Vadar was technically the first dog that I rescued. I was 17 and had just started volunteering in the dog department at a local shelter. I primarily cleaned kennels, a task that I still enjoy. I didn’t have many chances to interact with individual dogs, except for a few minutes at the end of the shift. He was 2 year-old pit bull type dog with a head that was extremely disproportionate to his body. He caught my attention because he was the only dog that didn’t bark when I walked by. I knew he didn’t belong in that shelter. It was impossible not to notice him, so I always stopped by his kennel at the end of my shift to give him extra love and attention.
I couldn’t adopt him myself because I was still in high school and living at home. The only option was to convince my dad to adopt Vadar and he did. My dad and Vadar were inseparable. They went everywhere together. Vadar was a great listener and was really eager to please, but he was also getting into trouble regularly. We made quite a few visits to the emergency vet with Vadar. He stuck his face into a bee’s nest, he ran into boulder during a round of zoomies, he cut his foot on a rock on the weekend, and the list goes on. He loved to cuddle and would lay directly on top of me, crushing me and making it impossible to breathe. He would burrow under the blankets, making it impossible for him to breathe. Did he understand the importance of breathing? I’m not sure.
Vadar was the most important thing in my dad’s life and I would often find him playing his guitar and singing songs to Vadar. Vadar came into our lives at a time when we needed to heal. The previous year was plagued by an intensely emotional and difficult illness in the family. I think that Vadar knew the role that he played in our lives, but he was especially aware of his impact on my dad.
In fact, Vadar had impacts far beyond our family. He became a staple in our town. He visited the town store for hot dogs, went to the dump on Sundays, and laid under a giant orange beach umbrella on the front lawn.
In 2016, Vadar (age 6) was suddenly very ill from lymphoma. I found out while I was away at an ecological research station in Canada. I rushed home and spent his last days with him. We had no treatment options because his lymphoma was too advanced when we caught it. We quickly dreamed up a series of things we could do to make his last days count. We took him swimming and fed him burgers. His body was no longer strong and impenetrable. He was a skeleton. We said goodbye on a Monday, only two weeks after his diagnosis. I grieved intensely for over a year, finding myself tearing up at least once every day and am tearing up as I write this. My dad still won’t get another dog. Vadar was the one.
Several years after Vadar passed someone showed up at our house. She had heard about him from other people in town and told us that he was a local celebrity. She wanted to meet him. That was the effect that he had during his life time. He affected everyone.
So, you might be asking yourself what this young dog’s passing has to do with senior dogs. I was Vadar’s source of comfort during his illness and at the end of his life. I laid on the couch or on the floor with him all night. I stayed up and comforted him while his medication caused him to pant for hours on end. I nervously watched him go from room to room, hoping that he wasn’t leaving because it was the end. I believe that every dog deserves to have someone at the end, whether that’s a year, a month, or a day. The love I provide in these last moments does not undo their past, but it is the least I can do to make sure that they leave this world feeling loved. I always adopt with the optimism that I will have a dog for years, but there is no way to know what will happen. Every loss is heart breaking, but I keep finding ways to open my house and my heart to the next dog.
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