In Memoriam

Today she collapsed. I asked her, is it time? and she said yes please.

And a very large hole in my heart there is. The house feels so empty.
But there was no doubt it was the right time; I held her in my ams and she never struggled. She knew.
Her gift to me was the summer, and what a grand summer we had together!! Lottie Hotaling

Billy Ray

UKC Ch. Worrywort Achy Breaky Heart,GRC ORC  1-9-2008 to 8-16-2014 

 And my heart is aching right now   - Kathryn Ladick

"On Saturday, Sept. 27, 2014, at 6 o’ clock pm, choking back a flood of tears, and with Nemo nestled in my husband’s arms, I kissed my lovely, special boy, told him how much I love him – how I’ll always love him - and whispered good-bye.

Nemo has always been a special boy, from his pure joy of life and love of family, to his “crush” on his feline sister, Zowie, and fascination with a certain giant yellow duck and green turtle stuffy (with whom he’ll be cremated), to his uniquely sensitive nature.  Looking into the deep pools of his eyes, it seemed he was an ancient soul, as though he had seen and experienced countless lifetimes.  There appeared to be no end to the depth of Nemo’s eyes, and that in them lay the secret of the Universe.  As more than a few have remarked over the years: “There’s a lot going on in there.”

He was special in other ways, too. 

Not a day passed that he didn’t make us laugh.  And he was wily.  His latest trick was to pretend he didn’t have a treat in his mouth and wait to get another.  He’d hold a biscuit in his closed mouth, sit politely, and look up as if to say, “I’m ready for my treat!”  Only after we’d laugh and say he couldn’t fool us would he crunch away.  He was very sweet, too, and would always give us a “thank you” kiss after getting something particularly special.  We could always look forward to the “butt thump” which is what we called Nemo’s attempt to beg a morsel from the dinner table.  He would scooch ever closer, thumping his butt on the floor with each sit, the thump becoming more earnest until his chin rested on our lap.  “Do you see me?  Huh?  Do you see me now???”  No matter that the morsel was his own food.  As long as it came from the table, he was happy.  Another of his antics was the “I did a poopie outside – aren’t I a good boy?”  He’d burst through the dog door, run to my husband and kick up his heels.  Kevin would then ask Nemo if he was a good boy and Nemo would dash to the kitchen and sit at the counter where the treat jars are.  This was a daily ritual.

Being the sixth basenji we have had in 30+ years, Nemo was the first to sense when I wasn’t well and lay with me in bed.  For an hour or days on end, he would be there.  I dread my next sick day – it will be hell.

Nemo was especially possessive of food, toys, my husband, me, and anyone who visited our home to whom he took a fancy.  All was his in his domain from day one, and he let his aunties, Lily and Violet, know it. Admittedly, this “special” attribute of his caused us all misery at times, but now that he is no longer here to put his claim on everything, life in the Byrne house feels eerily quiet and strangely out of kilter.  He also suffered from acute separation anxiety.  I remember a time I stopped at a fruit stand on the way home from a vet appointment, and it seemed Nemo would have broken out a car window in his frantic attempt to get to me.  It was only a pane of glass that separated us, but it may as well have been the Grand Canyon.

Compromised in health since puppyhood, Nemo was plagued with more illnesses than any one dog has a right to.  Severe allergies, seizures, GERD, motility issues, and more recently, liver disease, bladder stones, diabetes, blindness in one of those beautiful eyes, and, finally, cancer.  And yet, through it all, he soldiered on.  To the very end, he took all the vagaries of his too-short life in stride. 

I am grateful Nemo’s final minutes with us were as good as any of us could hope to have at the end of our lives.  He didn’t know the end was near, nor was he suffering, or in pain.  We should all be so lucky.  He was given as many treats as he could eat, was loved on by Kevin, me, and the staff at the ER hospital.  One tech even brought Nemo a bowl of ice cream.  Butter brickle.  Every bit of cool, melty goodness lapped up with relish.  Then we all settled onto the sofa in the room set aside for these things and Kevin cradled our precious boy on his lap, we said our good-byes, and the vet sent him peacefully on his way.

Of all the dogs we’ve been blessed to share our life with over the years, Nemo is the one who opened my eyes to how truly remarkable they can be.  And how, if I could be only a fraction of the dog Nemo was, I would be a far, far better human being.  I not only loved Nemo, I admired him, and was in awe of him.  He was a most unique, beautiful and loving being, and I thank God for bringing him into our lives.  I will miss him and ache for him to my own dying day, but will leave this world with great hope of being reunited with him and on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge where we shall be made whole again, and disease can never touch us.

I love you, Nemo.  You were a great boy.  My best boy.  My shining new star."