Seamus and Me

A recent ad for the movie Marley & Me says, "Still tugging at America's Heart." That title could not be more appropriate for my life.

In the Spinner family we have all been avoiding going to see Marley & Me. Kira, my wife, and I know it will be too tough for the family to watch right now. This past May, we mourned the loss of Seamus, our big lummox of a yellow lab.

***We now have another yellow lab puppy, McGee. A birthday gift for Kira's 40th from her Dad's family, and he looks eerily like Seamus. He's just the cutest thing. And I go through the motions with him, I give the ball a quick toss across the lawn occasionally but my heart isn't in it. And I feel awful. I am nice to the little guy but try as I may, my heart is still closed to this little ball of fur. They say that writing can be cathartic. Maybe in writing about Seamus, I'll be able to let the big guy go.

***"He was our first son." That's what my wife and I say. Very early in our marriage, Kira called me from work, "My friend Ann can get us a dog! A yellow lab just like we want! And he's free!" My Spinner sense started tingling. How many times had we gotten a dog during my childhood and my father would say, "She's a pure breed she just doesn't have papers." I spent most of my childhood, on every walk around the neighborhood hearing, "What kind of dog is that?" My response would be, "Well we were told she's mostly Springer Spaniel but we don't have papers." As soon as Kira said free dog I said, "No, I don't want some knock-off dog. I want a pure bred, barrel-chested, put his picture on the Labrador Retriever calendar dog." Kira countered with, "Beans was a free mutt and look how much you loved the Beans." This was true, I loved Jelly Beans, the Spinner family dog. I waivered, "But we just got married. We like to ski and travel, a dog is going to cramp our style." With an only-child's persistence Kira was not done..."Come on it wil be OUR dog. For the first time in your life it will be YOUR dog."

***We drove out to a small farm in Eastern Pennsylvania. It wasn't exactly "Deliverance" but I wouldn't be surprised if they had a copy of it on VHS. The mother dog was tied up to a stake in the backyard, inches away from a styrofoam replica of a deer with arrows sticking out of it. We went into the basement to look at the litter. I told the woman in the dirty, Simpsons t-shirt that we wanted a male. She gave me the three males and we headed outside. I put all three on my chest while I laid on the grass. One little guy inched his way up and nibbled on my ear and I said, "That's my guy." I often think of the life we had with Seamus and he had with us and it all came down to that moment. Little guy didn't know how close he was to living with pin-cushion Bambi.

***Ann dropped Seamus off Spring of 1996. We fawned over the little guy from the minute we got him. We bought him toys. We took him to the park nightly. I tossed that tennis ball to him when it was bigger than his head. Kira thought we had ourselves a gifted pup. She was impressed with my training abilities. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was in his DNA. We took photos of things like "Seamus's first swim." It was at the foot of Mount Washington and again Kira thought he was some kind of genius, "Oh look at him Jim! He knows how to swim already!!!" Again, the DNA thing.

***We spoiled him. We'd go out for soft-serve ice cream and we'd buy him his own cup of vanilla. Because of my boy, we took up hiking. We bought trail books and most weekends you'd find us, two dorks with our L.L. Bean fanny packs heading into the woods.

***We got Seamus early in my teaching career. I would tell my students stories of Seamus. Eventually my 7th graders, in their sing-song voices would say, "Everybody Loves Seamus!" whenever I would say that line in one of my stories. It became part of the give-and-take between us. Running into some of my former students today, now recent college graduates, updating them on my life I have to tell them, "Sadly, Seamus passed away."

***When we knew we were bringing Nicholas, our real first born, home from the hospital; we treated Seamus as if he might be a jealous older brother. The night Nick was born I took home that little hospital-issue, blue hat and I let Seamus sniff it. I let him sleep with it so he would feel close to the baby. Seamus was great with Nick, a lot of sniffing and curiousity. Once, just once, he growled at the baby. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and said, "Zero tolerance for that Seamus, zero. I will pack you off to the farm so fast if you ever do that again." Three boys later and countless eye pokings, tail pullings and Seamus never uttered another aggressive sound to any of my boys. The pictures we have of him that I like the most are of my boys using Seamus as a pillow as they read in front of the fire on the living room floor.

***Seamus did everything with us. He was a member of the family. The front seat of my car was so covered with dog hair it was never an option if we were deciding whose car to take. I can hear Adam Brutting, one of my colleagues, "Can't take Spinner's car it's got Seamus hair all over the front seat." God I loved riding with him in the car, him looking out the windshield, taking it all in like he was a person. I'd pet him and talk to him. He was my buddy. Man's best friend.

***The average labrador lives about 10 years or so. Seamus was a beast, he was in awesome shape until about the age of 10. Then it came on quick. He got arthritis in his front shoulders. He was a gamer though, he'd swim all day in the lake up in the Adirondacks but then he'd pay the price. Kind of like me after playing hoops on Monday nights. At some point the vet recommended we get a puppy to perk him up. A few Christmases ago I brought home Holly, a black lab puppy. That worked for a while. Seamus got another good year and a half or so. But the end came quickly.

***One afternoon I was tossing the tennis ball for Holly on the front lawn. Seamus lumbered down off his sunny spot on the porch. He looked up at me to toss him the ball. I knew that Holly would be too quick so I had to get a second ball. I tossed the first one and she zipped after it. Then I soft-tossed the second ball about 30 feet or so. Seamus lurched, caught his hip or something and shot me a look that I could only categorize as fear. I made a joke,"Come on old man, can't cut the mustard." He stared at me, imploring me to go get the ball. 12 and a half years of faithfully fetching, thousands of balls and sticks, and my Seamus could not go get that ball. I watched him turn tail and head back to the porch. Tearing up, the moment scared me. I thought of Lou Gehrig, the Iron Horse, after all of those years, hanging up his spikes and pinstripes.

***The last day or so was brutal. I got home from work around three. Kira was leaving for the hospital and she said, "Something's wrong with Seamus, he hasn't moved all day." I took one look at him and realized he must have had some type of a stroke. His head was lolling to the side and he could not see me. He stayed on our living room floor for a few hours. I brought him some food and some drink and he lapped lazily at the water. After I put my boys to bed I carried him outside because I knew he had to go to the bathroom. It was pouring rain and he's standing there, legs splayed, shaking and looking up at me. To see my once proud Seamus, this Ox of a dog reduced to that. If I could have put him down right there I would have, just because I loved him that much. I carried him into the house and he made it through the night.

***The next morning I carried him downstairs and laid him in the driveway. Here's the most amazing thing, he pissed as soon as I laid him down. As bad off as he was, Seamus would NOT pee or poop in the house. That's the kind of dog he was. It was 7 or so on a Saturday morning, I woke my boys up and told them they had to come say good-bye to Seamus. That was some scene the whole family wailing on the driveway around our beloved Seamus.

***I know that in mourning Seamus, looking at him struggle through his final few months that I was mourning our life too. In saying good-bye to my best bud I was saying good-bye to that part of our lives. Perversely, I did the math. If dogs last 10 to 12 years, how many dogs will I have in my lifetime? I can tell you this, no matter how many I have, there won't ever be another Seamus.