. On Angels Wings ll –
Stories About the Passing Away of Beloved  Animal Companions.

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A Boy and His Dog   Bennies Story   Life With Paris 

A BOY AND HIS DOG

by Elaine Jarvik, Staff Writer
Deseret Morning News, January 14, 1993. Used by permission.

THE BIOLOGY OF HUMAN Reproduction, it turns out, is not actually about sex. The professor pointed that out on the first day of class, which is perhaps why, on the second day, half the students have not shown up. Or maybe it's just the weather. Maybe nobody wants to trudge over the buttes of snow in the parking lots at the U.

But Tim Daynes is here, in the very front row. He used to be a slacker, too, but that was before the accident. Now he wants to be a doctor and find a cure for spinal cord injuries. He'd like to do well in this class, his first science class at the University of Utah. Tim's mother is sitting in the second row. Susan Daynes jogs six miles every morning in the dark, running in the middle of the street when the snow is too high on the sides. She is a woman who does not look for excuses or accept them.

Yesterday she went right up to two workmen and asked them to carry Tim's chair up the steps to the biology building. This morning she cheerfully pushed Tim's wheelchair, as unwieldy as a broken shopping cart, through the snow to class. She and Tim are hardly through the door of the classroom before she is asking a favor from another student. "Could you take notes for Tim this quarter?'" she asks.

After class Susan wraps the scarf back around Tim's neck and pushes the wheelchair outside again. These are the sorts of things Tim knows he has to accept about being paralyzed. But sometimes, like any other teenager, he thinks his mother should back off. "I could have found my own person to take notes, Mom,'' he says after class, kind of kidding, kind of not. "She probably thinks I can't talk, either.'"

At 19, Tim Daynes should be well on his way to being independent. But when you are paralyzed in all four limbs, and your parents even have to put you to bed at night, freedom is something you have to learn all over again, this time with limits. A good day, says Tim, would be one when he would hardly have to ask for help from anybody. That's why he wanted Yaz. He had to wait for two years to get Yaz, a golden retriever/golden Labrador mix. Yaz is a graduate of Canine Companions for Independence, a national organization that matches up dogs like Yaz with disabled humans like Tim.

Last November, Tim and his mother and father, Skip, drove to Rancho Santa Fe, Calif., where Tim went through two intensive weeks of what Canine Companions for Independence refers to as `"boot camp." Before they meet their new masters at the training center, the dogs spend 18 months in the homes of able-bodied volunteer trainers, learning the basics, then go on to do advanced work at one of four training centers around the country.

At boot camp, Tim learned how to command Yaz to do things like turn off light switches and hand a cashier his wallet at the movies. Tim and his dog hit it off right away. `"We're a lot alike," Tim explains. "We're both kind of shy. And we're both really good looking.'"

Now that Yaz has moved into the Daynes home in Salt Lake City, he goes everywhere with Tim. Because he is a trained "service dog,"

Yaz is allowed in grocery stores and restaurants. He also goes to every Jazz home game, where he lies by the wheelchair looking truly bored. Yaz knows 65 commands. He can pull Tim's wheelchair, bring him the telephone, pull off his socks, and open the refrigerator. He's not so good at actually retrieving anything from the refrigerator yet, but Tim knows that with hours of practice they will work this kink out. And, eventually, Yaz may learn to be a little less stubborn.

Here, for example, we find Yaz lounging on a forbidden sofa in the family room. "Yaz, off. Yaz, off!" Tim reproaches his dog again and again, each time a little more enthusiastically, while Yaz looks the other way, trying to pretend he can't hear a word of it. But by and large Yaz is good. The striking thing, in fact, about this big lug of a dog is how restrained he is, how well he's learned to live within the limitations of being a dog who must take care of a human.

"Do you want to see Yaz be a dog?" asks Tim. "Release," he commands, and sure enough, Yaz begins to wiggle and wag, free for a minute to be himself. Last quarter Susan Daynes called the university and asked if there might be someone who could help Tim get to his classes. They hooked Tim up with a football player named Terry Keehan who says he volunteered because he was tired of "being selfish."

This quarter, Terry and Tim aren't taking the same courses, but Terry still drives Tim to school and takes him to his classes. Sometimes after class they eat lunch in the Daynes' family room. Terry has become a friend, but Tim always worries about being a burden, as he does with all his friends. Sometimes Tim thinks about calling one of them to do something, then worries that maybe they won't really want to bother dealing with the wheelchair. "When you're in a wheelchair you don't really have a true friend,'' Tim says. "I haven't found one yet anyway. I mean, Yaz is. But people have a hard time getting close to a person in a wheelchair."

What he really hates, he says, is sympathy, although there was a time, before he was paralyzed, when he was an athlete at East High, when he would do what he calls "the limp'" in order to get sympathy from the girls.

