Back in September, I told you about my stalwart dogs, Brutus and Ditto, and of their travels.
Soon after that essay appeared, Brutus and I were left grieving when Ditto suffered a traumatic and fatal internal injury.
He was 12 years old, and he had lived a life of curiosity and adventure.
Ditto passed at a 24-hour emergency veterinarian on the evening after the devastating power of Helene lashed the region.
Ditto and Brutus were staying with my daughter in Waynesville, North Carolina, for a few days while I was out of town. On their first night there she noticed he was in terrible pain. She wrapped him in a blanket and took off with him in her car to the South Asheville clinic.
Cellular towers were down across the region, so she couldn’t call me to let me know what was going on. The clinic’s phones were out, too.
Ditto’s prognosis was poor, but my daughter wanted to reach me to make sure that the obvious course of treatment—putting Ditto down—was what I wanted. Leaving him in the capable hands of the vet, she took off in her car looking for somewhere she could get signal to text me. She found signal down near the Asheville Airport, and in minutes we agreed that Ditto needed a quiet and pain-free goodbye.
“Let him kiss your face, and tell him he’s always been such a good boy and that we love him dearly,” I texted. “Then take his blanket back to Brutus so he knows, as well.”
I grieved that I was not there. I still grieve that I wasn’t there to hold him as he died.
Ditto always tried to be a bossy dog-in-charge, while Brutus is the slow-moving bigger brother who trailed behind. I frequently said Ditto was the advance scout out on our walks while Brutus was the lumbering heavyweight who could kick it into higher gear when Ditto found something worth barking about.
It has been interesting watching Brutus evolve in the months since his brother’s passing.
That last description—Brutus the follower—had to immediately be dealt with because he could not decide where to go to on our walks. Presented with two options he would stop, unsure what to do.
After all, Ditto had always made those decisions.
As the months have passed Bru had gained more confidence in directing our walks, but he still gives me a glance, as if to ask, “Is this right?”
I have worked to introduce more flavorful and appealing food for Brutus because mealtime was always something the boys did simultaneously. They would watch me as I prepared their food, then each would empty his bowl before holding it down with a front paw so he could lick it clean.
Ditto usually finished first and went to the water bowl for an after-meal drink. When Brutus went for a drink, Ditto would go verify that Brutus’ bowl had been properly emptied. Brutus would check out Ditto’s bowl. Brothers, you know. Always competing.
Brutus now shows his emotions and his anxiety more easily. I was worried when I had to leave him alone when I went to work, but it appeared that he did OK.
He more exuberantly greets me now that he’s a solo boy, and he frequently sticks by my side as I walk around the house.
We made a big move together, relocating closer to my granddaughters. Brutus managed it well, and is rewarded with the daily freedom to sunbathe on the door stoop.
Brutus nears his 13th birthday.
Life continues, the two of us.
—Jonathan Austin