RIP Kirby: 7 July 2006 - 10 January 2021

This is another post I haven’t wanted to write. I’ve been putting it off for a couple of months because it has been too hard to capture my thoughts without feeling like every word is somehow inadequate.

On January 10 we said goodbye to our sweet little dog Kirby. He was 14-1/2. That’s in the zone for a dog’s typical lifespan, but being a little terrier mix, we had hoped Kirby would be one of those scrappy little dogs who lived to be 20. His passing seemed too quick to be real. He was fine the evening before, trotting around the house being his jaunty little self, until, quite suddenly, he wasn’t. His tail, which was almost always wagging, was hanging low. Something was amiss. 

We thought it was just stomach trouble. Kirby always had a penchant for eating anything stinky he found in the lawn and we figured he got into something that didn’t agree with him. In our experience, these things usually passed (though often not without gaseous fanfare). But he didn’t seem any better in the morning, so we took him to the veterinary ER. We honestly thought we would be bringing him home with us later in the day, blockage removed. Sadly, imaging showed he had multiple tumors, and he was declining quickly. It was his time. 

Such a quick passing was in character for Kirby – he never did anything slowly. And, while it was hard for us, it was a blessing that he didn’t suffer long. Wouldn’t we all be lucky to pass so quickly after living a long life as he did: full-throttle with abundant enthusiasm and joie-de-vivre. 

It’s one thing to know that intellectually, but another thing entirely to feel your heart breaking as you say goodbye to your beloved companion.

Now there’s a little Kirby-shaped hole in our lives. All his sweet little quirks (and he had plenty) are now in the memories that crop up at regular intervals throughout the day. Both Jamie and I think we see him out of the corner of an eye or hear him across the room, muttering that it’s time for dinner (something he did each evening to remind us to put down the laptop or phone and get on with the meal prep). 

Even after all this time, I still hesitate at the times we would have engaged – our morning snuggle, putting on his collar by the door, waiting for him to finish his morning “walkabout” in the yard, preparing the dogs’ breakfast, even hearing a big truck go by on the road and waiting for the barking to commence… And that’s just in the first hour of the day. 

Our big dog, Remy, waited for him too. For weeks he seemed confident that Kirby would once again emerge from behind a shrub or under a chair. Remy still sleeps on top of Kirby’s favorite places, which are now some of his favorite places to play with his toys and take naps. He raises his head when a loud truck goes by, waiting for Kirby’s cue. Silence. Sometimes he lets out a single “woof” then looks around, confused and alone in his concern. Remy is mourning too, in his own way. He follows us everywhere with an intensity that’s greater than normal (his breed, Wirehaired Pointing Griffon, is notorious for being “velcro” dogs who never let you out of their sight). He and Kirby often slept with a head or paw over each other, touching backs or spooning. Since he came home with us when he was 11 weeks old, Remy has never known life without Kirby.

Despite Kirby’s death feeling like it was too soon, there have been times we felt like he was on borrowed time. He had some health challenges in his senior years – Cushing’s Disease (which was managed well with medication and herbs) and a genetic disorder that led to glaucoma, two eye surgeries and, eventually, total blindness. Because of those moments when we briefly thought we were losing him, we came to cherish every day he was with us. And for that I am grateful – what a blessing to have recognized, while he was alive, just how precious every one of those snuggles were. 

Originally, Kirby wasn’t going to be our dog. I told myself we were getting him for my mother after my father passed away. She lived in Arizona at the time, too far away, and I thought a little terrier dog, like the one we had when I was a teenager (her first and only dog) would ease some of her loneliness. I pictured her having a little companion to care for and snuggle with, a warm little being who would give her a reason to keep going out for walks. 

I started trolling Petfinder for a scruffy little dog and one day this picture showed up:

I was smitten. He looked so sad, and so cute, and he just begged for a loving home. He was still a puppy, so the idea was to bring him home with us and use our wonderful, well-behaved Wirehaired Pointing Griffon, Baxter, to train him. Then we would take him to my mom as a surprise gift at Christmas time. 

