Lou’s View: GOODBYE, KASPER
By Lou Bernard
Sometime in February of 2018, my old teacher Paula shared a photo on social media. It wouldn’t be the first time Paula had changed my life for the better. It was a picture of two little dogs, Schnauzers, who needed a home. Their owner had died, they were senior dogs, and nobody wanted to separate them. They wouldn’t have lasted in a shelter.
I mentioned this to my wife. In spite of her supposedly hard stance against bringing more dogs into our home, she is generally the soft touch. In this case, it was easy, because of the breed. When we’d first married, we’d had a little Schnauzer named Sam, who’d died several years ago at the age of sixteen. To keep him company, we’d gotten a mutt, Kat, who’d also passed away. My wife and I still missed both Sam and Kat, and we agreed to drive out to Palmerton and adopt these two little old Schnauzers. Their names were Mickey and Kasper.
This brought us to a total of four dogs: Mickey and Kasper, plus Duke and Gwen, the pugs we already had. It didn’t take long for us to absolutely fall in love with both Mickey and Kasper.
My son adored Mickey, who was possibly the world’s most patient dog. I’d come downstairs to find Mickey dressed as a Disney princess or Iron Man or something, sitting quietly and allowing all of these indignities to happen. Paul spent a ton of time with Mickey.
Mickey passed away last year, in October of 2019. He had cancer. Almost a year to the day, Kasper died, as well, passing away on October 23rd.
I’m brokenhearted. Kasper was my favorite, a sweet little gray dog who would curl up beside me on the couch when everyone was in bed. I was holding him when he died, and I miss the poor little guy very badly.
We never knew how old either of them were. We knew they were senior dogs when we got them, but nobody knew their ages. Their previous owner had adopted them from a shelter, so chances are he didn’t even know. We knew they were old, but that’s about it.
I never saw myself adopting senior dogs, but I don’t regret it. Kasper was epileptic. He needed pills twice a day. I’ll admit that my first thought was what a pain in the ass that was going to be, but it actually got to be a regular part of the morning routine. I got used to it—Pour myself a cup of coffee, grab Kasper, stick a pill in his mouth. It helped that he was always cooperative about it; he always just swallowed the pill without any problems.
That was about the only part of his life Kasper was cooperative about. In everything else, he was basically obstructive. He loved being in the way—Kasper would place himself strategically in your way as you walked across the room. If you went to shift around him, nope, he’d turn and plant himself there, too. It was his favorite hobby.
When I’d come home at night, he’d run to me and rub up against my ankles, like a cat. Which is nice, unless I was carrying a ton of grocery bags. Then it was a serious safety hazard. But never mind, Kasper didn’t worry about that sort of thing—He loved to be in your way at all times.
At the end, he couldn’t even stand up. I’d find him lying on the kitchen floor, unable to stand. I was holding him when he died, whispering to him, telling him that he’d be playing with Mickey soon. And at the very end, he tried to stand up and walk away, almost falling out of my arms, even though he couldn’t walk anymore. That was Kasper—Exasperatingly difficult to the very end.
My son has been crying, and I’m not dealing with it so well myself. We miss Mickey and Kasper. They were sweet, wonderful little dogs, and I’m glad they entered my life, even if it was only for a couple of years.
Sooner or later, we’ll get another dog. Or, probably, two. My son wants a dog that will sleep in his bed with him. But we’ll never forget Mickey and Kasper, these two good little guys who came into our hearts for far too short a time.
