Wookie and Vader

(First written in 1992. Rewritten August 10, 1998)

It has been less than a day since we had to put our dog, Wookie to sleep. The euphemism still bothers me because I know all too well the little fellow will never wake up. Still putting to sleep is just one of the many ways we have thought of to lessen the hurt of death.

Anyone outside of my immediate family would have looked at Wookie and been duly unimpressed. He was a small Cocker mix mutt who should have weighed about fifteen pounds, but probably tipped the scale at 30 plus. He couldn't walk much more than a quarter of a block without being winded and was probably stone deaf from years of ear infections. The little guy had problems with loose bowels and because of the arthritis in his legs seldom took the time to clean himself properly. In the winter it would be too cold for him to go outside so his favorite trick if he we didn't watch him was to urinate on the carpet. He would never have won a dog show for best in breed or even obedience, but he was our dog, a little mutt, who stayed with us for 15 years, too long a time to be brushed off with the phrase, "He was only a dog."

Fifteen years ago I first saw Wookie in my English classroom at Orosi High School. There were actually two dogs on campus that day: Wookie, who I wasn't interest in, and a Doberman which I was. Dalene and I had recently moved out to the country and since I didn't want to own a gun, I thought having a dog might be a good deterrent for any would be burglar. As life usually turns out, I didn't get what I wanted. At the end of the day when I went looking for the Doberman, it was no where to be found. The Cocker mix was sleeping next to the faculty room door. The little guy looked so small and helpless I hated the thought of leaving him on campus. People can be cruel, and I knew the stories of the people who shot dogs or threw stones at them or worse yet used them to train fighting dogs to kill. I could see the little guy's ribs through his thick, blond fur. Since it was a hot September day, the dog panted even in the shade. All it took for me to take him home was a quick tour of the campus to make sure no one knew the owner. The dog with no owner rode home with me and a bowl of water.

Dalene had never owned a dog and since we already had a cat, Screwball, Dalene wasn't overly excited about adding a dirty dog to our home. Fortunately for the little guy, he was cute. Once he got something in his tummy, he started licking Dalene's hand and cocking his head to one side whenever we talked to him. To add to his talents, he actually barked when anyone came up out driveway.

His only problem was he didn't want to sleep on the service porch. He wined and howled so much we finally let him into the house. Within a week, much to my objections, the dog was sleeping in our bed. Dalene had become a dog lover.

We knew we had to give the dog a name, but all the regular names like Spike, Lucky, Rover and King just didn’t' seem to fit. The dog was too cute and too even tempered. It was as we were watching a promotion for Star Wars that we realized the perfect name. The character Chewy was a Wookie, loyal, brave beings. Loyal and brave fit our little dog, so Wookie it was.

Wookie loved the county. There was the occasional rabbit to chase, other dogs down the road to play with, ditches to cool off in, and his favorite of all places the cow pasture to roll in. I lost track of the times he would come home covered in manure, and I being the man of the house (which translates into I didn't throw up working with manure) was requested to clean the smelly, little beast. We never had enough perfume to cut the smell entirely. It would be three to four days before I wanted the dog anywhere near me. That meant the dog slept on Dalene's side of the bed.

Possibly the most famous story we tell of Wookie was the time he played like a cat and used up one of his nine lives. From day one in the Nance household, Wookie had to share the house with Screwball our cat. I had never been a cat lover, but Dalene loved cats and Screwball did prove to be a good mouser until he had to declaw her after she decided to rip into our couch. But she had her claws when Wookie first saw her and she used them quite effectively to bloody Wookie's nose more than one time. Yet these bloody noses were all just part of lovers' quarrels for Wookie and Screwball who loved to spend time cuddled next to each other. Whether Wookie considered Screwball a dog or Screwball considered Wookie a cat, I don't know. What I do know is Wookie looked at other cats as an intruder and would chase it until it got away.

So it really wasn't much of a surprise to me as I was typing away in my upstairs study and I saw Wookie running full tilt out of control after a cat I had never seen before. When the cat jumped out the window and tore down the roof and leaped the ten feet or so to the ground I figured the ten feet or so to the ground, I figured Wookie would bark a few times to celebrate his victory and that would be it. The only trouble was the dog didn't break stride and followed the cat. As I saw the little fellow go over the side, I wondered if I had written down the vet's number for there was no way that dog could land and not at least break a leg. Evidently Wookie hadn't heard of broken bones, for the next thing I saw after the cloud of dust was Wookie's short legs double timing it after the brazen cat who had dared to cross Wookie's path.

