Ode to Death

Rylee

Words, how I hate them and love them. How I use them with such ease and yet often find myself at a total loss on how to summon them.

"This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight;

That sometime these bright stars, that now reply

In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night;

That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite,

And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow"

Rylee Patrick VanGessel

2/12/11

I don't have fancy words of my own to express how wonderful a companion Rylee has been over the past 11 years. He came to us and blessed our lives immensely. We didn't know how much joy he would bring us over the years but somehow we knew immediately that he was ours. You see, growing up in a large neighborhood we often harbored stray dogs in our back yard. Not having pets of our own, my brothers and I would play restlessly with the captured animal until the owners were found (much to the dog's relief, I am sure). But on the night that Rylee came to us, his fur was matted and caked with patches of dirt; he smelled of the most foul garbage imaginable, and showcased a full rib cage. It was obvious that he had been on the streets awhile. Despite his mangy appearance he was the most beautiful thing we'd ever seen. Back in his glory years, his coat was the richest black and his eyes the slightest blue. The contrast was mesmerizing. My parents had never showed such favor to a stray but that very night my mom hauled him into the house and gave him a bath. Within 10 minutes my brother Ethan and I had him named - Rylee Patrick it was because he had to have a middle name in case we got mad at him. That night he slept soundly, in what would become his favored cave, behind the lazy-boy. Though we had adopted him immediately, my mom did the honest thing and nailed posters around the neighborhood. Later that evening, she chuckled to herself as she told us about the calls that came in response. She said that she purposefully did not describe him on the poster because if he did have previous owners they would know about his blue eyes. So when the calls came she would ask them to describe him and if they didn't mention the blue eyes, she would say "Nope, different dog". It was her way of holding onto him. Eventually the calls stopped coming and although we, my brothers and I, already knew that we now had a family pet, my parents announced that we were allowed to keep him.  

 There's a few more stories of those early days I want to record for memory sake before I move on to the acquired behaviors. It was the second night after he came to us, my dad had brought home subs for dinner and had laid them out on the table as my  mom began to cut and distribute. Rylee, not yet well trained to stay in the living room during meals, wondered in and snatched a sub off the table. My mother attempted to rescue it but it was bit good with plenty of drool. My older brother being a ravenous teenager ate the sub, drool and all. My dad thinking he needed something to knaw on brought home a big bony knuckle. Now, up until this point Rylee showed no signs of aggression. We could pull his tail, sit on him, lift his lips, pinch his ears, tickle his paw hairs, stare at him face to face, even wrestle with him, but when he had that knuckle we couldn't come within a few feet of him. It happened that next day while we were playing in the back yard that one of us got "too" close and he snapped. From fear, they screamed. I think it's been 11 years since I saw my mom move that fast, but she was out the door and had Rylee by the collar and on his hind legs before any of us even knew what was happening. She grabbed that knuckle from his jaws, lectured him with stern NO's, and did not give the knuckle back the rest of the day. Rylee underwent some serious training for the next several days. Return the knuckle, release the knuckle, return the knuckle, take the knuckle - until he no longer dared to snarl. This training carried over to meal time as well. Fill the bowl, tell him to sit, allow him to eat, take the bowl, tell him to sit, return the bowl. My mom said that after waiting six years to have children she was not losing one to a K9. It was very effective training though. For we could do anything to Rylee and he would comply. He became a puppet for dress-up, a pillow for movie time, a dance partner, we even made him into Robo-dog (the neighborhood watch dog) equipped with a helmet. He was the joy of our lives.

We eventually moved from that house in the city to a lovely country home. Not two weeks into settling in, we figured "We live in the country. Nobody ties up dogs in the country. We'll just let 'em roam"; we lost him or rather he ran away. Panic, remorse, great GREAT sadness followed until he returned four hours later soaking wet. That is how we learned there was a lake in the back. Rylee developed some "odd" behaviors over the years, but most notably was his fear of hard wood floors. He stopped entering our bedrooms and eventually the kitchen except when he would hug the perimeter to get to his food. I also must mention that Rylee had a knack for clearing a room (if you know what I mean) and later was nicknamed "old fart breath" as a result of the gagging that occurred whenever he breathed within a foot of you. Though his final weeks were hard to watch, we never stopped loving him. When he became too weak to tackle the stairs we assisted, when he became too tired to walk outside we made a sling and carried him, and when he became more concerned with breathing than eating we tried everything. I think the vet was on speed dial by the end. Though some days were better than others, there was no mistaking the end was near. We wanted so desperately to prolong whatever time we had left but Rylee's body knew better. In a final attempt to get him outside his body weight gave out. He fell inches from the snow and took his last breath. Stars overhead, tears in our eyes, we said goodbye.

To Rylee, the best K9 we know.

We'll never forget the years of loyalty,

the beauty of your eyes,

the softness of your ears,

the gentleness of your bite,

and the majesty of your howl.

To the earth you return,

but our wolf you'll remain.