Farewell, Nitti: 2005-2020

It was the toughest of weeks, putting down our beloved dog Nitti after 14 years. We had hoped that we could wait until Glory returned from Churchill in November but his decline was just too rapid and we could no longer keep him comfortable, so the hard decision was reached to let him go on Thursday, October 8.

Nitti came to our house rather quickly as well, actually. We had only been living in our house for about six months when a chance conversation between Audrey and one of our neighbours revealed that she liked to peruse the adoptable animals on the local Humane Society website - an animal companion matchmaker, of sorts. When Audrey said we were interested in a friendly, sturdy (due to the dayhome children with us at the time) and hypoallergenic dog, Patricia said she would see what she could do.

Less than a week later, there was a handwritten note from Patricia in our mailbox, referencing an entry on the website. I had to go to work, but Audrey checked it out, noting the dog in question was a Bichon Frise cross and under a year old. It was promising enough that she loaded all the dayhome kids plus Fenya and Glory into the car for an impromptu field trip to the Humane Society.

When she found Nitti's cage (although he was currently known as Snoopy), he was a shaggy mess in a cone, having just undergone surgery, skulking at the back of his cage. A couple knelt in front of the cage trying to entice him forward so they could pet and inspect him, but he sat unmoving. Audrey casually reached above their heads and took the clipboard with the dog's information on it, brought it to the front and told the person there, "I want this one." They called me to verify that all the adults in the household were on-board with adopting a dog, and for about $240 we added a pet to our family. Even with the ensuing costs for food, medication, vaccinations and licensing, it is hard to imagine a better bargain.

Because Audrey got to choose the dog, it was agreed that I would get to choose the name. I have always loved the juxtaposition of names contradictory to a dog's nature or appearance, like the massive Neapolitan Mastiff named "Pansy" from Andrew Vachss' Burke novels, and the Bichon's all-white coat reminded me a little of Billy Drago's white suit and hat in the movie The Untouchables. I suggested his character's last name, Nitti, and Audrey saw the humour in it, so it stuck.

He was so shaggy when we got him that he was actually wearing three collars simultaneously, as staff and volunteers assumed he had none when in fact the others had simply been subsumed and overwhelmed by his white curls. After his first haircut, he truly looked like a different dog.

We were told Nitti's original owner had to give him up when she moved in with her grandmother. Presumably he was an apartment dog, as he was very apprehensive around stairs the first few weeks in our house, eventually getting comfortable enough with them that he would follow us down to the basement and later come down and explore on his own, or to cool off in the summer.

Nitti was preternaturally quiet the first couple of weeks with us as well, giving only the occasional whimper or whine. There was a period where we wondered if he even could bark. But one day another dog walked past our window, and he let loose with a bark that was not only surprising but shocking in its volume and resonance. For a split second, I thought a second dog had somehow gotten into the house, but apparently that big chest of his amplified and deepened what we had thought would be a more yappy vocalization. Thus came one of Nitti's many nicknames - the Subwoofer.

Bichons are known as easy-going dogs, bred foremost for companionship, and not requiring a lot of exercise. They are largely content to be around their people or simply lounge around. Periodically though, they can be seized by a surge of energy, followed by a frenzied burst of activity known as "the Bichon Blitz." We called it "puppy rodeo" and one of my great regrets was never thinking to catch it on video. Watching this stumpy-legged canine race around whatever room he was in, sometimes barrelling up or down the stairs, full tilt, or leaping over cushions placed in his path like a steeplechase horse never failed to make everyone present laugh.

He loved romping in the snow as well, especially with the girls, and didn't even mind serving as an impromptu and ersatz sled dog the first time we took him with us to the toboggan hill at Government House Park. 

Nitti was also a wonderful travelling companion, accompanying us on camping trips to the mountains, visits to Audrey's family down south and even road-tripping with us to Vancouver Island one time. 

Back when we had the Taurus station wagon, he would sometimes clamber over the back seat and into the cargo area, where he would lie down on the top of the cooler or whatever other flat surface he could find.

But mostly, he wanted to do whatever we were doing, or at least be nearby when we did it, whether that was playing boardgames, watching movies on television (which meant popcorn "dropped" fairly regularly), or just sitting with one of us while we were reading. It's no wonder that most of the pictures we have of Nitti are of him laying down with us or close at hand, just looking adorable.

Nitti also had a level of patience for children that put many adults to shame. He would tolerate exuberant ear-pulls, excited tail tugs and hugs that looked like wrestling moves, and never snap or even growl. He would simply walk away when he reached his capacity. He was the guest of honour for many sleepovers and Christmas parties.

And then there was all the dressing up he endured so well...

Nitti was a comforting presence to us as well, staying close at hand when I was off work last year and jumping up on the recliner next to me almost every day when I started working from home in March. He had also asked to be placed on Fenya's tall bed while she has been taking her university classes online this year. And once, when she sat at the kitchen table, tearfully telling us about a traumatizing experience, Nitti leaned up against her leg the entire time, as if to let her know that he was there. 

Love without condition, ears without judgment, friendship without measure, and all without words. 

Nitti's hearing began to peter out a year or two ago, leaving him only able to hear high whistles or loud claps. This meant we could no longer let him wander the back yard and alleyway without a leash, for fear he wouldn't hear an approaching car. His cataracts, though visible, didn't stop him from seeing other dogs almost a block away, but prevented him from coming downstairs on his own unless the light at the top of the landing was on.