The first six months in the country proved fruitful for Wookie. He loved the wide-open spaces and the bed to sleep on at night. Dalene even gave him a nickname, Little Paws. Fortunately he was little and cute, for had he been bigger, I know I wouldn't have agreed to have the dog in bed with me. We only had a queen size bed and when Screwball jumped into bed (she always had to walk over my headfirst just to show her disdain for me before she slept on Dalene's side) I was thankful that I was only 5' 9" and Dalene was 4' 11".

Wookie loved anyone who would pet him. In his pup days he was awfully cute. Only an ogre wouldn't want to have the little guy next to him. Of course some days I was an ogre. I liked the dog near me. I enjoyed petting him, but I hated being licked. Wookie loved to lick and Dalene loved his licking. What I would try to teach, Dalene would unteach. Such is life with all long lasting marriages. Yet as much as Wookie loved everyone, I can say with all modesty, he loved me the most. I don't know if it was my tone of voice or it had to do with me taking him home or possibly me being the only person who would clean him after his visits to the manure pile, but wherever I was so was Wookie. If I was hoeing in the garden, Wookie found a shady spot and watched. If I was watching TV, Wookie curled up near my feet and took a nap. If I went to the bathroom, Wookie waited outside the door. As bad as any day went for me in the classroom, I could always count on Wookie giving a little yelp of joy as I drove into the driveway. Of course he would jump up and want a pet. That pet usually made me feel better even when I had to wash my hands after the little guy licked me to death. Dalene use to say that I was Wookie's Mecca. Wherever I was, Wookie pointed in that direction.

Wookie was a great little god, but he was anything but ferocious. Loyal, yes. Dalene and I agreed that Little Paws would give up his life if he thought I was being hurt. But as small as Wookie was, he hardly would scare off anything close a burly intruder. With this worry in the back of my mind and my friend Craig getting ready to take a pup his dog just had to the pound, I just had to take a look at the Doberman-Lab mix.

The little put was about the same size a Wookie. The only difference was Wookie was full-grown. I guessed the dog would top off at about 50 pounds which seemed more a guard dog size. Had Craig not talked of putting the pup in the pound, I might not have been so eager to take the pup home. The dog was everything I wasn't: high strung, very active, and possessed an attention span of maybe three seconds. Still with the proper training, I was sure I could make the dog into a perfect pet.

As I had done with Wookie, I immediately showed this dog who was in control. The dog wanted to sleep in out bedroom. I wanted it in the service porch. After almost losing a finger to the pup's bite. I drug this dog into the service porch. As with Wookie, this dog made so much noise, I had to let it out. Only this time I let it outside. Fortunately we lived out in the country, so the dog's constant barking and howling only bothered us.

Naming the pup wasn't easy. The tough names like Spike and Killer just didn't seem to fit. Once again we looked to Star Wars. Immediately the dog's black fur reminded us of the Champion of the Darkside, Darth Vader. Darth Vader was much too long a name for a dog with a three second attention span. Darth sounded a little too effeminate, but Vader sounded strong and ferocious. We now felt by just calling out Vader that any would be trouble maker would think twice about coming our way.

Of course giving a dog a tough name and having a tough dog are two different actualities. If someone would drive up, Vader would bark. He had the right tone to drive fear into most people's hearts, yet if anyone turned toward the dog, he ran to me for protection. Luckily for us, most people didn't turn on Vader.

With other dogs, Vader's bluff wasn't as effective. As will happen anywhere there are dogs, a female down the road was in heat. Both of our dogs were gone most if the day, joining their male compatriots in the procreation ritual. The first couple of days weren't so bad because outside of losing a little weight from not eating, our dogs looked no worse the wear. On day three I came home to find Wookie panting and Vader panting and whimpering from a cut leg. By the way he was favoring it, I figured he must had broken it. By this time the dog was closing in on 40 pounds. Being hurt, he was dead weight. Somehow I got him into the station wagon and to the vet. Of course, Vader had what the vet described as a big booboo. Figuring my dogs might be good lovers but were definitely lousy fighters, I had the dogs fixed. From that day on any trip to the vet's was a struggle. Considering what happened to them, I can certainly empathize with their feelings.