Mom informed us she didn’t want a dog to worry about (so much for my plans…though I suspect she saw how attached we were to Kirby). And that’s how we ended up with two scruffy dogs – one large and one small – with completely different personalities. Baxter and Kirby were quite a pair. The whole story of Kirby’s early years is chronicled in this blog’s entries beginning from the day we brought him home, so I won’t cover it all again here. But years later, when  Mom came to live with us, she ended up sharing an abode with her little grand-dog and the two of them napped together most afternoons – Mom in the chair and Kirby curled up under it.

Kirby was a mixed breed, but despite there being numerous lineages in his canine ancestry, he was mostly terrier at heart: lightning-fast, smart, spunky, independent, fierce, lord of the manor, announcer of all comers, liking affection on his terms and definitely not a lapdog – a lap was a nice place to visit, but he wouldn’t want to stick around there very long. He loved his cuddles on the floor – his territory. 

As a pup, Kirby drove 7-year-old Baxter crazy at times with his antics. Bax would occasionally look up at us, as Kirby raced around him and jumped all over him, with an expression as if to say “Why did you do this to me. Didn’t we have a great life before?”

Anything Kirby was excited about was worth bouncing for. It was as if his feet were spring-loaded. He was also very quick. One of Kirby’s favorite pastimes was doing the “Kirby Derby” – he’d take off and run at top speed around the living room, rounding the sofa, dodging under chairs, into the kitchen and back out the other side. He’d do this over and over and over until he wore himself out and flopped down exhausted. 

Kirby loved pouncing on little things that move fast. He even caught a mouse once – a little rodent bandit that had been raiding our pantry. He didn’t kill it – he just stunned it and stood over it, marveling, I think, at his own success. 

He was true to his terrier “land dog” ancestors…Kirby hated going into any water above his little, low-to-the ground knees. We once got him to swim in a pond at a friend’s farm. He only went in because we ALL were in there, including Baxter, and were coaxing him. But Kirby didn’t like it at all and swam to shore as soon as he could. He loved going to the beach. He couldn’t care less about the ocean, but the beach was his place to run with abandon then dig a deep hole in the sand and lie down in it to stay cool. 

The only time I saw Kirby being anything other than bouncy and vivacious in his young life was when Baxter died. Bax was his companion. His wrestle-mate. His shelter (literally) in a storm…he always stood under Baxter when they were out in the wind and rain. Baxter mostly tolerated Kirby, but Kirby was devoted to Baxter nonetheless, and he never stopped trying to spoon with Bax whenever he could. When Baxter passed, Kirby didn’t embrace being an only dog. He seemed out of sorts. So alone. He needed a companion.

When we brought little Remy home, another Wirehaired Pointing Griffon, Kirby was happy to have a companion again and was totally on board to “school” him. Kirby got a taste of the relentless puppy-nagging he had given to Baxter seven years earlier and he didn’t particularly like it. But Remy was also extremely affectionate toward Kirby, and Kirby loved every minute of that, snuggling close. Finally, a Griff he could spoon with! 

When Remy quickly outgrew a reasonable playmate size, Kirby took it in stride. In his mind, Kirby was a big dog (even though he proceeded to use Remy as rain cover). And, to Remy’s credit, he soon came to realize that Kirby was small and could easily be hurt by him. So Remy started “floor wrestling,” lying down and pretending to wrestle, letting Kirby think he had the upper hand. Remy would roll over, gently swat at Kirby with his big paws and allow Kirby to totally “dominate” him. It was pretty cute. Kirby maintained his status as lord of the manor and he always let Remy know, in no uncertain terms, that all toys belonged to Kirby. Even when they didn’t. 

