In an alternative universe, I would be saying kaddish (the ancient mourner’s prayer Jews recited after the loss of a loved one) for my bestest friend Stanley my beautiful Labrador retriever. And a frequent blogger on this site.
Instead, I am gratefully the recipient of copious dog kisses.
Kisses, not kaddish seem like a miracle.
And it is.
On Sunday, July 2nd Stanley was slated to die.
The time and date of his demise were marked down in a Day Minder leatherette appointment book, as though it were a hairdresser’s appointment or a visit to the dentist to get a cleaning. It was part of his permanent record. As were the tucked-away, tear stained business cards of veterinarians who provide at-home euthanasia. I was inconsolable and deeply bereft.
Friends were also in shock. No, not the fact that I still write down appointments in an actual spiraled date book but that I had agonizingly booked a visit by a compassionate veterinarian who would gently help Stanley in his end-of-life journey in the familiarity of his home.
In The Blink of An Eye
It all happened very suddenly, as life often does.
After an exhilarating and successful art opening, at the Art Center Highland Park, I left Chicago in an upbeat mood.
But once I arrived home things quickly took a hairpin turn.
Stanley got very sick. A perfect storm of health issues collided cascading quickly and he was in great distress. According to his vet, things were ominous and he was in the fight of his life. It seemed impossible that Stan the Man always the quintessential comeback kid, might just not come back from this one.
He was always, I used to joke referring to his Dad’s last name, “A Katz with 9 Lives.”
Two days later when we returned to the animal hospital, Stanley was taken in to be examined. When the vet tech came to get us ushering us into a small room and softly saying you will have more privacy here, my heart sank fearing the worst.
One look at the doctor’s crestfallen face as she entered the room and my heart bottomed out. Hearing those words no dog owner ever wants to hear, “It’s time” cut like a knife.
This had all occurred over a mere 48 hours.
The long July 4th holiday loomed and she feared he might not make it through the evening, hinting we should consider putting him down then and there. Even with an overload of information and emotions swirling inside me, I knew I could not say goodbye right now. The inevitable loomed and I certainly did not want Stanley to suffer. My husband and I agreed to make arrangements to say goodbye to Stanley at our home two days later on Sunday.
But I also knew there was only one being who would let us know for certain when it was time … Stanley.
It would be exactly a month from that day that I had planned a big 14th birthday bash for my beloved companion. Instead, I had the difficult and surreal task of making arrangements for the end of life for my very, very best pal.
His birthday was always a bittersweet celebration. Stanley was born on the very same day that my previous dog Emerson tragically died, and so as one angel left another entered my life.
Stanley has been my one constant through a series of tragic life-altering changes. As I shared the sad news with friends and on social media the outpouring of love and positive energy was phenomenal.
A Pocketful of Miracles
Stanley’s eyes told me all I needed to know
Then just as swiftly as things had snowballed downward, it became a story worthy of Frank Capra.
Stan the Man stepped up to the plate in the bottom of the ninth and sent the game into extra innings!
I never left his side for a moment and I watched as his symptoms dissipated, and not an iota of suffering. His ravenous appetite and soulful chocolate eyes bright and clear told me it was not his time.
There are so many life lessons to be learned from this miracle story not the least being the tremendous power of love and resiliency.
Miracles do happen friends.
Stanley got a hero’s welcome on his return to the vet. As well as he should. Short of a ticker tape parade, the entire staff all came out to cheer him, amazed and in wonder at this miracle of a dog.
It was exactly a week ago to the hour that I had left the vet in tears. Though things were very dark, the light never dimmed in Stanley and his will and strength prevailed against all odds.
My priority is caring for this big lug, who entered my heart in 2009 and made it ten times bigger.
My Jewish mother’s genes have since been on overdrive, taking helicopter parenting to new heights, but Stanely is doing great. He is thriving. I will match Stanley in his tenacity, strength, and will to live and give him every bit of care and love he deserves.
I’m taking it a day at a time, not taking anything for granted and the love he is exuding is matched only by mine.