We only stayed out in the country for about a year. The house was nothing to be excited about. It was two stories, with no insulation which meant that it was unbearably hot in the summer, and uncomfortably cold in the winter. The heater was an old kerosene job which besides being messy to fill also had a strange odor to it. To add to the house's charm it sort of sloped to one side and the flooring in the living room - dining room was wavy like a bad ocean cruise. Every room needed paint and the butane water heater made getting up first to take a shower more than a good idea if you didn't want to see how the enamel on your teeth would last through the chattering. But because Dalene and I were young and in love, because the dogs and cat were with us, and because we were only paying $75 a month, the house fit out needs to a tee.

If the dogs hadn't liked chasing cars (and we would have had the money to fix up the place) we might never have moved. Both dogs liked cars. Vader could keep up with them for quite a while. Wookie gave up early; he was also the only one of our dogs to get hit. It wasn't a bad hit, but he limped for about a week. We finally had to tie Vader to a tether line whenever we left for any lengthy time. One off the tether, the dog ran and ran and ran.

I don't think Vader ever caught a rabbit, but he sure tried. Unlike Wookie who would be eating the rabbits dust in seconds, Vader would breath his hot breath right into many a rabbit's tail. The dog really was a sight to see. They greyhound lineage that went into the Dobie were evident every time that dog ran. He ran so effortlessly and gracefully that his legs seemed to propel him just short of take off. Little Paws tried hard, but those little legs of his were only good for so long.

My legs were better back then. I use to jog a half hour to forty-five minutes every day. Winter, spring, summer or fall, I'd get up as early as I could and barring rain or unbearable heat, I'd run with the dogs. Actually I usually ran with just Vader. He loved to run and if anything I ran way too slowly as far as he was concerned. Wookie liked to run but only so far. The dog was much smarter than Vader for it didn't take Little Paws very long to memorize my route and find the shadiest grape vine to rest under and wait there until I came back that way again. Where Vader and I might run anywhere from a mile to four depending on how energetic I felt, Wookie only ran about a half a mile. If you're breaking a sweat, you're doing something wrong. seemed to be Wookie's motto. Wookie more than likely had life figured out right.

Since Dalene and I were spending so little money on rent, we were saving as much as possible for a down payment on a house. After much looking in the country and failing to find anything we like in our price range, we found what we considered a perfect house for us in Kingsburg. Kingsburg being the tidy little town that it is, really didn't have too many bad house at any price, but the house on Winter Street with its three bedrooms, two baths, and fenced back yard had everything we wanted. Being 17 miles from Orosi where I worked was an added plus.

The day we moved, my family and friends came over with cars, trucks, and strong backs to help us moved our fortunately relatively small amount of personal belongings. Of course all those people who helped with the refrigerator or with anything that had to be taken from upstairs might have disagreed with me, but I was happy that this moved proved to be so easy and quick. Vader liked riding in the car over to our new home. He barked and snapped at every car that passed and seemed oblivious to my constant curses and swats at his hot sticky breath on the back of my head. Wookie went into a panic the minute we started to pack things up. It was only after the final trip over to the new home that we figured out that Wookie must have been abandoned in Orosi and that was the reason I had found him at school. Once he knew that he was going with us, he calmed down and wanted nothing more to do except lick my hand.

The first night in the new home proved to be anything but restful. Vader and Wookie knew nothing of fences or of the many new noises Kingsburg had to offer. They barked at almost everything. Not wanting to wake our new neighbors, I made sure the dogs stayed in the house. Our neighbors slept well, but we didn't. I t was late into the night before Wookie and Vader finally gave up barking.

We had everything else planned though. The dogs would definitely stay in the back yard while we were gone. We had a little doggie door big enough for Wookie but way too small for Vader. All we had to do was latch the door closed and we set. We came home the first time to find Wookie sleeping on the couch and Vader with his head stuck through the doggie door. At least we could keep Vader out.

One of the reasons we bought the house we did was because it was situated right behind the high school. We could walk out our back fence and had a good fifteen acres of grass area where the softball fields where right next to the football bowl. We figured the dogs would never have to worry about being cooped up in the back yard because we could give them a run ever so often.