Tim is hoping that Yaz will help focus people's attention away from the wheelchair, because of course the wheelchair is only about what Tim cannot do, not what he can. He wants to drive a car. He wants get a degree. He wants to be a doctor. The Biology of Human Reproduction, it turns out, is about genetics but also about the scientific process in general.

Today, Professor Joe Dickinson is describing this process to his students. In science, he tells them, we assume that the universe behaves in an objective way, that the rules remain constant, that the universe is not at the mercy of angry spirits. The universe is rational, scientifically speaking. But that doesn't mean that the rules of your own personal universe won't suddenly change one sunny day.

On June 28, 1989, when he was 16, Tim was at Lake Powell with a bunch of friends. He was a member of the school swim team, so when a windstorm came up and blew the rafts away from their houseboat that day, Tim was the logical one to retrieve them. He dove head first, his arms pulled back in a racing dive. His head was the first thing to hit the sandbar, lying in wait just below the surface.

"I think I chose to do it," says Tim -- not just chose to dive in, of course, but to become a quadraplegic. I think I had to learn not to take things for granted." At 16, he says, he was the typical East High jock. "I was cocky and stuck-up. I thought I was Mr. GQ man who could get all the women."

Had he not been injured that day, says Tim, he would have gone on to do what a lot of guys do: Be cool, kind of squeak by in high school, then move on with the East High clique to the U. After his accident, Tim returned to school, where he was elected junior class vice president and sang with the a cappella choir. He hung out with his old friends. But sometimes he felt that he had matured more than they had. He was beginning to know what it feels like to be an outsider. He was beginning to learn about life's random cruelties and what you learn to become when they happen.

Yaz's owner for the first 18 months of his puppyhood was a dog trainer named Cathy Jacklin. Five years ago, on her way to the first "graduation" of one of her puppies at Canine Companions for Independence, Jacklin's mother, husband, best friend and dogs were all killed when her car was struck by a drunken driver. Although the extent of Jacklin's loss is nearly unspeakable, Susan Daynes talks about it with the mixture of compassion and matter-of-factness that seems to characterize the Daynes household. Accidents happen. Then you go on from there. You get an elevator in your house. You find a dog.

When Yaz was in training in California, his trainers started calling him Houdini. What he liked to do was unlatch his cage, then lope around the kennel gleefully unlatching the cages of all the other dogs.

The other day Tim and Houdini went to work together on the bus for the first time. Tim didn't really want to go, but his mother insisted. Yaz was a little nervous about the whole thing, too, and balked at first about even hopping aboard. When they got to the County Complex, where Tim has a part-time job in personnel, Tim commanded Yaz to pull the wheelchair up the sidewalk to the building.

But Yaz wanted to take in the scenery for a while. Then they veered toward the curb a bit while Yaz seemed to be thinking of other things he'd rather be doing. Finally he buckled down. They moved slowly up the wet sidewalk to work. A boy and his dog, both wishing they could run away, both knowing they can't.

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Bennie's Story

by Frances Charein/Lampert

All my adult life I have always wanted a dog but circumstances never allowed me to have one. Little did I know that years later my wish would finally come true.

It was in the summer of 1984 shortly after my husband and I decided we weren't going to have children that we made the decision to welcome a dog into our lives. After a lot of discussion about what breed would be right for us and work well in an apartment setting, we decided on the Miniature Schnauzer.

We searched out all the reputable breeders in our area and found one. We called and then went over to look at the puppies who were available for adoption. Immediately we became attached to a nine week-old adorable little black male ball of fluff who came from a litter of nine There was something very special about this guy – his winning personality, his confidence, the way this fuzzy, black coated creature ran over so joyously to meet us. Gazing up at us with unblinking brown button eyes through long black eyelashes. His tiny licorice-candy nose, bushy eyebrows, mustache and beard that were so soft. Oh, he stole our hearts immediately. We chose him, and we felt he chose us too. We named him Bennie, a name he fit to a tee.

I'll never forget the day we brought him home. He looked so handsome after his very first grooming with his newly cropped ears standing so perfectly erect. But he didn't want to go home with us; he would run right back to his litter mates not wanting to leave them behind. It was understandable how this poor little puppy had to be so very confused and frightened. Everything was so new to him. He was probably thinking, who are these people and what do they want? He quivered the whole way home in the car. Then as soon as we got him home and brought him into our apartment, he became animated and immediately began to bond with us. My husband would tell me, "Look, he loves you already." Yes this was the beginning of a sixteen and one half year love affair.

We took Bennie everywhere, even if it meant giving up staying in fancy hotel rooms. We didn't mind as long as we could have him with us since we didn't want to board him. From the very beginning my husband taught Bennie everything from housebreaking, how to walk properly on a leash, the commands to obey, heel, sit, stay, beg, roll over, and fetch. And most importantly, to have good manners at all times . My hubby was a wonderful teacher. He was Bennie's master. Bennie listened to him and respected him.

