"Guh Guh?" she asks. Over and over and over again. And each time she does we gently tell her "Gunther's gone gone."
"Oh," she says. Every time.
Five days and a handful of hours. It's taken me this long to write it down.
We sat together, Jason, Wes and me....huddled on the slick and freshly mopped floor of the vet's office. He knew it was time. He'd known for a while....much sooner than we were ready to admit. We all sat in sorrowful silence until Wes couldn't muffle his sobs anymore and threw himself over Gunther's body until his tears had run dry.
Gunther passed away on November 26, 2013. I hate that term...."passed away." But that's exactly what it is. He's gone away.
I chose him the night he was born. A surprise litter from my parents' Labs. The only black male in the mix of blacks, yellows, and chocolates. He was mine before he even knew it.
"'Gunther'? Really?" Jason thought that was the stupidest name for a dog he'd ever heard. But I didn't know any other dogs named Gunther. He agreed to let me call him that if I came up with a better registered name. "Gentlemen, Start Your Engines" won him over.
We'd been married not even a year. Our tiny apartment complex would not allow large dogs and this one was going to be large. So we moved. For Gunther.
He graduated Puppy Kindergarten (don't laugh) and saved me from the loneliness of early marriage when Jason worked nights and I was afraid to be by myself. We would walk for hours every evening and he was my best little buddy. He loved apartment living and was rather miffed when we moved to a house with a yard he didn't want.
But then came Wes and later on Sunny. He watched over them in their cribs and through the house and followed them into the cul de sac to play. We never had to tell him to be gentle with them. He just was. They rode on his back, pulled on his ears, tugged at his lips and held on to his tail. Never once did he snap. If things got a little too wild for him, he'd just walk away. But never did I worry about him hurting my children. He didn't have it in him. He genuinely loved them.
But Jason....Jason was his person. The one he longed to sit with, the one who's bedside he lay down by each night. The only one who would still let him sit in his lap. The one who never spoke to him with unkindness. The bond between them was visible. Gunther even slept on top of Jason's laundry piles. On more than one occasion I found him asleep with one of Jason's dirty socks held between his paws. That is true love.
I seem to have forgotten most of why he could also make me so angry. He was a food thief and a counter surfer until old age and bad joints stole the joy of it away. So he'd knock over the trash can instead and go hard on remnants of Wes' sack lunch or whatever leftovers had been thrown out the night before. Or he'd follow his girl around until she sat down with him and shared her Pringles one by one.
We had decided that would be our cue. When he stopped stealing food. Or when he stopped coming up the stairs. But we slowly realized he never would. He would find a way as long as he was breathing, no matter how labored it became.
His last night at home was a cold one. Wes opted to sleep in the twin bed next to Sunny's crib and Gunther quietly slipped in and slept next to them. His charges. Every time I got up to check on them he was awake. Keeping watch. And now I keep walking through the house looking for evidence of his life with us. His food bowl and water bucket are gone....Jason couldn't stand to leave them out. I'm still cleaning carpet stains and vacuuming corners, but the house has a quiet stillness over it. Not that he was loud....far from it. He was a quiet and gentle giant.
The doorbell rang yesterday and for just a second I waited to hear the deep and defining bark that always followed. It never came.
12 years and 4 months. That's a long time, and yet it's really not. Not when it's time to say goodbye.
Goodnight, sweet Gunther. You were unconditional love with an enthusiastic tail. And we were so very blessed to be yours.