Once again plans had to be changed because Vader was without a doubt one of the worse trained dogs in the world. When we opened the back gate, Vader looked like he had been shot out of a cannon. He chased rabbits, cats, dogs, people or just his own shadow. No matter how loudly I called or how threatening I made my voice, the dog was oblivious to everything I said. he never did any major damage to anyone but he would sort of circle them as movie Indians circled a wagon train and snap at their feet. As you might imagine, having a large black and tan dog snapping at your feet is not a good way to feel secure about your safety. More than a few people had not too many nice words to say about me or Vader.

Actually Vader did nip one boy. At least that's what the police told us. We had been on vacation for about a week, and Dalene's cousin, Nancy, had been nice enough to take care of the dogs during our absence. We came back home to read a police citation telling us that Vader had bitten a boy on his leg. The boy had been riding his bike in our alleyway and somehow Vader had broken through the fence. We never found out if the boy had teased Vader or whether Vader had just cased the bike rider because it looked like fun. Whatever the case, the boy came away with a small nip on the ankle and we were wondering if we would be sued or forced to get rid of Vader.

Here was a dog who had the attention span of a slow preschooler, who barked at any living thing which passed our way, who dug trenches in my backyard (dug a good dozen trenches in hopes of killing a gopher, only killed one) who chewed on anything left on the floor, who ate copious amounts of food, and if I didn't regain my superiority by slapping him on the head, would snap and growl at me. With all these problems going against him, I still didn't want to see him put away as a vicious animal. I must have been a great animal lover or a the dog must have had some sort of hidden charisma. Anyway, I didn't have to worry because the boy's parents where only concerned that Vader had had his shots. Life was good, but only temporarily.

That was an odd year for the Valley because we got a lot of rain (i.e. over 7 inches that winter alone) which was good as far as agriculture was concerned but horrible for me who wanted nothing more than to keep his two dogs in their yard. By day two of the heavy rains our fence on the alleyway collapsed. After spending twenty minutes getting Vader back in the yard and chained (Wookie came easily; he always hated to get wet in the rain) I called up Dalene's uncle, Mel, who came over with his son-in-law, Jim and the two of them braced up the fence. "You'll have to repair or rebuild that fence, but it will hold for a while," Mel left me with those encouraging words. Since I repair or rebuild nothing that I would like to have around (because I know what I repair breaks), I called up someone that put up a block fence. Fourteen-hundred dollars later, I had Vader permanently in the back yard. Or so I though.

Vader the dog who had terrorized bike riders, pedestrians, and small car owners, the dog who looked liked he ate small children for breakfast, was deathly afraid of loud noises such as thunder. Quite often all it took was a little rain to start the big guy shivering. Once the lightening and thunder hit, the dog would go into full scale shivers, hide beneath end tables, or crowd his body into a small closet. That doggie door that was only big enough for Wookie, suddenly became no great barrier for Vader as he somehow fit his fifty pound frame through the twenty pound capable door. Whenever it thundered, Dalene and I never slept very well. Vader would always leap onto the bed and shiver at our feet.

One time it started thundering before I got home. I could see the light show in the skies ahead of me. Driving as fast as the heavy rain would allow me, I tried to get home before my back door was ripped off his hinges by a panicked dog. When I got into the house, I saw Wookie who greeted me with a tail wag, whimper of excitement and a smile. Vader was no where to be found. The side gate was opened. He had obviously run off.

I had recently started dog training classes with Vader, so I called up the instructor and asked if she had any ideas of where a scared dog would go. She suggested schools, underpasses, and vineyards. We had one underpass, four schools, and hundreds of acres of vineyards nearby. I tried all the places I could before it got dark, but I couldn't find that dog. After it got dark I went out with Wookie thinking that Vader might be able to smell Wookie or even me. That plan didn't work either. I went to bed and held Dalene in my arms as she cried herself to sleep. Again, I couldn't believe that a dog that caused me so much trouble could cause me such misery when he was gone.

It must have been past midnight. Neither Dalene nor I had slept much. Suddenly I heard our front door fly open. The familiar sound of jingling dog tags sailed down our hallway and stopped when the dog leaped onto our bed. We hugged and hugged that big, we, slobbering, shivering dog. He would never run off again.

Unlike training the dog not to run away, we had a terrible time training Vader or Wookie to do anything else. Once Vader had nipped at the poor boy, I went looking for a place to give him obedience lessons. Never having trained a dog before, I looked in the yellow pages. There were four or five different places, but the one that intrigued me the most was a trainer who claimed to be able to cure even the most belligerent of dogs of its anger and do the training in a humane way. It was worth a try. I called the woman up and made an appointment.