It was amazing how fast Bennie learned. It was so cute how he always wanted to please. He had the best disposition and temperament anyone could want from a dog. He was very loyal. What a dog! It amazed us how he never would growl at anyone or anything. He was like a well behaved little person, very human-like in so many ways. And oh what a personality! Many times he would be a clown – always making us laugh. I remember so vividly the time when Bennie was around a year old and we had taken him to Las Vegas. Returning from dinner, we found three apple cores on the carpet. We had forgotten we had left three apples up on the edge of the bed where we thought Bennie couldn’t reach them. But somehow he managed to get on the bed and eat all three of the apples. The part we thought was amazing was leaving the cores. Now that's one smart doggie!

Many times while having company over we would end the evening with Bennie entertaining us with his tricks. He loved to "show off." What a character he was.

In the past, on some evenings, my husband and I would enjoy staying out late but now it was like we couldn't wait to rush home to be with our little guy. He was our entertainment. It felt so nice coming home to him. Just knowing he would be right there greeting us at the door with his little stump of a tail wagging a mile a minute, so happy to see us. Our lives completely changed. Getting a doggy was the best thing we ever did. We both became "homebodies" just wanting to be at home as much as possible so we could enjoy time with our little Bennie boy.

We made sure Bennie had excellent veterinary care all through his years – always updated with his shots and had yearly check ups. When he became a senior we made sure he was checked twice a year. He remained very healthy up until the age of thirteen and one half. Then one day his groomer brought to our attention that she noticed some muscle loss in his one leg. We took him to his regular vet to have him checked and he referred us to an internist.

Bennie was tested and diagnosed with Cushing's disease. We made the decision to have him treated with medication. He did very well on the meds for the first couple of years but it was hard to keep old age from creeping up. He eventually lost his hearing and his leg muscles became weaker and weaker and he began to lose his balance.

The last couple months of his life was hard for the three of us. He was going blind – causing him to become very depressed and disoriented. So disoriented that he would walk into corners and walls without figuring out how to get out, and sometimes fall down. It was so sad. By now his little body was giving out on him. He never whined or cried . That made it hard for us to tell if he was in any pain. Everyone we asked told us, "If he is in pain he will let you know."

It was the day before Thanksgiving of 2000 when Bennie took a turn for the worse and we rushed him to the hospital. We had tests done and they found a mass in his abdomen.

We knew that surgery would be very risky and we thought about the quality of life he would have if he survived at the age of sixteen and one half. It didn't seem fair to put him through such an ordeal of exploratory surgery. This was the turning point that forced us to make the very hard decision that it was time to let him go. Let him go peacefully and with his dignity. We both knew that he had a good life span for any dog but it was still very hard to say goodbye forever.

We chose to be there until the very end. Right beside our little boy. I will never forget how, just before the final euthanasia injection, Bennie found enough strength to raise his head up, like it was a sign of him thanking us for giving him such a wonderful home and life. Yes, he still amazed us until the very last moment of his life. If only he knew that it was HE that had been the reason for giving us such a rich and wonderful past few years.

We cried and cried for months. Little did I know that less than six months later I would lose my husband to heart problems. A double blow indeed. But until this day it has been some comfort knowing that my two favorite guys have been reunited and no doubt making heaven a much better place.

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Life With Paris

by Roxane Kujanson

I had just lost my Mom in June of 1988. She was relatively young and the sting of losing such an important person in my life was devastating. I had lost my job as a consequence of participating in caring for her. My sister, Alex, and I were living with her at the end. Alex and I had a long talk about whether we wanted to stay in the house or sell it and move. We decided on moving, so looking for a job didn't make sense.

Alex had suggested that I get a puppy to fill some time before we moved out of town. I grew up with cats and couldn't imagine switching. But, one day we found out about a litter of Lhasa Apsos just outside of the city. I figured it couldn't hurt to go and have a look at them. Little did I know that one of those five pups would steal my heart in a way I never thought possible!

We arrived at the home of the people who owned the puppies. The five balls of fluff were outside. Alex and I went out in the backyard and as soon as we sat in the grass, we were covered in a panting and licking frenzy! She had picked one out, but Paris was in my lap nuzzling me already. There was no way I would take home any other little girl.

She was beige with brown spots and big, happy brown eyes. Paris slept in my lap all the way home. People talk about puppies crying at night. She didn't get the chance; she slept on my bed from the beginning.

We ended up moving to Austin, Texas. Paris settled into our new home. She was happy to be anywhere as long as I was with her. Over the next several years, there were many happy and sad times. Paris was right there for all of them. True to her breed, she guarded me while I was at home and did not particularly like most strangers.

