Saturday morning, I lost the best friend a boy could ever have. My last few memories of him are some of the best – I’d just come home from being out on the town Friday night, and as usual I would wind down from the evening with some TV and my bud beside me. For an 85lb German Shepherd, he somehow managed to curl up into a ball just the right size to sit next to me on the couch with his head in my lap. When it was time to head to bed, we both stumbled our way back there – me in my drunken stupor, him in his old age – and as he curled up on his bed I reached down, patted him on his head, gave him his treat, told him he was a good boy, and said good night. I awoke the next morning to find him still curled up on his bed, but gone at the same time.
Orpheus was an accidental rescue – another dog I had at the time had gone missing, and every day was spent driving around the neighborhood and checking the pound. I was told that while my other dog wasn’t there one day, that they had a beautiful pure-bred German Shepherd puppy there. When I went to the pound, this tiny scrap of fur sits up as I walk by and beams the biggest smile at me, pawing at the gate to get my attention. Needless to say, 10 minutes later we were out the door. Months later, the other dog was spotted playing with some young kids, so I knew he was happy.
Orpheus grew very slowly into his personality – he was always the bottom of the pack, following his big brother Merlin around like they were attached at the hip. He was a big kid who didn’t know his own strength. We’d spend hours playing tug with a heavy duty rope, and the grip he’d get on that thing would allow me to pick him up off the ground with it. Tennis balls would crumble within hours. So I gave him a soccer ball, which lasted a few months. He’d kick it around the yard, trying to pick it up in his mouth, and it’d keep him occupied all day. The look on pure joy the day he finally deflated the ball – now covered on every square inch in teeth marks – was one I’ll carry with me always. The toughness of the ball had to be escalated from soccer balls to basketballs to supposedly indestructible hard plastic balls (they never tested it on Orpheus, mind you).
I could always gauge his mood by the look on his face – whether he was happy or sad, or had done something wrong. To the very end, he was full of life. I could sense his frustration as his body started to slow down, the aches of old age in his joints – you could tell he wasn’t ready to be an old dog. He got to spend his life running through fields, swimming in lakes, and finally got to see the ocean. He wasn’t too crazy about the heat, but he got spoiled rotten by everyone there so I don’t think he minded too much. He made friends easily – once he realized you were supposed to be there, you were welcomed.
I have a picture frame I was given as a gift – it has the chinese character for “Simple” on it, right below a photo of Orpheus and I smiling like goobers. He taught me that was the way to live – to enjoy every new experience, the simple pleasures of just sitting outside breathing the fresh air and enjoying the new scents, basking in the sun. To never let your physical limitations stop you from having fun. I like to think that he reached the end of his mortal journey and simply stopped – that he crammed as much joy into his life as he could instead of rationing it out. I think it’s a lesson we should all learn, and an example we should all follow.
Goodbye son – in my mind, we’ll always be sitting on the beach, wind blowing in our faces, side by side, enjoying the simple things in life.
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