The woman trained dogs from her home, a small place on a chained linked fenced half acre. I met her underneath a huge oak tree on her front lawn. She looked at Vader and smiled. Just from his appearance, she knew he was a handful. There was something about a dog trying to chew on its leash that tells you, "I bet this dog just might fail obedience school." In later years I would talk to a colleague of mine, Jim Soxman, who told me he had a similar experience with a dog he owned. The dog's name was Wolfgang, and Jim named one of his amazing theories of education after the dog. When Jim took Wolfgang to another instructor, the woman had told Jim, "I can make this dog better, but he will never be a great dog because the dog won't pay attention." She then jerked on the choke chain and immediately Wolfgang looked up at her to see what she wanted. "With an intelligent dog, one jerk on the chain will keep the dog looking for further instructions. Just look at your dog, Mr. Soxman. Within two seconds he's found something else to amuse himself." Sure enough, the dog was chewing on his paw and appeared to be sizing up Jim's shoes to see if they might be fun to chew on too. Jim then went on to explain that he had many students in his classes that head what he called the Wolfgang Syndrome. Given the proper stimulus, i.e. calling our their names, blowing a whistle, hurling a large object over their heads, etc. the students eyes would immediately turn toward the teacher. Unfortunately without further stimulus, the students' eyes would turn immediately towards something else in the room and the lessons would come to an end. Both Jim and I have been searching for stimulus strong enough to hold these students who are inflicted with the Wolfgang Syndrome, but as yet we have failed in our attempts.

The woman I took Vader to hadn't met Wolfgang, so she was convinced that all dogs where trainable. What we had to do was learn the techniques. The dog loved to chew on everything. I'd come home one day to find a leg on our picnic table a good inch shorter than the other three. Vader had even broken through one of the slats in our side fenced, gotten into our neighbor's yard and torn up some of the neighbor's clothes drier venting. Shoes were fair game and a tennis ball would never be returned after it had entered Vader's mouth.

"Oh, that's an easy problem to solve. Just give the dog something to chew on, " the woman smiled at me. "Just go to your butcher and have him give you some leg bones. Now, make sure you soak them in vinegar though. If you don't the flies will be terrible."

Sure enough, the bones did the trick. The only draw back was that vinegar only lasted a little while so the flies were a problem as were the ants which loved Vader's little treats. Actually, the bones were the best deterrent we had against burglars. It didn't take long before our backyard looked like a graveyard. If anyone asked, we just said the bones where what was left of Vader's dinner. We let the asker's imagination fill in what it was that Vader ate.

Chewing everything was only one of Vader's many cute, bad habits. He also barked at almost everything. Besides barking at the people who passed in our alleyway, he also barked at anyone passing by our front yard. Since we had a picture window in our family room, Vader used to love to press his body flush against the window and claw and bark at the passerbyes. We never did figure out why the window didn't break. Of course, Vader's favorite barking target was the mail carrier. The mail carriers' creed may say sleet and snow not keeping them from their appointed rounds, but the only two times Vader broke through our side gates where the only two times we had to pick up our mail at the post office.

Now the dog trainer had just the trick to keep Vader from barking. It was so easy and safe that even I could change the dog. All I need was a Sucrets can filled with some nuts and bolts. By shaking the can, I would distract Vader from what he was barking at. According to the trainer, dogs can't keep two thoughts in their minds at the same time. Once the dog stopped to listen to the can, he would stop barking because he would no longer remember what he was barking at. I was impressed.

Vader wasn't. The fire alarm would go off in town; Vader would bark; I'd shake the can. He'd stop for a few moments, hear the siren, and then he started barking all over again. Even with this failure right in front of my eyes, I still continued to follow the trainer's suggestions.

If we tried to walk over Vader, he would leap up and run around us as if we had stepped on him. I knew that if Dalene and I ever did decide to have children, Vader couldn't be snapping at the baby if the baby decided to climb over the dog. Our trainer had the answer.

"Get the dog used to people going over it. Hug the dog. He must get use to people touching him."

I was in my late twenties then, and even if I did smoke three packs of cigarettes a day, I was in fairly good shape. It took almost three months of me being scratched and nibbled at before Vader would allow people to walk over him. That was one of my few successes with the dog. The scares aren't nearly as noticeable as they once were.

