The Trialdawg Files, A Life On The Run: Goodbye, Farewell and Amen

Life is funny almost everyday we live it. We plan things for months, we put them on our calendars because we expect things to happen in a certain order and we feel comfortable for that small measure of control over something we don’t really control at all. January 21, 2009 was supposed to be a good day. I had a lot of new clients coming in, I was to prepare for my cases in court tomorrow. Karla was to have lunch with her family and I was to go see my uncle. I was looking forward to a boat show with my brother and dad this weekend, and perhaps even a basketball game. I woke up at 7:45 AM to find Limbaugh, our 14 year old cocker spaniel asleep on her pillow in front of the foot of our bed. I went into the kitchen to clean up a little and five minutes later, I came back to the bedroom to find that she had moved to our bathroom. I had no idea that anything was wrong. I reached down to pet her, she lifted her head and that was the last time she ever moved. I touched her again, but she was gone. I moved her back to her pillow to get a better look at her. As I picked her up, she was limp and she took her last breath. Limbaugh died this morning of what I believe was a heart attack. She was gone in less than a minute. My typing these words is just surreal. Limbaugh is dead.

Before I begin, this is not a tragedy. She was 14 years old and had lived a long and happy life. Nor was she a person. This moment in Karla and I’s lives does not begin to compare to what thousands of people across this world will go through today when they lose a parent, a spouse, a child or a sibling.. But.. But..

But, with the exception of just a few days over the past almost 15 years, I have seen her, petted her and played with her. She wasn’t a human, but I liked her a lot better than most of the humans I meet. Karla and I were given Limbaugh four months before she and I were married. I moved from my parent’s house and into our apartment in 1994 while Karla stayed at her home. I had never lived by myself before and it was comforting to have Limbaugh there with me, as I was never alone. Karla and I shared custody of Limbaugh until Karla moved in after we were married. We became a family and Limbaugh has been there through every single step along the way. My graduation from college. An impromptu pre-bachelor party at the apartment where she ate my dear friend Chad’s wallet and ate a cigar. Limbaugh and I lost the deposit in one unfortunate tennis ball throwing incident that shattered a light fixture just days after we moved in. When I graduated law school, Limbaugh didn't treat me any different, she just wanted me to feed her, play with her and pet her. When Karla and I moved to Coalgate, Limbaugh came right along with us and adapted beautifully to the new surroundings and she corralled armadillos, goats, kittens, ducks and she “killed” many many possums. When I quit my comfortable job at the DA’s Office to open my own practice, Limbaugh displayed a brown eyed confidence that Karla and I would continue to take care of her in the manner to which she had become accustomed, and so we did. Although Karla convinced me that we should get a dog, Limbaugh became mine and she wanted to be where ever I was. Even in her last days of blindness, she knew where I was and wanted to be in the same room with me. She couldn’t see me, but she still watched my every move. She outlived five cats and seven fish and even in times of uncertainty, she was the one constant in Karla and I’s lives. We loved her like family and we miss her. In short, she was my friend.

This is not a tragedy, but it certainly hurts like one. She wasn’t a person, but we certainly treated her like one and it was almost as if she wouldn’t settle for anything less. I’ve been numb for the past few hours. I sat with her in her last minutes of life and then for a few minutes afterwards before I went in and told Karla, and then began the painful task of burying her. As I type this, the first tears are beginning to fall. I haven’t yet allowed myself to cry, because I don’t know when I will stop. The pain of the living does not negate their responsibility to the dead and this is the last thing I have to do before I begin to cry. She was a dog, but to Karla and I, she was so much more, one of the biggest parts of our lives and her death has left a stinging sense of loss and an immense hole that will take time to get over.

I will miss you Limbaugh. I will miss your confidence in Karla and I to take care of you. I will miss coming home to someone that is glad to see us. I will miss your defiance, your attitude and your destructiveness. I will miss the feeling that you owned us, not the other way around. I will miss the “baugh”, a cut that originated with you and will die with you. I will miss that on your sickest day, you were happy that we were home. I will miss bread pills and eye drops, barking at the neighbors and fighting over things on the floor. I will miss the reason for my name trialdawg. Finally, I will miss the looks you gave us, even when you couldn’t see us, dog treats even when you did something wrong and the best dog I’ve ever had.