Otto was a boxer. A long-legged, calm, quiet old man. He came to stay with us on Friday, 8/17 around 3:30 p.m.

Otto had been dropped off at a Chicago shelter two weeks before. Rescuers pulled him and took him to a veterinarian for an isolation period necessary because of the presence of contagious kennel cough and dog flu in the shelter. The plan now was for Otto to stay with us for about 10 days for more healing, then move permanently into a home with other boxers where he’d live out his life. But Otto had lymphoma. And after only six days at our house, his two rescuers and I sat surrounding him at a veterinary clinic on the south side of Chicago, and brushed his thin body as he peacefully passed over to the other side.

At the moment I wrote the following, it was Thursday evening. I was back home and it was within two hours of Otto’s passing. I wanted to remember him, to honor him with stories to carry, and to mark the place in my heart where he’d eased into and curled up to stay after only six days. I sat down with a glass of wine and wrote:

On Friday afternoon, 8/17, an emaciated dog stepped out of Kelly and G’s car and walked up my front steps. Otto the Boxer came with a small bag of medications, several cans of dog food, and a rotisserie chicken. He stepped in to my house and walked slowly around, taking polite looks…like a human guest. 

He was coming from a clinic, where he’d been for almost two weeks to heal from kennel cough and crud picked up during his time at the shelter before being rescued. Poor old Otto didn’t do well there. He was sick. He was heartbroken. He was missing meals. He lost a lot of weight. Our goal was to feed this boy and make him comfortable so he’d eat and feel better again. 

He was silent. He never barked or whined, not even in his sleep. I heard him deep breathing–when you could see his skin pull in between his ribs. A few times I heard him trying to vomit something that never came out. I heard his feet sliding on the hardwood floors as he stood up. I heard him shake off sleep, and I heard him shake off the water whenever he walked under the sprinkler. I heard his toenails drag a little on the sidewalk when we strolled ever so slowly around the block. I heard his stomach churning, and I heard his explosive diarrhea one day. I heard him drink water, and thankfully–finally–I got to hear him EAT. But I never heard him speak.

That first day, he refused most food. Saturday, I walked him to an evening concert in the park just around the corner. He wasn’t supposed to “canoodle” with other dogs, so we stood on the sideline. I asked him if he liked jazz, if he knew what canoodling was, if he liked the smell of grass, if the sound of locust made him love summer. And he wagged his stubby tail and smiled.  

Otto followed me. Upstairs, downstairs, room to room, and even to the bathroom. He walked around the back yard with me when I fed the birds. He looked for me, watched for me. He was curious. He stood watch at the door when I set the sprinklers to water the front yard’s new sod. He looked at the back gate when the trash men were in the alley. Always silent. It made him seem strong and protective. He made me feel loved and cared for. 

Still, he didn’t really eat–just a bite here or there. We stopped his medications, maybe they were making his stomach hurt too much to eat. On Sunday morning, his rescuers came to see him with tempting foods that other sick dogs give up their hunger-strikes for. Liverwurst and cheese worked that day, but only after Judy put a little in his jowls to give him the taste. 

By Monday, he was refusing food again. Kelly and G came over with a different set of pain medications and we began giving him an appetite stimulant–3 tiny syringes of thick liquid squirted into his mouth. He never fought it, or ran away. His pills were hidden in spoonfuls of peanut butter. We started giving him all meat, it’s all he would eat. No more rice mixed in for binding his stools. He just spit rice out anyway–little grains are here, there, and everywhere.

On Tuesday morning, he started eating while on the front porch watching Bryan water the yard. I’d put a little bowl beside him filled with steaming rotisserie chicken–and he leaned over and cleaned that bowl. We always raced around when he started eating–putting more, more, more down, adding variety like hamburger, liverwurst, cheese, McDonald’s sausage patties and burgers. We’d fill dishes up until he was full or tired of the options. At the end of the day, so many bowls were dirty on the counter.

His right leg was swollen when he arrived. On Tuesday, his left leg began to look bigger. It was confirmed he had Lymphoma. G brought cancer meds for him that night.

Lymphoma acts quickly. Rapid weight loss. Otto had been rescued 8/3. Kelly showed us pictures from that day. He was a different dog. Normal looking. Not a sack of bones. He was eating now, because of the appetite stimulant. He slept more on Wednesday. Groggy from the medicines maybe. Wednesday, Bryan made him bacon…which he woke up for, and loved.  

It was a hard night Wednesday. He and I had been sleeping downstairs, closer to outdoors and the food in case he woke up hungry. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I woke up to hear him heaving to vomit, again without any result. Hardly drinking overnight, and in the morning, looking even more emaciated…though he was eating.

This morning, it seemed this was coming to an end. We spent a couple of hours outside. He fell asleep in the grass next to me when I was pulling weeds. He made a fast two steps towards a squirrel high on the fence, and then turned to look at me when the squirrel ran away. “Yes, Otto. I saw that.”

A couple of hours later, I sat on the floor with him. Trying to coax him with chicken. He was so sleepy, he only looked with one barely-open eye. So I sat and brushed him for a long, perfectly silent time.

As the conversations and texts started this afternoon about his continued weight loss, possible suffering, diminishing quality of life, and dignity, he woke up and came to sit beside me. Arrangements were made for tonight. I cried. I brushed him again, his head turning into the brush at his neck. He stepped away, and stood for a moment, before walking over to a squeaky toy–and pawing it. The only time he’d seemed interested in play. My heart lifted so hard. He didn’t play, though he did tilt his head when I made the toy squeak and patted it on the floor around his feet. I helped him get on the couch when he asked. But he crawled down when I went to another room to get the camera. 

Such a sweet old soul. He followed me around. He looked for me. He adopted me. He stood with me when I made him more bacon this afternoon. As soon as it was ready, he ate some chicken and six pieces of bacon. He refused the seventh piece. He followed me around the house as I got my shoes on and locked up. And then G came. It was six days–to the hour–since Otto had arrived here in our home. Otto and I sat in the backseat, he staring out the open window, and every so often, glancing around at me with a smile.

And so it was that I went with him to the vet tonight, toting the rest of his bacon and a brush for those final moments. I brushed him to sleep, and then they administered the drugs that took him away. At 6:44 p.m., I texted Bryan at work. “He’s gone.”

Now I’m having a glass of wine in honor of Otto. Just like we’ve done for all of our dogs at their passing. A cork with his name on it will go into the bowl and a photo will go on the heaven shelf in my closet. After only six days, he was mine–or I was his. 

Tonight, the vet had said he couldn’t even hear Otto’s heart because of the fluids built up. I never heard his voice, but I did hear his heart. Now, I’m listening to a deafening silence. No tags jingling, or feet sliding or bony hips plopping onto hardwood floors, no heavy breathing, no lapping water. No dog follows me to the bathroom, or relocates to sit near me when I move across the room. 

Before we left our house tonight, I talked to him about how many people loved him. Otto was surrounded by new friends tonight–people he didn’t even know 20 days ago. But people who cared enough to be with him until the very end. I think he understood.  

Those of you who know me, know that I believe with all my heart that dogs are angels. Until we all meet again, please watch over us my pups.

Please visit One More Dog Rescue to learn more, to foster (if you are in the Chicagoland area or in Connecticut), or to make a donation to help other dogs in need. Thank you.