Even though I could get Vader to let people walk over him, I could never get the got to let anyone touch his paws. Being a Dobie/Lab mix, the dog's nails grew very fast. and because the dog didn't do much walking on hard surfaces, the nails never got a chance to be filed down with everyday use. All of these situations led to the inevitable panic in the vet's voice whenever we called him to trim Vader's nails.

Wookie hated the vet and put on the brakes whenever we went in the door but once inside the office, the little guy turned into a brave puppy. Vader on the other hand, took the opposite approach and did everything possible to convince the bet not to treat him. Actually Vader wasn't bad to give a shot to, but to trim his nails one would think that the dog was being drawn and quartered for all the growling, moaning, and snapping he did. I literally had to get the dog in a strangle hold before the vet could come near Vader. I remember one poor vet whose color left when I yelled, "Out!" the command attack dogs are given to stop stripping the meat off their victims' bones.

But all of that violence was just show. Vader was a pussy cat especially when Ian and Adam were babies. Vader could see fine then. Whenever the babies were put on the floor, Vader would very gingerly lay down next to them, give them one of two quick licks, and then close his eyes. He never really got up next to the babies. It was as if he could feel them close to him and that warmth was enough. If only he had acted that way around adults.

While Wookie just sort of sniffed at peoples' feet to see if they were all right (and most times the feet were), Vader had to jump, whine, and sniff (in the crotch areas of course) anyone who came over. I'm sure it is remembrances of Vader that have kept all but my closest friends and family members from ever returning to my home.

The only time of the year when Vader wasn't jumping on people was the Fourth of July. Vader could smell the early bird fireworks and started shaking three days before all the real show started. It wasn't just a nervous shake. This dog went through terror. He never went outside. Instead, he followed anyone around who would come into the house. If the visitor was in the bathroom, so was Vader. One year I found him smashed on top of Dalene's shoe rack in the closet. It had to hurt, but fear does strange things. Keep in mind that off of these theatrics were after four tranquilizers during some years. There were years when Vader couldn't move right for two days after the Fourth, but even under sedation he still shook and ended up every Fourth by jumping into bed with Dalene and me. The Fourth just wasn't the Fourth without Vader's heavy pants warming my ear.

As with Wookie, Vader got old too. He came down with cataracts, so we took the vet's suggestion and tried an operation. The procedure might have worked, but Vader had to run around with a bucket over his head so he wouldn't scratch at his eyes. It took two tried to finally get the bucket to stay because Vader managed to get to bucket off and scratch. The poor dog hated that bucket and refused to do anything except sleep. Of course, he would try to find his way around, but if anything was in his way, he just pushed it aside. Chairs, bowls, picnic tables and the like were constantly in trouble. The poor dog looked so sad. I can't begin to express how glad we all were to see that bucket off Vader's head. He still bumped into things, but he no longer tried to bowl them over. His appetite improved and actually he became a much mellower dog.

As both dogs got older and spent even more time sleeping, it was hard to remember just how energetic they both had been. Wookie for as fat as he ended up getting had once been just a little guy but had the will of a German Shepherd. Once when we were out in the country, Wookie had barked off a Doberman pup. Even in his fatter stage he managed to scare off a Boxer pup who had managed to get into our backyard.

Vader had been just as fearless, but all of his run-ins had been with Tomcats. I buried at least three cats in our backyard. Vader had killed them all. One cat I found one day after I came home from work. Another cat I heard hissing before his death late at night, but one cat I actually saw Vader kill even though I did everything I could think of to save the cat's life. The stupid thing had actually jumped into our backyard and was taunting Vader. Ian must have been about 5 then and Adam about two. Both were playing in the yard when Vader started after the cat. I had one hand on Vader and the other hand around Adam as the cat turned, arched its back and hissed. I yelled at Ian to go inside and he did. Adam wanted to watch. I had to get him away from the cat, only holding Adam and Vader proved too difficult. Being more worried about Adam, I took him inside and let Vader go. By the time I got Adam inside the house and safe, Vader had taken the cat in his jaws, swung it once by the neck, and the cat never moved again. It always amazed me that Vader never once took a nip at Screwball.

Wookie was even more attracted to Screwball. They spent many a night curled up next to each other. I think Screwball may have missed Wookie more than any of the rest of us did. The poor cat never once knew Wookie was even sick. Unfortunately we all did.

