Scooby Doo-We Sure Miss You!

One of the things we always looked forward to was buying our own home so that we would be able to finally get a puppy. In 2001, we achieved both. We disagreed about how and what type of dog we would get. I was perfectly ok purchasing a purebred dog or paying an adoption fee (ahem..snob!). My hubby was hell-bent on getting a free dog. He always told me that there were plenty of free doggies out there and if we are patient, we will find The One. I reminded him that people don’t give away puppies in front of the grocery store anymore…he disagreed.

Back then, we would take frequent trips to the shelter (or as Rich says, ‘The poor man's zoo’) to view doggies. There were a few reasons for this: First, how would our then, one-year-old daughter react to them? Second, it was a cheap and fun way to kill time and play with pups. And last, maybe we would find a dog in need who would just call out to us. Rich was open to adoption, but each time we left the shelter, he would remind me that we were destined to get a free doggie.

We had been visiting shelters for about nine months when we heard about a puppy store that had confiscated dozens of purebred pups because they were sick with Parvo. This would be a win-win for us. Rescue a free purebred! YAY! We had heard that this was the weekend they were letting people adopt these expensive dogs. We happily drove out to the Sacramento SPCA….but within moments, we found out that we had picked the wrong weekend. I was pretty upset—but what could I do? COMPLAIN! And that, I did.

As we walked back to the car, me bitching the entire time, we noticed a woman in a van parked near us. She had overheard me ranting about not being able to adopt and how we drove 45 minutes for nothing. Her voice is still clear in my head:

“You all looking for a puppy? I have some here, and the shelter won’t take em'.'”

She seemed like a meth case and I almost—ALMOST—declined. But being polite, and seeing about 4 black lab puppies jumping in the box, we were compelled to at least look.

The pups were cute. They were about 12 weeks old, very hyper and undernourished. She told us that the shelter wouldn't take them because they were full and she didn't have “any money to feed em’.” Lovely.

I was sad for the pups, but they just didn't feel right. I politely told her “No thanks, we were looking for something a little younger and calmer…” as if any puppy was “calm.”

The lady then looked at her teenage daughter and said “show her the brown one!” We didn't see a brown dog. But the daughter reached into the box and pulled up a brown puppy. He was completely limp and calm. He had bright green eyes, and looked into ours. We were lovesick. I asked to hold him, and she obliged. I looked at my husband who was beaming and then I looked at this pup. He looked at me, nuzzled his nose into my arms, took two deep breaths, relaxed and closed his eyes. He was The One.

And there we were. Giddy and driving straight to Petco. Rich got his free-out-of-a-box-perfect-pooch. The puppy sat on Rich’s lap the entire 45 minute drive. He was sleeping like he belonged on his lap. And he SO did. On our way to Petco, Daisy named him Scooby Doo…because in her toddler mind, “brown dogs are named Scooby.”

We enjoyed the rest of the weekend with this little brown pup. He was very peaceful. He was extremely interested in Daisy and followed her everywhere. He didn't complain when she held him, or held him down. When she sat, he sat. If she layed down, so did he. Of course, we weren't stupid. He was a puppy. There is no way he could be so calm, so gentle, so relaxed all the time—he must be ill. We took him to the vet the next week and when he received a clean bill of health, we were shocked. This was just his disposition. He was easy. We were over the moon.

Scooby looked like a brown lab. But the vet soon informed us that he probably had Doberman in him as well. As he grew, we could see the pretty light-brown markings. That was all he got from his Dobie bloodline…except his fear and loathing of water and all things water-related. We literally spent one summer at a friend’s pool, trying to teach Scooby how to swim. He preferred to curl up on Rich’s lap, and whimper. His heart would race every time we forced him into the pool. Although he learned to swim that summer, he still hated it. To cool off, he would simply stand on the first step of the pool and cool his feet and sometimes venture to the second step to cool his chest. He was so funny about water.



One time, we took him camping at Pine Crest Lake. It was the first time he experienced separation anxiety—us being in the water, and him pacing on the beach. Within minutes of Rich and Daisy being in the water, our water-hating lab forced himself to swim out to them, lap around once and come right back. He did this the entire time, even while his buddies would fetch, swim and retrieve balls and frisbees.

This behavior would increase over the years. As our daughter grew, we began to spend a lot of time at the lake near our house. It’s always an adventure. We love being surrounded by nature and water and that summer-lake feeling. Daisy is quite a swimmer and Scooby didn't like being away from her. I wasn't even enough to keep him on the beach. If she was in the water, he would try to get out there too. Last summer, at Lake Comanche, we were all floating about 50 yards off the shore. Scooby was resting when we ventured into the water, but apparently he woke up. Out of nowhere, I hear my sister saying, “Oh Scooby! What are you doing out here?” I looked over my shoulder and here is his sweet, brown face whimpering his way out to Daisy and I. We all laughed and my brother-in-law swam him back to the shore. We moved in closer so he wouldn't worry.

Scooby hated water so much, he wouldn't drink from a dog bowl. He preferred the toilet. He even taught his dog-cousin, Sippy, to drink from the toilet as well. He did love the dog beach in Half Moon Bay, but as his cousins would run into the water, he would stop, maybe getting his feet wet. Every time we took him, someone would comment on how funny it was to see a lab who didn't like the water.

