Thor crossed over last night.  In the middle of the afternoon he threw up, just once of course because God forbid Thor would cause any inconvenience to us.  Breakfast came up whole, including the meds.  We worked in shifts, Will stayed home during the day, I helped when I got home from work.    

Dr. Tim had confirmed that the end was near a couple weeks ago when the strokes started.  During our nightly walks the high-tailed little skip we were used to seeing was replaced by a slow, tail down shuffle.   Thor became a little more confused every day.  On Sunday night, Will put him to bed wondering if he’d be there in the morning.

He was in the back yard, a beautiful night, warm and calm.  Thor kept trying to find a hiding place to curl up and die in but his eyesight has never been good and now his legs began to fail him.  He would take a step or two, lay down, take another step, lay down.  It was painful to watch, but he would not stop.  Will carried him to the patio, put him on a pillow, but that didn’t settle him.  Finally, I sat down next to him and stroked his head and he stopped his wandering.

I kept rubbing his head and saying, “It’s okay, baby, let go.  It will be all right.”  His breaths came shallower and shallower until I said “I love you, buddy”, and then they stopped.  We wrapped him in his cowboy blanket, gave him two cookies and a freshly washed Nylabone and buried him next to Doug and Ellie.   Will lit the railroad lantern and placed it next to the grave.  The little red light glowed all night long and was still glowing this morning when we got up.  Shine on, Thor.

He was such a class act.  Thor accepted everything that came his way, the good and the bad.  He sat patiently for the never-ending vet visits and ear flushes, took the meds like they were candy.

He was a beautiful dog. The lumps, bumps, scraggly hair, gray skin, gunky eyes, toothless grin and scars didn’t diminish his beauty.  There was  a quiet dignity about him.  He was the most accommodating creature we’ve ever met.  He waited until daylight savings time so there would be enough light to dig a little grave.  He waited until the weather was a balmy high 60’s with a beautiful pink and blue sky.  Will says Thor waited for me to come home from work, but  I can’t think about that or I start to cry.  I had always promised him, whatever happened, we would never let him go through it alone.

Everything about him was miraculous.  He lived far past the estimated time allowed by the oncologist.  He came to our home and fit in with four other dogs as if he’d been there all along.  He had more diagnoses than you can shake a stick at but he never whimpered or ran from the treatments.  He became an overnight sensation and cover boy when his photo was used for an ad in the Cincinnati Reds program, so dapper in that red cap! He gave us more than we can guess this early in the game.

So, he’s upstairs now with Elle and Creed and Ellie and Doug and all the rest.  It will take me years to learn why this hound means so much to me.  Will says it’s because I rescued him, whatever that means.  All I know is when Eva called that day she said, “I need a really strong name for a hound.  This little guy is going to need all the help he can get to recover from this mess.”   I said, “Well, Thor’s the God of thunder, will that work?”

The rest is history.

Loved, fostered and cared for by:

Bill Smith
Marcia Esckstein