April 22, 2000 – November 15, 2010
To say our hearts are heavy would not do justice to the sense of loss we’re feeling with the passing of not only our best pal, but truly a member of our family. Kona came into our lives the same year our family was officially formed, and he faithfully and joyfully accompanied us, dare we say really led us, to this point in our journey. We lost him on Monday of this week.
During preparation for his knee replacement 3 years ago, x-rays showed a calcium deposit forming in his back. Dr. Jeff told us that could be a problem at any point if it got loose, but we soldiered on with knee surgery nonetheless. He also told us that it was critical to keep his cast on after his surgery so that he could heal properly. I slept with him on the floor in our home office that night so that we could keep him couped up and let him know we were there for him as he always was for us. I woke up at 3am to find him staring at me with his cast sitting neatly beside him on his bed, a look of prideful accomplishment on his face. He hadn’t chewed it off like Dr. Jeff predicted he might try to do (while giving me the lampshade thingy to put around his head), but found a way to get it off without waking me up or even moving off of his bed. I stayed awake until 7 am when Dr. Jeff’s office opened the next day. I called and told him what happened. He did not believe me and insisted I bring the cast to his office as evidence. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t proud when Dr. Jeff said “I’ve been doing this for 22 years, and I’ve never seen that before. That’s some dog.” An understatement of a lifetime.
Kona was with us through 3 houses in two states and the birth of 3 kids. He didn’t appreciate the first birth all that much, but adapted as soon as he realized his daily walks and longer weekend strolls weren’t to be affected. He stole all manner of kid things to get his fill of attention, including the socks off of baby Abby’s feet, but did so discretely and without waking her or having us notice. He’d make sure to leave a little bit of whatever he had taken hanging out of his mouth so you knew he needed to be chased. He was diligent and could be stubborn. He failed group puppy training class, but only after excelling in being held out as the example of “headstrong dogs.” He got a personal tutor for home schooling. You graduate at the head of that class regardless of your performance, since your dad is paying the bills. He had won again, and that set the tone for the 9 years that followed. He filled our daily lives with joy and exercise. He kept us safe. He was the worst player of fetch ever, because he wouldn’t drop the ball when he came back. Feeding him daily became Abby’s excuse to ask for an allowance, and her first opportunity to outsource a job to Hannah and Griff while keeping the allowance for herself. He cared not who was paid, only that he was fed on time. You did not need a watch, or even eyesight, to know when 5 pm rolled around.
He battled through the arthritis that flared in his right hip in October so well that his back gave way and affected his back legs. Declaring him an "older patient" and therefore not a surgical candidate, Dr. Jeff gave us different meds in a long-shot hope to stave off disaster. Our luck ran out, and after a few days it became clear it wasn't going to work.
So I slept with him on the floor in the living room during his last few nights. He avoided his bed and snuggled with me on the blankets; his parting gift to me. We could see and sense his frustration and discomfort with his balky backend that didn’t take to the new medicine. That wasn’t the dog he knew he was, or wanted to be. We cried, we prayed, but had to put aside our desires for more time and relieve his pain. Never the self-centered sort, we simply had to return the favor. He looked so peaceful when it was over that Pam and I knew we had done the right thing. He could finally relax. It was a devastating end to a gut-wrenching week, but the kids knew that “God could fix him now” (to quote Griff), and that he’s running and playing with his old pals Tanner and Bailey in heaven. They’re beginning to be good with it, and someday we might be too.
We hope you get a sense from the photos below of how we felt about the best-dog-ever. If you've met him, you need not see the photos to already know what we mean.
Godspeed, buddy. Lead the way. We’ll see you again.