I ended up moving out of the state for a short period of time. It was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. I was miserable. I can truthfully say that there were times that Paris kept me going every day. I always knew that no matter how horrible I felt or how lonely, she was right there with me.

We moved back to the Austin area. After several more years of "finding myself," Paris and I moved in with Alex and her two dogs. Paris was not amused to share the space, but things went along okay, with just a few minor turf wars. I had been accepted into nursing school and worked full-time while going to class and doing clinical rotations. Thank goodness for Alex; I'm sure Paris would have starved since I was never home. When I finally came home at night, it was my "Sweet P" who met me at the door, happy to see me as usual.

Toward the end of nursing school, I met Doug. We went out several times right before Christmas. I had a picture taken of Paris and me in front of the Christmas tree and used it as my Christmas card. I put one in an envelope and gave it to Doug one evening when we were on a date. He asked me what the envelope was and I told him it was from Paris and me. He looked at me and said, "Paris isn't a cat is it??" We still laugh about this and wonder what would have happened if Paris had, indeed, been a cat.

Doug came over to meet Paris shortly after that. Now, Paris had very discerning tastes in people and didn't generally like new introductions. Doug walked into the house, sat down on the couch and Paris got right up in his lap. I knew, then, that this was a great guy.

Paris was right. Doug is the perfect man, I'm convinced! They bonded immediately. As Doug and I prepared to get married, Paris and I moved into his house. The transition for all of us was painless. I know it was surprising for all concerned.

Another couple of years went by with my furry, deaf baby. She learned hand signals for "going outside," "eat," and several other activities. Paris was as happy as ever. Right before Christmas in 1999, she was limping. I figured she had arthritis; after all, she was ten yeas old by then. She also had developed seizures. We went o see Dr. Willis who did some blood work and other tests. To cut to the chase, the day after Christmas, I got a call saying that Paris had a pituitary tumor that was causing Cushing's Disease.

We decided to try chemo, but the cure was worse than the disease! In fact, Paris almost died. She ended up with a burned esophagus and couldn't swallow. I promised her right then that I'd never be selfish enough to make her suffer. Her quality of life was the important thing. I had spoken to Dr. Willis several times during this awful situation. We agreed that (1) no more chemo and (2) when it was time to let her go, Dr. Willis would gently help me with the decision. I knew I'd never be able to do it on my own.

We stopped chemo but Paris was desperately ill. I made the decision that if she didn't rally by the next day, I'd talk to Dr. Willis about putting her down. I didn't know how I would ever get through it. I sat, again, with Paris on my lap and even though she couldn't hear me, I told her I'd let her go if that's what needed to happen. I laid her on a blanket beside my chair and worked on some things I'd brought home. I was pretty engrossed in what I was doing but then realized I was hearing a squeek toy. I thought I'd lost my mind, but I looked down and there was Paris with Snake in her mouth! Again, I ask, dog or cat??? It would seem that she was on yet another borrowed life!

In 2002, Doug, Paris and I moved to Utah. Paris was 14 by then. She traveled like a champ. She was happy as long as she was with Doug or I, but preferably Doug. I always used to "scold" her about forgetting the first eight years of her life with me. Doug was clearly her favorite human from the first day they met.

By Christmas of 2002, Paris lost sight in her left eye. It appeared to be cataracts, but at that age and with her medical history, I could not put her through surgery. And, frankly, she was still happy and playful for her age.

Doug and I started to build a house just south of Salt Lake City on a mountain top. We did a lot of the flooring with her in mind (the occasional mistake on the carpet) and we had a big deck off the back of the house. There's lots of deer up there and we thought she'd love being on the deck and watching them.

The day that we closed on the house, May 21, I came home at lunch-time so we could go to the meeting. Paris had taken her morning nap as usual, but when she awoke, she had obviously experienced a neurological event. She was completely blind and was suffering from dementia. She had no idea where she was. The only time she could rest was when I held her, which I did, a lot. We went on three different vet visits over the 24 hour period. I knew in my heart it was time to let her go. I just couldn't do it! I called Dr. Willis back in Austin. She was wonderful and told me that after hearing the circumstances, she thought I knew what needed to happen and that Paris was telling me. I held Paris in my arms for about five hours while she slept.

I eventually made the decision to take her to one of the caring vets we had seen over the last day. Dr. Latimer and his staff were wonderful. I stayed with her through the injections. I knew she couldn't see or hear me, but she could smell me there. It still makes my heart ache to think about that moment that she left this world although I know she's happy, lively and playful now with all her senses working again! And, truthfully, I'd never give up being with her at that special time. I was privileged to have been her "mom" and I would never give up all the love just because the grief right now is painful. We were blessed with having known and loved Paris

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