Opie……oh boy.

I should start at the beginning.

Jax & Opie came to us in December of 2009. It was destiny, really. Michael, my then boyfriend now fiancé, had been randomly commenting on wanting a dog, and I, playing devil’s advocate, would remind him of the time and responsibility. After a few months, Mike’s sister Vicki, a dog owner herself, took matters into her own hands, picked a breed she thought would fit Mike’s lifestyle, found a breeder, contacted said breeder, and sent pictures of the two remaining puppies in the most recent litter. Not wanting to make the final puppy feel bad about himself, Mike told his sister to get both of them. Vicki then took it upon herself to travel to Southern Illinois and bring the two pups home.

No meeting. No research or questionnaire or interview with the breeder. No selection based on the disposition of the parents, the lineage of the puppies, or selection based on physical attributes. Just purely first come first serve, or in our case, last come, last serve.

It was love at first sight.

The names, Jax & Opie, came after attempts at other dynamic duos: Bo & Luke, Bert & Ernie, Milo & Otis until finally, Mike had a flash of inspiration from his favorite show: Sons of Anarchy. Jax- the show’s rebellious protagonist, and his faithful best friend, Opie.

Jax, the runt of the litter, has always been very smart. The first to learn everything, Jax was house trained in 2 weeks, but when gently scolded by Michael, would run behind the couch and pee, earning himself the nickname: The Pee Monster. He was also very stubborn with Michael (another nickname: The Little Punk); there were many staring contests between those two in the early days. We actually thought he may have a hearing problem, but then realized he was just ignoring us.

On the other hand, Opie’s goal in life was to make us happy. It actually did not matter who you were, he just wanted to please you. One of my dearest memories with Opie is one night, while home alone and upset over a very bad week, I was sitting with them on the floor, crying. Opie walked up to me and licked my entire face until my tears stopped, stood in front of my face to make sure I was done, and then laid down on my legs. My terrible week disappeared, and all that was left was this big white puppy with an even bigger heart that loved me.

Opie was more obedient, but even in the very early days, we could see him watching Jax to learn new skills. Jax learned how to shake and high five. Opie learned by watching Jax. Jax learned how to fetch. Opie learned by following Jax. It was hard to tell who guarded whom, who looked out for whom, and who needed whom more. It was obvious Jax cared much more about Opie than he did about us, while Opie was happy to love on everyone. They were inseparable. In Puppy class, we would sit them across the room from each other, and they would whine and talk to each other the entire time. If one went outside to go to the bathroom, the other would whine until he came back. Rather embarrassing.

5 months flew by of raising new puppies, times two. Life was never boring. Ever. Exhausting, but never boring.

April 24, 2010. A sunny, cool, spring morning. The day started out like any other. Of course, the boys woke me up early on a Saturday, and the only thing on their agenda was roughhousing in the backyard. We’d just installed a new deck that allowed them more play room, and they took advantage immediately. Battling it out over a rawhide, Jax eventually grew bored and walked away while Opie laid down in the sun.

Michael was out of bed and had joined me on the deck. Commenting on how glad he was with the new backyard, we both looked at Opie. Michael started his sentence with, “Just look how much Opie likes laying out……..”

I don’t know why we both looked at his stomach. I don’t know how we came to the exact same conclusion at the exact same moment. It was that experience of time slowing down because you’re waiting for the moment to break, and the longer it doesn’t, the more your stomach drops.

Michael was the first to say it, “Kate, he’s not breathing…”

The moment broke and then time moved even slower and in perfect clarity. We both ran down to him, thinking he’d swallowed something or perhaps choked on a piece of rawhide, we opened his mouth and saw nothing. Knowing we needed to get him somewhere immediately, I ran upstairs to call Pet Emergency, and just as I reached the phone, Mike yelled that his hands were too big and he couldn’t reach whatever Opie may have swallowed. So I ran down and told Mike to run in and call Pet Emergency. For the first time, I sat next to him, and I saw him. His eyes were open, but blank and unfocused, and his face and lips were still a cute puppy pink. Reaching into his mouth, I felt nothing. Mike yelled down to me that he couldn’t find the number, and I knew we were taking too long. Everything was taking too long. So I yelled for us to take Opie to our own vet, only 4 blocks away. Mike ran down, pushed Jax into the house, and lifted Opie, 80 lbs, at 6 months old, into the truck. I jumped in the back to hold him steady and do mouth to mouth. I wrapped my arms around him. That’s when I felt it.

Nothing.

You never really think about what a heartbeat feels like until it’s not there anymore.

All the months I’d held Opie when he was a tiny puppy and carried him down the stairs. All the months I’d snuggled with him. All the months he still sat on my lap even though he was twice my size. All the moments of feeling and being comforted by, yet totally unconscious of: his steady heartbeat. Gone.

Mike was driving like a lunatic. Although I never took my eyes off Opie, I’m pretty certain Mike ran every stop sign and light in the 4 blocks to the vet’s office. Hearing a horn honk and a guy yelling, we whipped into the parking lot of the office, and a car immediately pulled up behind us with a very angry man in scrubs jumping out to yell at us. It was our Dr. Anger turned to realization, and with no hesitation, he scooped Opie out of the truck and into the office. We walked around to the front entrance, Mike in his bathrobe, no other clothes and no shoes, and walked into the waiting area, hearing loud voices coming from behind the door. We sat. And waited. And waited. Michael kept talking, panicked. I have no idea what he was saying, but I remember being annoyed at how immediately he assumed the worst. I rubbed his back, comforting myself in the fact that we’d gotten Opie here so quickly, and he was going to be ok, because the vet was going to save him. I was absolutely certain. One of the vet techs came out and took us into one of the private rooms to keep waiting, and still, I was expecting the good news. The Doc came in, “Guys I’m so sorry…………..’