Even last week, he could still jump onto chairs or couches without assistance, if somewhat hesitantly. But his daytime naps became longer and longer, often prompting us to do a double-take as he lay sleeping so still, breathing so shallowly. His breathing and movements became more laboured in the past week or two, or he would groan quietly while lying down, and he would be terribly restless at night, keeping Audrey awake as he pawed relentlessly at his bed next to ours, fruitlessly trying to make himself comfortable.

Nitti's first veterinarian visit on Saturday sounded promising, especially since we had steeled ourselves for the worst (and the inevitable), but he did not react well at all to the pain meds prescribed to him. He went off his food nearly completely, and when I took him back on Wednesday, we were given the option of x-rays and further diagnostics, but the vet surmised this was a dog with only a few days to live. 

I called Audrey at her school and told her the news, and we agreed that if we loved this faithful friend, the best thing we could do was let him go - but not without saying goodbye. I checked Nitti out and accepted a different pain medication, made the appointment for him the next day after work and brought him home for the last time. I lingered outside in the alleyway with Nitti on the leash, letting him explore the smells in the flowerbed and along the fences, but even this did not hold his interest for long. 

When we entered the house, Fenya asked how things had gone, and I stared at her speechlessly until her expression changed, and then said "Not good, sweetie. I'm sorry."

I video-called Glory in Churchill and tearfully explained the situation. I apologized that she would not get a chance to say goodbye in person, and because she is a champ, she understood.  I spend much of the rest of the afternoon simply sitting with him between my legs in the recliner by the window, probably his favourite spot in the house. 

That evening, Glory's best friend and her mother came over to say goodbye, and the next day Fenya's boyfriend Bobby came to do the same. The two of them were even able to get Nitti to take a few nibbles of KFC from their lunch, the most food he had eaten in days. I put in a day's work because frankly, I needed the distraction. Watching the clock make its way towards our appointment at 5:15 would have driven me mad. I did visit him in Fenya's room while Glory was on a video-call with me, so she could take a last look at him and say goodbye.

We arrived at our veterinary clinic in Spruce Grove at 5:15. I sat down in the waiting room, holding Nitti in my arms while Audrey sorted out our payment and in the examination room while we waited for the vet. We had already agreed that Audrey would be the one to hold him for most of the procedure. Our vet was excellent, explaining to us exactly what she would be doing and why, as well as what we could expect, and a few things that might or might not happen. 

She and the animal health technician were exceedingly gentle and respectful with Nitti, and with us, giving us all the information as well as all the space we needed in order to say goodbye. Who can tell what is in a dog's thoughts? I just hope he felt safe and loved and comfortable as he left this world.

I won't say it was easy, because it wasn't, but all three of us were there for Nitti and each other. Half-an-hour after we had come to that fateful room, the vet checked with her stethoscope and told us our friend was indeed gone. Ten minutes after that, we were finally able to lay his little body down on the towels they had kindly laid out on the steel examination table, and leave him behind.

That was four days ago, and we aren't done being sad yet. I suppose we will never stop, really, but if my past lessons with grief have taught me anything, it is to have faith that eventually we will be able to remember with more joy and less pain. Eventually.

Fellow humans in our lives have been exceptionally kind, recognizing the impact that losing Nitti is having on our household, and many of them mourning his loss themselves as well. When they ask how we are doing, I say, "For a 26-pound mutt, you would have thought Nitti was a whale for the size of the hole he's left here." And it's true. Audrey slept in the basement the first three nights after Thursday, as she couldn't bear to be so close to where he had slept. We all catch ourselves looking for him and listening for him, and when I came downstairs Saturday morning to do some work on the computer, I slapped my thigh to invite him to join me.

We have taken both of his beds out and donated them, and stowed his food and water bowl in hopes that someday we will find another pooch to live with us. We have also gotten rid of the cream-coloured throw that Nitti was practically invisible when he lay on it, and which we would sometimes mistake for him even when he was in another room.

But we don't do this because we want to forget him because we can't. We just need fewer reminders while the pain of his loss is so fresh.

"Every puppy is a countdown to tragedy" as the saying goes, and we have been preparing for this moment, or trying to, anyway, since Nitti's hearing started to go. This was the first real sign of ageing in a dog that seemed old when he was a puppy but remained puppy-like long into his adulthood, and a reminder that all good things must come to an end. Knowing this, Fenya cast his paw print in plaster last year, and earlier this year the girls made a colourful painting with his paws. When Glory returns, there are plans to put his tags, the casting, some pictures and a lock of his hair into a shadowbox.

For myself, I am grateful for such a reminder, but I know that I will be forever looking for Nitti out of the corner of my eye, and wishing to see him with his head out the window whenever I drive. Every morsel of food dropped on the floor is a reminder that he is not there to snatch it up, and the view out the living room window is diminished knowing his silhouette will no longer be there.

But we have had cause to smile as well, collecting all the pictures of him into a folder, and watching the few movies of him actually in motion. Recalling so many wonderful moments over the 14 years we were lucky enough to have him in our lives. 

On this saddest of Thanksgiving weekends, we are actually grateful in some ways that Nitti's decline was as rapid as it was - that it was not prolonged and that he didn't suffer unnecessarily. But mostly we are thankful to have had so many good years with such a great little friend, who we will all miss dearly; a perfect fit for our household that we were lucky to find.

Godspeed faithful hound. Be at peace. We love you.