Forrest: The Heart of a Lion

I recently watched an older movie based on the Stephen King book, Hearts in Atlantis, and the clairvoyant man, Ted, convinces an injured girl that she has the heart of a lion, just before resetting her dislocated shoulder.  It gives her courage then, and at other times going forward.

Forrest, our little 12-pound chihuahua and dachshund rescue dog, had courage to spare.  And so it is that on the day after his passing, I am trying to find mine too.  

He was a one year old rescue dog, up for adoption, when I first saw his picture on Petfinders and fell in love with that face. At the time, we already had 2 dogs, one big, one medium, but our daughter had always lamented that she wanted one of her own, and I, as it were, could never have enough of them.

As it turned out, our daughter was starting high school and wasn’t really ready to be solely responsible for a dog. And the rescue told us quite a few fibs about Forrest’s attributes.  Or maybe they just forgot to mention a few things:

1. Leash reactivity? A cross between John Travolta’s strut, and little Godzilla on a leash
2. Potty trained?  Ha ha ha ha ha!  Also, never if it’s raining outside, or icy cold.
3. Good with small children or strangers at the door?  Yes, if they like dogs that try to bite them.

So he had issues, but by the time that really sunk in, my heart had fallen for this little guy. He wasn’t perfect but he was 200 pounds of love in a 12 pound package. Devotion was his middle name. He quickly became the leader of my fan club, following my every step, and warming my lap whenever he could. He slept against me, under the covers, every night. I had to discourage his protective tendencies when he tried to become the lion guarding my lap. But there was no doubt that he would defend me with every ounce of his being should I truly need it.

And he had even more love to go around, for my husband, our children, some of our friends, and especially my husband’s elderly parents. When my mother-in-law moved in with us after her husband passed, Forrest would wait at her bedroom door till she emerged in the morning, then ride on her lap in the wheelchair to the kitchen for coffee.  

Forrest loved to sing, and our kids (and my husband) encouraged it at every turn.  He was a rather shrill soprano, to be honest, but his high-pitched yodels and howls, delivered with gusto, delighted all who heard them.  His musical bent extended to our classic rock cover band, and he loved to be in attendance when the band rehearsed in the basement, quietly enjoying the music unless we played “Werewolves of London”, at which point, he had to join in the howls.  Owooooooo!

In his younger days, he was nimble and quick, always underfoot yet never getting stepped on.His speed was sometimes a drawback when it came to our big dog, Beldar.  Forrest flying across the yard was an instant turn on of Beldar’s prey drive. I would yell to him, “Run, Forrest, run!” But Forrest was nobody’s fool, and as soon as he felt Beldar on his heels, he would drop flat to the grass, not moving, and Beldar would instantly lose interest in chasing him.  Quick AND smart.  

Did I just say he was smart?  Well, yes, but only for his own purposes.  Sit? Stay? Down? Be quiet? Well, yes, if you could call doing it for one second as a success. That’s all he could manage, I guess, with that shivery chihuahua energy.

Forrest was also a champion beggar at meal or snack time.  He would get impatient waiting till we finished, so somewhere near the end of a meal he would begin making the most pitiful mewling sounds you’ve ever heard, while his eyes implored you with a look that said, “Please, sir.  Can I have some more?”  Oliver had nothing on him.

Like many mixed breeds, he was generally healthy as a horse.  We made only one trip to the ER vet, when he dislocated his shoulder flying around the hallway corner at top speed, sliding and hitting the wall.  After waiting several hours to see the vet, he had managed to pop it back in and they found no further injury (“…the heart of a lion”).

Almost six years ago, we moved to Washington state, and built a home in the forest, where our yard was frequented by many deer.  The first few years, Forrest didn’t hesitate to give chase if he got the opportunity, and his quick bursts in any deer's direction sent them running.

But in the last two years, he slowed down immensely. Arthritis in his spine, loose luxating patellas, worsening cataracts, failing hearing, incontinence, and symptoms of dementia set in. He no longer chased our deer visitors, but they still feared him, or maybe he was just confusing, sometimes walking in their direction, then turning away and walking in the other direction. They would watch him, fearful but curious, whenever he was outside. It was funny and sad at the same time.

It took us a year to steel ourselves to say goodbye to him.  We made decisions to put him down, and then changed our mind.  Recently, with him sleeping about 21 hours a day, and the only light in his eyes was when he looked over at me to make sure I was near him, or when food was going into his bowl, we finally made the decision to have the vet come to our home.  We knew that we preferred him to leave this world in our arms, pain-free, rather than waiting for the inevitable seizure or heart failure along with the pain and fear that would ensue at the ER.  We held him, fed him special treats like ice cream and his own hamburger, and when the vet got to our house, it took every bit of resolve not to say, “We can’t do this.”

He left the world at our home, on my lap, while my husband and I stroked him and told him how much he was loved, until that little lion’s heart stopped beating.

As heartbreaking as it was (and still is), I would love to exit this world that way when the time comes.

Gone, but never forgotten, our sweet little Forrest.

5/1/2007—12/29/24
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