About six months ago, I had taken Wookie in to the vet because he was having accidents (well to tell the truth they looked more like on purposes) all over the house. Dr. Jones took a stool sample and within three days, she called back to tell us that Wookie had cancer and not very long to live. As she said, "One day he'll just stop eating and moving and then you'll know it's time." As with any bad news, I went through a period of denial. Wookie had never been shy about eating. In fact, we were sure that given the choice, Wookie would eat twenty-four hours a day and only stop when he exploded. But as the weeks went on, Wookie moved less and less and also ate less and less. Dr. Jones had been right and no amount of denial was going to change things.

So when we all got up yesterday morning and Wookie made one last toddle toward the sliding door only to collapse into a pool of urine, we knew we had to call the vet. The poor dog never stood up on his own again.

Adam was at a birthday party and I hated to spoil it for him, but I couldn't wait and let Little Paws suffer any more. After telling Adam that we were going to put Wookie to sleep. Seeing that the nine-year-old wanted to stay at the party, Ian, Dalene and I put Wookie in a blanket and took him to the vets. Dalene stayed with us in the waiting room while Dr. Jones finished up on another animal. When our turn came, Dalene just couldn't stand by and watch. "I can't," she pleaded, gave Wookie one last pet and walked out in tears into the parking lot.

Ian and I weren't in much better shape, but it just didn't seem right to leave the little guy alone. None of us really know what death brings for any living creature, but I think we all agree that no living thing should leave this world without at least one hand close by. Dr. Jones explained that the poison would move fairly quickly and once it entered the heart, Wookie would be gone. It seems so odd to believe that animals can understand what's going on. I mean, I have talked to animals about their behavior, about the weather, politics, and even who was going to win the Super Bowl, but I never really believed that animals understand anything more than that sounds are coming from me. Yet, when Dr. Jones plunged that fatal dose into Wookie's leg, Little Paws licked my hand. When he had fallen earlier in the day and couldn't get up, one of the reasons I called the vet was because the dog seemed so listless. He didn't even lick. Yet right before he died, he licked my hand as if he too knew this was the last time we would see one another. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but I'll never be sure.

Dr. Jones was right. It didn't take long for the poison to work. In less than a minute, Wookie was suffering no more. I guided his eyelids shut, took his collar off, and gave it to Ian. Both of us were crying and sniffling, but neither one of us would have wanted Wookie to have died any other way. He died with the people he loved holding him. If the cancer and ultimately the poison had been cold, at least our hands were warm.

Ian and I left Wookie on the table and went outside to comfort Dalene. The ride home was silent except for Ian's shaking Wookie's collar. The dog license hitting against Wookie's buckle on the collar had been a familiar tone around the house. The sound seemed to have a calming effect on us all.

Adam got home form his party and was a little upset that he hadn't gone with us. I had said, "We are going to put Wookie to sleep," and I don't think Adam knew exactly what that euphemism meant. No one did much of anything the rest of the day.

` I wasn't sure, but I think Ian slept with Wookie's collar that night. What I do know is that the boy carried the collar around for the rest of the day. I'd hear that familiar jingling, look for Wookie, and then find Ian with a far away look in his eyes and that collar in his hand.

When I did finally sit down to type this remembrance on the typewriter, I was alone for just a few minutes, and then Vader bumped his way down the hallway to our bedroom and then lumbered into the workroom where I was typing. I didn't know if Vader missed Wookie, but I knew that Wookie would have been laying close to Vader if Little Paws would have been alive. The little, fat dog worshipped me, and I wasn’t' sure why.

Writing about death is painful and I couldn't do it for any lengthy time so I'd try to forget Wookie and do things around the house, yet everywhere I went, Wookie was there. His tattered sleeping bad needed to be washed and yet place somewhere. It didn't seem right to just throw it away, yet it was of no use for anything except a dog's blanket. There was also Wookie's leash. When he was younger, he loved to go on walks, but in the final years of his life, walking proved too taxing and he actually sat and refused to move whenever the leash was put on him. Who would want a used leash? And his bowl. What to do with his bowl? I finally took the lese and bowl and put them in a corner of the garage where I wouldn't see them, but even that act wasn't enough to block the dog out of my thoughts. Wookie was still everywhere. I saw Screwball out of the corner of my eye and for a flash, I thought she was Wookie. It was strange but I couldn't help feeling that the little guy's spirit was somehow still with us. I couldn't hear of see him, but I felt him. I suppose that feeling was the only way I could start to get over the loss.

