet, who concurred with what our vet has suspected, that he has liver or stomach cancer. We could have taken him to a veterinary oncologist tomorrow, but chances are, his condition couldn't be fixed anyway, and the treatment would just be further trauma. And then, when I saw him when they brought him in from the back of the office, it was clear that he was not likely to live until morning anyway. Poor boy was actively vomiting while they gave him the injection, but now I know he is out of his pain and he will not have to starve or dehydrate to death, nor would he have to die without us if he had to stay for treatment. We were able to be there with him in his final moments and to pet him afterwards. We were given some clay pawprints from him.
Hokie was my baby long before I had human babies. I got him from the Rio Hill pet shop back in my last week of my first year of graduate school. I know better now than to buy a dog from a pet store, but in his defense, he was from a local breeder who was not a puppy mill, and though he may not have necessarily been bred with the utmost care for health and conformation, he was a gorgeous, healthy, perfect-tempered beagle, and we had been to shelters all over the state looking for the right dog, and he was it. I hid him in my apartment and slept with him in the tiny bathroom there so that he would not howl at night or pee on my floor that week. When I took him for walks on Montebello Circle, I would have to carry him home because his tender pink pads on his feet weren't callused yet and the road was too rough for him. He lived with me on 14th Street, and he worked with me every day of his first summer, when I was helping to edit Piers Plowman for an electronic edition. We went up to Shenandoah National Park several times a week for most of his first year and a half and hiked every hike under seven miles. He had many good buddies at the dog park and at the park down the street from us.
During later years, after the Shenandoah Era, which ended with Tucker, who wasn't very reliable off lead and who got carsick, he shuttled back and forth between Charlottesville and Craig County, where he had the opportunity to chase horses, romp in fields, and play with our kitten. He was always gentle, tolerant to a fault, and affectionate. His only vice as an adult dog was that he could be aggressive toward puppies. As a family dog, he put up with all kinds of pulling and dragging and falling on top of him. Like most beagles, he was a couch potato, but if called to action, he was more than ready to leap up and stay with you as long as you needed him to be rugged and athletic. During his prime years, he was the kind of beagle that people who stop us on the street to walk to because he had such a beautiful coat and square muzzle.
It feels odd to be in a house that doesn't have Hokie in it. The picture above was from just last year, when he still had a healthy looking body. At 14.5, our vet called him "The best looking fourteen year old beagle I've ever seen." Bilbo is pretty subdued tonight.
I am putting my energy now into helping Bilbo become the dog he should be. I have not been a good pet owner with him. I have done a very poor job of training him. He's a sweet, affectionate, calm, tolerant beagle as well. But after the previous owners' dogs marked the carpet and floors and then Tucker had trouble in his old age and then Hokie backslid when Tucker did, he isn't the best housebroken dog. I recognize that this is my fault. We have a crate, and to some degree we have "crate trained," but I know I haven't done it by the book, and I've let him out unsupervised too often and we have also slacked off because we have a fenced back yard that he can go in while we aren't home or while we aren't watching. Just because he goes outside doesn't mean he's not going to go in the house, also. In the past few weeks I have started regularly walking him for a mile or two a day, trying to get in a short morning walk and a longer evening walk at the least. I've never had to walk a dog in order to housebreak before, but this is a new dog, and we're always being asked to adapt and learn, aren't we? I'm also being meticulous about having him in the crate when we are not able to active watch him. So far I haven't seen any accidents, but then again, I may be missing some of what happens upstairs. Since we are getting new carpet in three weeks, even though we will gate the stairs so that he can't go up, I would still like to feel like I have not been a complete dog failure. Over the past few weeks I've been researching dog breeds and thinking about what our next dog might be, and it has really hurt me that even close friends have said that I should absolutely not get any more dogs because I have been such a bad owner of the ones I have. The immature side of myself wants to get one just to spite them (not that they care...I'm the one cleaning up the messes), sort of a "ha, I'll do what I want." I'm not the best human parent, and I'm not the best dog parent, and it is perhaps selfish of me to want living things as a comfort and companion for myself, but I can say with all honesty that my life has been much, much better for having had Hokie in it, and the sixteen years I spent with him not only would not have been the same without him, but have given me so much love and so many wonderful memories that I wouldn't trade them for clean carpets or even an intact sense of accomplishment as a trainer or person. Hokie, may you find much peace and happiness over the Rainbow Bridge, and I hope the bunnies are plentiful there.
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