It took my brain a second to realize what he was saying and what that actually meant. Opie was gone. I vaguely registered a few words, “no pulse…cpr….intravenous whatnot….full examination….necropsy…find out what happened….” Mike cried. I’d never seen him cry before. I was still quiet. Still rubbing Mike’s back. Attempting to pull us together, Mike asked what the next step was, and the Doc pointed out the obvious, “Well, you should go home and get dressed. Take your time. And sometime this afternoon, you can come back over and we’ll go over what to do next.”

He led us through the back, past Opie on the examining table. I remember the vet techs all standing around him, looking at us with sad, pathetic faces. We said our Goodbyes. I hugged him, kissed the side of his soft head, and whispered that I loved him in his ear. I could feel everyone watching me, so I pulled myself away from him years before I wanted to let go, and we walked out to our truck, still open with the key in the ignition. And we sat and cried.

I don’t remember the drive home. I don’t remember getting out of the truck, but I do remember Jax staring at us from up on the deck, where we’d left the door open. His tail wagging, but his forehead crinkled in concern. I could sense his confusion. First that Opie wasn’t there and then why we were just staring at him, crying. I looked at the clock. It had been 15 minutes since I’d first gone outside to watch the dogs play.

A lifetime had gone by in just 15 minutes.

We sat there for a good while. Jax, just kept looking at us, slowly piecing together what was going on. The day was a blur. We called some family. Some friends came over. Eventually, we took Jax with us and walked back to the vet. On the way there a cute girl crossed our path and commented on how pretty Jax was…and mentioned there were twin dogos that lived in the neighborhood that looked like him…..”Well that was us, but one of our pups died this morning..” It was so weird to say, and we felt bad for how awful the cute girl felt, but what do you do?

The days and weeks that followed are also blurry. Jax mourned for a few weeks. Whining at nothing. Laying in the spots that were exclusively Opie’s. Sleeping on the bed with us (our strict rule of “No Dogs on the Bed” went out the window that first night Opie was gone). The vet called on a weekly basis for the first month regarding the lab results, the necropsy, sometimes just a chat to see how we were doing.

There were no apparent abnormalities with Opie’s heart. He’d had a murmur, but with the frequency of murmurs in puppies and the fact that he was still just 6 months old, there was not yet cause for alarm. The previous week, the boys had been neutered, and while the vet had a difficult time keeping both under with maximum anesthesia, both boys had been fine while home recovering all week. The only conclusion our veterinarian could come to was that Opie had an arrhythmic episode: an irregular heartbeat due to an irregular electrical impulse, causing his heart to stop. He felt dizzy, and laid down. The only possibility in saving Opie’s life would have been a defibrillator, an expensive and uncommon piece of equipment in any veterinary office. If his life had been saved that day, it would only have been a matter of time before he had another episode. A pacemaker would have been necessary – another rare and expensive piece of equipment for animals.

As sad as the following weeks and months were, all was not total sadness. In our loss of Opie, we experienced an outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and strangers that I will never forget. Our dog trainer, Brandi Barker, was an incredibly generous source of guidance and support. Each staff member of Stay Dog Hotel went out of his way to offer condolences and a hug, and take extra care of Jax, and they continue to take care of our dogs on a nearly daily basis.

After a month, an entirely new Jax emerged. Without his brother to take care of, he started taking care of us. A once stubborn and aloof puppy became emotive, engaging, and goofy. 5 months later, we welcomed a new puppy, Louie, into our lives. Louie also had a murmur, but we received good news when he was six months old that the murmur was gone, and at every check up, we wait to hear our favorite words “Great heart beat.”

Life will never be exactly as it was. There are things that will forever stay with me. Whenever I see either dog lying on his side, my eyes immediately drift to his stomach to make sure he’s breathing. Every time I snuggle or simply touch, I feel for their heartbeats, crisp and steady. Those little moments that I took so for granted are now an integral part of every day I share with them.

Heartbreaking as that day still is in my mind, there is comfort in several random occurrences. Mike was supposed to be out of town that weekend. Instead of spending our last night together as a family, I would have been calling him for a very sad two-hour drive home, and I know for a fact that I would not have been able to get Opie to the vet on my own. I also really shouldn’t have been there. I was running late for a pilates session. Mike would have handled the situation similarly to how we did, but I’m grateful neither of us had to go through that alone. I’m also grateful we were home and were able to do anything at all. I cannot imagine the horror of coming home to Opie in his crate, gone, or perhaps the dog walker coming and discovering him. Most comforting of all, Opie was not sick. He was not hit by a car. We didn’t watch him suffer and lose his quality of life before making a difficult decision. He was playing in the yard with his brother and got tired. So he laid down in the warm sunshine and went to sleep.

People lose their pets all the time. It is a part of life, and any time anyone brings a new animal into his life, it is with the understanding that it is fairly certain that the owner will outlive his pet. But as with everyone’s own pet, especially dogs, each comes to represent so much more than a mere companion. Opie was so much more than a dog. He was our first family. Jax & Opie brought us into a wonderful and vibrant community of dogs and dog lovers, and introduced us to parts of Chicago we would never otherwise know. They taught us what patience truly is, and what unconditional love actually looks like. Opie (and Jax) represents the turning point when Mike went from being the guy I was dating to the man I would spend my life with. He was in our lives for a mere five months, but he changed our course forever, and I will be forever grateful. It has been a year and a half since we said goodbye, but the house has always seemed a bit empty without that 80 lbs of love running around, knocking us over.