The one thing he hated more than water was cats. And, he regularly controlled the ever-growing feral cat population in our neighborhood. Aside from protecting us, this was his job, and he would be so proud of himself when he returned.

Scooby’s fierce loyalty to us was undeniable. His favorite job was to naturally take on the role of  being our daughter's shadow. And for the past ten years, that was his favorite job.


This was never more evident than when we would visit the dog park. Scooby was the Ambassador of the park. He would meet and greet every dog that came in, give them a sniff, and then go right back to tailing Daisy—no matter where she wandered. She loved to climb up to the top of the hills at the park, and up until last year, he would look for her and when he saw her, he would go running up that hill, just to be by her side. This devotion to our girl caused him to protect her at all costs. As a pup, we could take him anywhere and we did. But one day at the pet store, when he was about five-years-old, an old man said hello to us and to Daisy. He actually tried to shake Daisy’s hand, which was weird to me, but I was right there and so I didn't say anything…but Scooby did NOT like this man and leapt in between his old hand and our girl. He was just doing his job. I have to say, it was a proud moment for us, but also a little too scary to have him at the store from that point on.

Scooby worked hard for us. He always did his job. He had three barks, one for people who drove into our cul-de-sac. One for people he knew who were coming up to the door….and one for people he didn't know. He was our alarm. After the threat was gone, or the people were in the home, he would retreat to his bed, or his second favorite place—Daisy’s room.

Last year, we noticed that he was slowing down a bit. And to be expected—but you can never be prepared. Labs aren't known to live more than 10-14 years if you’re lucky. In November, I noticed some lumps under his chin. We decided to not visit the vet during the holidays. On January 3, I walked our boy up to the vet. It’s then I received the devastating news that he had Lymphoma. He was given two months to a year to live. But I Googled that shit immediately and all facts stated 3-6 months. We were beyond devastated. We were horrified.

One night, while Daisy was sleeping and Rich was at school, I had my mommy-moment with Scooby. I took his face in my hands and tearfully told him that if he was going to leave us, he had better come back as my son, because we can’t live without his sweet spirit. He is a part of us. A week later, I found out that I was pregnant…and now we know it’s a boy.

The past five months have been amazing, heartbreaking and rule-breaking. Once diagnosed, we allowed Scooby to get on the couch, eat steaks, sleep on Daisy’s bed and do anything else he wanted to do…except eat kittens….although one friend offered to provide a litter for us at no cost.

Last week, Scooby’s eyes started to show signs of blindness. He was struggling for air at night, and refused to eat. We could tell he was nearing the end and not comfortable at all.

Wednesday night, while we were eating dinner, Rich notified us that it was, indeed, “time.” We tearfully cleared off the dinner table and floated around the rest of the evening, petting Scooby and trying to prepare ourselves for the next day.

One thing Rich and I knew for sure is that we didn't want to take him to a vet. Since he was a puppy, he hated going to the vet. It scared him every time. As soon as we would pull up to the parking lot, he would shake uncontrollably. This is NOT how we wanted his last memory. Instead, we opted for an in-home procedure that I heard about on the Rob, Arnie and Dawn radio show. I contacted Rob and didn’t expect to hear back. But within hours, he emailed me a referral for a vet that he has used in the past, Dr. Jyl's Mobile Vet Connection. He also comforted us with encouragement and said we were doing the right thing for wanting his final moments to be pleasant ones. Unfortunately, Dr. Jyl was unable to accommodate our time, and so we found and used Dr. Linda’s Goodbye at Home service.

The following morning, our home was filled with the smell of steak. Rich had cooked up a meal for our king, and he ate it, albeit slowly. We all spent time in a zombie-like state until Dr. Linda’s truck pulled into the driveway. That’s when we lost it, completely.

Scooby wasn't upset to see her. In fact, he barely barked. If you knew Scooby, you’ll know that this is RARE. Dr. Linda walked into our home and immediately got on her knees and loved on our boy. He was accepting and loving and happy to see a new guest in the house.

After a few minutes with him, he looked up at us and then walked over to his bed and lied down. It’s like he knew it was time. She gave us our space as the three of us gathered around our boy and pet him and loved on him and kissed him as the sedative gently put him into a deep sleep. The time spent with him was soothing, sweet and happy/sad. We thanked him and told him he was a good boy. That was his last memory. Then we let her give the last injection until his heart stopped.

This is truly been one of the most difficult things we have ever faced. To say Dr. Linda was WONDERFUL is an understatement. We will never regret saying goodbye to him the way we did.

The rest of our day was spent together, talking, crying, laughing, shopping, eating ice cream and napping. We decided as a family to not answer the phone. I posted pics and an update to our Facebook page. The outpouring of love and well-wishes was overwhelming and very much needed. Throughout the day, we were comforted by the sweet words, emails and texts. We could feel the love and we thank you all.

It’s weird without him. I think the hardest part is not being greeted at the door when we get home. The silence in our home is so loud. But we can feel him in our home still. At night, we can hear him tip-toe on the tile. And we all swear we heard him enter Daisy’s room in the middle of the night over the weekend. It was a nice reminder that he is still here.

It’s only been five days, but we know we will end up getting another dog, it’s just who we are. We are a dog-family. But we will always miss our sweet brown boy. The cats in the neighborhood, will not.