The doctor didn’t look very optimistic when he came into the waiting room yesterday. Shaking my hand he said, “We don’t get any 8 year old Great Danes here. It doesn’t look good.”

The infection in his foot hadn’t gotten better with the other treatment had spread into his ankle. It needed to be drained and they were going to have to put him out to do it. At eight my Dane KittyKitty was facing shaky ground with sedation. It had to be done though. If he didn’t make it at least he would be asleep when he passed on. I would miss him but I don’t want him to suffer either, and he has been quite uncomfortable the last few days. Bad enough to cry a bit and whine a bit more.

Walking home from the vet’s office I began reminiscing about the last few years. Tears were cold down my face and the winter wind made them sting my cheeks. Stopping by the store to pick up a few groceries for supper I hoped no one noticed my tearstained eyes. I wanted a drink for the first time in ages. So I bought some liquor too. My night was going to be spent looking back and a little buzz wasn’t going to hurt.I had an evening of remembering to do.

I heard that Daisy had had her puppies on that wonderful morning in November of 1999. I had the pick of the litter and it amazed me that I had to choose from a pack of 15 pups. She bore 16 but 1 was still born. Daisy had been close to me since she was young and having one of her pups was a dream come true. I rushed out to Tim and Sandy’s house and when I saw him I melted. He stood out with his white coat with brown spots. Fawniquin they are called. The ones with black patches are called harlequin.

Holding him in my hands was a thrill. About the size of a gerbil his squinty closed eyes and snuffling snout was enough to make me know I would take care of him for the rest of his life. My wife Cat brought him home when he was about 6 weeks old. She had been a big part of his daily life, going each evening to bottle feed and hold him. 15 pups is too much for 1 mother so alternative feeding was necessary. He was the smallest one who lived. 2 more left early on.

He was always excited when I would come home on weekends. An over the road driver doesn’t have the luxury of seeing the family everyday and the family misses that driver a lot. He was such a part of my family and grew closer each weekend. Looking out the window on the mornings I would leave he would throw a fit seeing me driving off. When I came in late Friday night he would attack me with excited love. Sometimes he would knock me over.

Great Danes grow fast. By 9 months he was pushing a hundred pounds. At a year he was almost 120. But he was still a puppy. Bouncy and playful with more energy than he needed he was easily excited. We got close quick and that closeness has lasted over 8 years now. I didn’t know how close we could be until September 2000 when I got hurt. Thats when he started being my best friend.

Recognizing my injury immediately he became gentle and wanted noting more than to sit with his head in my lap on the sofa or curled along my back when I layed down. He became closer and closer and would whine when I went to the doctor or just walked to the store. Cat was working extra hours and he was someone to talk to and have companionship with. I never knew I could love another being like this. He loved me back…unconditionally.

During the last 7 years with him as an almost constant companion we have gone through a lot together. He has been a big part of keeping my sanity, such as it is, by being there when life seemed at it’s lowest. He has been there to celebrate the good times with me too. We have walked together hundreds of miles over the years and has protected me as well as helped me make new friends. (you don’t own a great dane if you don’t wanna talk to people) I could talk to him about anything.

He has never judged me or scorned me because my ideas seemed wrong to him. He has greeted me at the door with the same excitement no matter if I was gone to take the garbage out or took a 6 day trip leaving him with friends. He knows when I can use a snuggle and leaves me alone when I need alone time. He has truly been my best friend for a while. Just not long enough.

I called the vet this morning about 9. The receptionist told me the doctor would call me soon. I didn’t like the sound of that. Cat and I sat and fretted. Reminiscing became worry. Each of us knew in our hearts that not hearing anything could be nothing but bad news. We waited and fretted. The minutes seemed like hours. The hours seemed like years. I was getting sick.

I reached for the phone. I wasn’t waiting anylonger. I needed to know. The phone rang before I could dial and it was the doctor. “Mr Holland?” he said. The tears started right away. Hanging out in my eyelids they were poised to become a flow.

“Kitty is doing surprisingly well”, he said. Almost unbelievingly he continued, “We have him on large doses of antibiotics and really need to keep him another night just to make sure but I believe he’s doing good”.

Relief flooded me. The tears came down but were soon stopped. My friend gets to come home tomorrow and he’s going to get better! I can’t wait!

I know he is really old for a giant breed dog and the reality of not having a lot longer with him has set in I want to spend more time with him. A few more weeks, months or however long will be wonderful. He is a great companion. I love him.
He’s my best friend.

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