He may not be beach ready just yet, but I am more than happy to give up the sun for my son.
At a time when there seems to be a dearth of stories with happy endings, Stan the Man inspires!
Envisioning The American Dream 
YAY STANLEY!!
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Thanks, Susie! His resiliency has always astounded me and truly inspires me daily.
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Our Scrappy is 16 and every day is a gift. Stanley is an inspiration. I just told Scrappy all about him! ha ha
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Wow!! Sweet 16, that’s amazing. I’m telling Stanley about Scrappy! Every day is truly a gift and its one I never take for granted. They re gifts that never ever stop giving and I am honored to be able to take care of this wonderful, loving creature.
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Such a beautiful story and it makes me so happy that Stanley is still with us. He’s such a good boy.
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Thank you so much Jeff. He is already wagging his tail in anticipation of seeing you!
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I’ve have made a note not to forget Stanley’s 14th Birthday. While I was at it it added a reminder for his 15th, considering the loving care he gets.
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First, best wishes for more time with Stanley! It is an inspiring story indeed that he snapped out of whatever medical issue he had and that you didn’t have to keep his appointment with the veterinarian! It’s times like that that one wishes for a Dr. Dolittle-ian ability to ask our pets what’s wrong. “Oh, I at a dead bird, Sally, and my stomach is upset.” Or whatever his problem was.
It is your misfortune, though, that I read Stanley’s story on a personally sad anniversary of the death of my Persian kitty, Dougy..
(After writing this and coming back to proofread it, I realized it was very long and maybe more than I should put in a comment. I won’t feel bad if you want to edit or delete it. I almost never return to comments I’ve written on other people’s blog posts, mainly because I get obsessed with obvious mistakes of verb agreement, punctuation, and typos, among other things.)
Three years ago tomorrow, 15th of July, I found my Persian kitty boy Dougy cold, dead on the guest bedroom couch he seriously scratched to let his brother Andy know he “owned”. I can only guess from the time I found him and how long it would take for a body his size to be in the state I found him, that he died on the 14th during the night. There was a tiny drop pf blood on the tip of his nose.
I suspect he had the “zoomies” in the dark and ran into something, hard, face first.
He and his brother Andy were born on Canada Day, July 1st in 2011. He died, if I judged the state of his body correctly, on Bastille Day.
At age nine, barely, I was beginning to think during the week of Dougy’s and Andy’s birthday, about the inevitable time both kitties would die and which one I’d handle better. You know, the “parent’s dilemma” of which one do I love more or if I loved one more than the other. I never came to a conclusion.
Dougy answered it for me and guilt that I’d even thought about this so soon before he died still haunts me on the anniversary of his death. On the other hand, I think about how I would crash with grief when either kitty died and secretly hoped I died first!
I let that couch stay exactly the way I found it for over a year as a memorial to Dougy. When my sister came for a visit, however, she brought a male friend and she wanted to sleep on the couch. I couldn’t tell her no but was sad I lost the memorial to Dougy.
I feel the guilt slowly go away with time and am grateful Dougy, the comedian kitty of the two, left me with many photos and videos to remember him by, and that I didn’t have to be there for him to be euthanized late for vicissitudes of a decrepit, pain-filled old age.
Andy is 12 now. He has the face of a kitten, has good health and a better life now that he is a single cat, a quiet kitty that played well with his brother, but had started to have squabbles with him that I had to break up. When his time comes, I hope Andy goes as quickly and unexpectedly as did his brother.
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Thank you for sharing your own story with the struggles and pain that are universal with all of us who have fur babies as members of our families. Their loss is deeply felt and the grief lasts years as befits the love we feel for them. These anniversary days like what you are feeling for Dougy are intense and all the feelings can come up. I am glad Andy is with you and is doing well and giving you joy.
Stanley has multiple health issues that have to be managed, and some are near-fatal as evidenced recently. But he rises above so many challenges and is indomitable.
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Hugs for Stanley and thanks to you. I felt better on this anniversary reading his story.
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Thanks, and I’m glad reading this can help. Hugs to you on this day.
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