Kirby always got along well with other dogs, but once Remy joined the family, Kirby took on the role of Remy’s protector (at least in his own mind). Once, when Remy was a puppy of about six months old, a couple of rambunctious pit bulls decided to chase him at the dog park. Kirby immediately ran to Remy’s “rescue,” taking on the two pit bulls as if he actually thought he could fight them off. Thankfully, the pit bulls had on electronic collars and the owners called them off before they shredded Kirby. But I think Kirby thought he won that round. The whole incident had a distinct ring of “I can pick on my little brother, but nobody else can.” Kirby continued to behave like Remy’s protector for the rest of his life, even though Remy was three times his size.

When we moved out to the country in late 2013, Kirby took it in stride. He loved racing around our big yard, rolling in the grass and savoring the fine tastes of “deer berries” and “chicken fudge,” which he also liked to roll in (much to our chagrin). He had a particular penchant for munching on wild onion tops – not something dogs should be eating much of – and every morning he came into the house with onion breath.

About four years ago Kirby started getting cranky. We thought it was just advancing age, but when he started acting a bit aggressive toward people and other dogs we were concerned. He stopped jumping at the door and his back legs became shaky and weak. He developed a pot belly and his hair started falling out. His once beautifully lush tail looked more like that of a rat. He was thirsty and panting all the time. Something was wrong. 

Diagnostic tests showed that Kirby had Cushing’s Disease, which causes dogs to have high cortisol all the time. Cortisol is a major fight-or-flight stress hormone. No wonder he was snappy and nervous! The vet put him on a drug called Vetoryl and we consulted with a holistic vet as well, who prescribed several different Chinese herbs to help with the Cushing’s and with the potential side effects of the drug. The combination worked like magic (his regular vet said his recovery was remarkably quick compared to other dogs she’d seen). His pot belly shrank back to normal (he always was a little bit thick), all his hair came back and he mellowed back into his former sweet self. And, best of all, he got his bounce back. It was like having a new, younger dog again. And it was a thrill to see him racing around the yard again.

Completely separate from the Cushing’s, about a year later Kirby suffered from a genetic condition typical in terriers – lens luxation – which eventually resulted in the loss of one eye, then the other eye a few months later. We had tried for months to save the last eye by giving him three different eye drops for glaucoma, administered like clockwork at three different times of the day. We didn’t mind, and Kirby didn’t mind either, but it wasn’t enough when an accident dealt the final blow – his lens luxated again and with the high pressure he lost his sight in that eye as well. So there he was, at age 13, totally blind. Yet intrepid as ever.

He learned to navigate through the house and around the yard, using his little sideways ears like curb feelers. He would follow us by listening to our feet. And as his hearing waned in his last months, we would clap and he would follow the clapping. He did occasionally lose track of his inner GPS and wander “off piste,” getting himself caught up in the blackberries, so we had to watch him carefully. But through it all his joie-de-vivre never waned. He still bounced at the door and had a spring in his step when he trotted. As my husband Jamie so aptly put it, “he settled into a comfortable, bow-legged trot when he was older that suited his surveying and exploration.” Kirby never lost sight of the fact that life is an adventure. We were always amazed at his resilience, his ability to move about in total darkness and never seem the slightest bit put out by it.

In his last couple of weeks, which we didn’t realize were his last weeks, he started a funny habit when I meditated in the evening. Almost like clockwork, as I put on my headphones and started a guided meditation, Kirby would start rolling around on the carpet next to me. That, in itself, wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the joyfully loud grunting and groaning noises he made as he did it. It never failed to make me laugh and lose ALL semblance of focus. But it charmed me to the core, and that was as good as meditation for helping me let go of the troubles of the day. Something about that pure, unbridled joy always gave me perspective.

Kirby had multiple nicknames over the years. Bug. Little Mug. Little Buddy. Bud. Little Dude. Kirby-Derby. But mostly Kirb or Kirby. He was my sweet, steadfast little guy who stole my heart and never let it go. It has been hard to adjust to not having his little face looking up at me, wistfully, as I put carrots on the salad each night. I still look over, and I take a beat to remember him and how much he meant to me. To Jamie. To Remy. And I am reminded that mourning is a gift, because it means we have loved deeply.

Rest in peace, sweet Kirby. I will always love you.