What made matters worse was the Vader was very ill now too. Just before we were to go on vacation for a few days in the mountains, I took the dog into Dr. Jones to see why Vader wasn't eating. A lab test came back that indicated his kidneys were failing him. There wasn’t' much to do but hook him up to an I.V. and hope to flush his kidneys. Dr. Jones said the procedure wasn't a cure all and in fact she wasn't too encouraging at all. But we had just lost Wookie, and I couldn't let Vader go without a fight.

Vacation went fine. Every day we'd call up Dr. Jones to see how Vader was doing. He was getting plenty of nourishment through the IV and was at least keeping the IV in. Had we had taken Vader in his younger days he would have pulled out the IV and bitten the vet. He was sick but at least he was being taken care of.

We came home and Vader did too. As Dr. Jones had warned, the IV did no good. We were now waiting for Vader to die. He kept his liquids up, but he ate nothing. We tried everything we could think of: spaghetti, steak, hot dogs, all of his favorites. He'd take one sniff and then leave. Finally after a week of watching his bones show more and more through his skin as he got weaker and weaker, I knew we couldn't let him suffer any more.

I suppose I should have realized earlier that Vader was in bad shape. Just three weeks before on the Fourth of July Vader had spent his first and, as it turned out, his only Fourth outside the house. As the huge rockets exploded and showered light over the sky, Vader came toddling out the sliding door and found us all on the lawn. He just sat as calmly as I might have sat next to a meandering river. All the while he stayed outside, Dalene or someone else petted him. Maybe dogs do know more than we give them credit.

On July 29, 1992 the day I had Vader put to sleep, I just couldn't take looking at him anymore. It was too much for me to look at that once noble (even if a little slow witted at times) creature having to hobble around the house. I'd picked him up for the last time in the morning. Three times his legs had collapsed on him. Three times I picked him up. The last time, I took him to the vet even if Ian wasn't exactly sure if it was the right move. We all cried as the big guy lay on grating. The vet wasn't there and the assistant asked if I wanted to wait for the vet to administer the poison. I told her there was no good way to have Vader die, so it made no difference who did the deed. I didn't like it, and I'm sure that Vader wasn't as comfortable as Wookie had been, but at least Ian, Adam and I said our good byes to Vader as we held him before the poison took hold and he passed away. Dalene said her good byes outside.

There has been a lot of discussion about euthanasia for people. Many people have looked at the procedure as a way of getting rid of our old people by just casting them off as we would an old shoe. Somehow I don't look at euthanasia that way. Sure Wookie and Vader were dogs, and no one would ever say that a dog is anywhere near as important to us as human beings are, but suffering is suffering. Where is the nobility in suffering? I just couldn't take watching Vader, the same dog I'd wrestled to the ground when he had his nails clipped, suffer the way he was. His eyes were festered, his mouth sad, he stank horribly, and I miss the hell out of him. If only he could jump back into our bed some night as he did that night we lost him in the storm. Some storms are too strong. Tears won't erase the love we had.

Two months passed. During that time memories of the dogs would come and go. We kept the sympathy cards Dr. Jones had sent us on the two dogs on our mantle. The cards may seem a little silly to some, but those people never had an animal they loved. Dr. Jones taking that little extra time to send the cards made me wonder why it is that most people who work with animals are more likely able to work well with people. I still watch my step at night, fearing I might trip on Wookie or Vader fast asleep by our bedroom door. The house somehow seemed too big without those two around. Neither dog greeted me when I came home from teaching. Neither came looking for their good night milk bones before I turned off the lights.

Screwball too would die within the year. I came home one day to find her dead in our house. I found her blanket, wrapped her in it and dug a hole on the side of our house. Adam a bit older and wiser came out to watch. "She was a good old cat," was all the prayer I had for her and I fought back the tears. That silly old cat who would step on my face before she settled down for the night was gone. I hoped that the blanket would keep her warm wherever she went.

Since then we've found two chow/german shepherd mixes. They came from the same litter and having two boys each wanting a different dog we had no choice but to bring them both home.

They are Homer and Elvis. Not exactly heroic names, but good dogs. Their stories are yet to come.

To be continued.