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Saying Goodbye to Skipper

Back in 1997, I wrote an article about the road I took with my dog Natan Busecker Schloss. As Nickie slowly approached old age, I was forced to recognize the signs of an aging dog, a dog that could not control his bladder or bowels, a dog who knew where the end of

I wrote about the decision making process I had to go through to make up my mind to put Nickie to sleep. Over the years people have read about what I went through and passed on their experience.

I try and write everyone of them back. For me the most important part of my web site is the section on old dogs and the section on my sons.

Today I got an email about a dog named Skipper. I felt I needed to pass this email on to everyone who faces the decision . I would like to share this email with you:

On Jan. 27, 2005, I took Skipper for a walk down the Green Mile. I’m not sure exactly how old he was—at least 17. He was a mix, predominately a Toy Fox Terrier but with a stouter body and shorter legs than a pure breed. He probably never weighed more than 15 pounds on a Thanksgiving Day, but you’d never find a stronger little bundle of muscle. He had, as you can gather from his name, a peculiar way of skipping when he moved.

I found him at a shelter in 1991 and adopted him for my mother, who’d recently lost both my dad and her tiny toy Chihuahua. Skipper was the only small dog available at the shelter, and I couldn’t understand why anyone would give up such a cute little guy.

I soon found out why Skipper was an orphan. He was the most headstrong, incorrigible little mutt I’d ever encountered. Either he’d never been properly house-trained, or he just wouldn’t abide any authority over him. He didn’t have accidents; whether he went inside or outside seemed to be well-calculated.

Despite his strong will, goofy demeanor (I suspect he was never completely competent.), and questionable excretory habits, Skipper proved to be a great companion for my mom until she died in 2000. My mother loved him dearly. Then, naturally, I inherited this evil little beast called Skipper. I felt obligated to care for him and figured he didn’t have far to go on his leash anyway.

Needless to say, I underestimated Skipper’s zest for life. For nearly five years I took care of the cur as he set out to befoul my house while acting in every contrary manner imaginable.

Eventually, Skipper began to slow down and show his years. First, he lost his hearing. In the last year or so he had a hard time getting around and would lose his balance easily. I’d always know when he’d fallen; he’d bark until I came to make him upright.

In the last few weeks he began to suffer mini-strokes, became incontinent, and suffered from dementia. The incontinence meant that I had to clean him and provide fresh bedding often. Throughout all this, however, he retained a voracious appetite. No dog ever loved pizza more than Skipper.

In the end, he couldn’t stand up. He’d sleep all day and go off on relentless barking sessions in the middle of the night. I don’t know if he was crying out for me to end his pain, or if it was the dementia. Perhaps both.

Even though Skipper was an endless source of aggravation, I miss him already. All he ever wanted was a full belly and a comfortable place to rest his bones. And all he ever gave in return was his own brand of unconditional love.

In the final analysis, Skipper was no trouble at all. I’d gladly do it all again if I could have him back.

So long, Skip. You were truly a good boy.

Greg Miller

Greg sounds like someone I would like to drink a beer with. I wrote him back and told him he should write a book about skipper.

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Additional links on Making the difficult decision to put your dog to sleep

1- The Rainbow Bridge Is today the right day?

2- Emails from people who have gone through the loss of a pet