We lost our dog Leo on 4 May, 2022.
Leo the Jack Russel gave us fifteen years of unconditional love. He fit in the palm of my hand when I brought him home as a puppy. I remember placing him on the pillow next to my five-year-old’s face and the puppy licked him. My boy broke into a smile with his eyes still shut.
“I will call him Leo, after Leonardo the Ninja Turtle,” he said and hugged him. In many ways that hug lasted 15 years.
I was 45 then, and now I am 60. Leo and I aged. My son grew into a man, and Leo became old, I older.
Leo had a lame leg from an ACL operation, he was arthritic and had cataracts. Yet we thought him well enough to keep going, at least for a few more years.
On the night of May 3, Leo became catatonic, unable to move. We hoped that it might be a spider bite as bites can be resolved if got to in time.
My wife and I rushed him to CARE Veterinary Hospital, in Collingwood. Only one of us could go in with him, due to COVID restrictions. I stayed outside and he fixed a forlorn gaze on me.
They said it might be internal bleeding. Leo received a dose of something to sleep for nine hours, and we were advised to see our vet the next day for tests.
That night Leo slept with my son. In the morning my wife bought him to our bed. Leo has been sleeping with us for years. This was different though. We knew, and he knew something was very wrong.
In the morning, still unable to move, and with no interest in water or food, Leo lay on the couch. I sat next to him.
I had to leave to cover an election event. And my wife was on the way from work to take him to the vet.
I covered a gaggle of politicians laying cash on a religious institution. But my mind was with Leo. My little dog that was far more serious than a gang of bearded priests in black vestments and polies in ill-fitting suits.
As soon as it finished, I rushed home. My wife came from the vet, “They’re keeping him to run some tests.”
That could be a positive, we thought. A moment of false hope evaporated when she got the call.
“Yes, yes… we’re on the way.”
I saw her face and I broke. The day, the hour, we never wanted to come, came.
“He has cancer, a tumour on the liver has burst and he’s bleeding internally,” she sobbed. We drove to the vet, as tears streamed down our faces.
She rang our son, at work, and told him to catch an Uber to the vet. We all needed to say goodbye to Leo.
Leo lay on an operating table wrapped in an electric blue blanket.
“He’s not in pain” the vet assured us. He saw us, we cried. My wife asked me not to cry too much, she knew how he fretted whenever we were stressed.
We kissed him, patted him, hugged him, and lay our heads on him. He drifted. We sought to keep him conscious until my son arrived.
“My little boy, my little old boy… wait, he’ll will be here soon,” I repeated between spasms of grief.
My son made it and now he broke down. From a puppy to an old dog, Leo was with my him. From when he was a five-year-old prep, right up to the 20-year-old uni student now. My son completed his year 12 in lockdown, in his room, with Leo. He asked us to leave him alone with Leo for a few moments.
Then we all came back to see Leo enter sweet sleep. My wife and son and I, with Leo, together the pack, the family, right to the end.
We cried all the way home. My wife asked, “What happened?” How?”
Leo lessened my anxiety. Anger, sadness, stress all diminished when Leo was with me. He was the first to greet me at the door, and always excited to see me.
Dogs have been part of our society for thousands of years. Argos, old and broken, patiently awaited Odysseus’ return from Troy, and then, after their reunion, died contentedly.
Leo died contently; he saw us one last time. Like Odysseus, we were with him, looked him in the eyes as he passed over River Styx. Leo died knowing that he was cared for and loved.
To all that I say, Vale Leo my best friend.
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