Today We Lost Our Best Friend
My wife Lisa and I lost our best friend today, Alfie, a five pound chocolate brown chihuahua who has been our constant companion for the past 17–1/2 years. Born in southern California, Alfie moved with us to Chicago where Lisa and I were married in 2006. Nine years later we moved to Gainesville, Florida, which is his final resting place.
Alfie’s health has been in decline in recent months. He developed a painful cough caused by an enlarged heart putting pressure on his lungs and esophagus. Medication provided some relief but the cough returned in the past several days. Ten days ago he fell back on his haunches unable to stand. X-rays showed an issue with his lower spine. With pain pills and anti inflammatories he regained some ability to walk, but it was a struggle. Still, this determined little trooper insisted on our twice daily walks around the block, even though we carried him most of the way. Alfie was always a creature of habit and he wouldn’t miss a walk. Repetition was reassuring to him. (By my calculation, in the 7–1/2 years since we moved to Florida in 2014, Alfie has walked around our block 2,737 times.)
The last hope was that the medication would make him better, but two days ago it became apparent he was not only not improving, he was digressing. After a lot of tears we made arrangements with a wonderful service called Lap of Love to do home euthanasia in four days, buying as much time with him as we could before next weekend. But, as it turned out Alfie wouldn’t have made it that long.
Last night he ate a huge dinner of all his favorite things — steak, chicken, bacon and hard food smothered in butter. He went to sleep happy, with a full belly.
Since his decline 10 days ago, I’ve been sleeping on the couch where I have a direct view of Alfie’s bed on the floor in front of a window looking out to our backyard garden. He’d been getting up frequently and had diminished bladder control. Because he couldn’t walk, I had to be right there when he got out of bed. I gained the nighttime hearing and instincts of the parents of a newborn.
This morning at about 1 am Alfie woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. As I held him he was anxious and his breathing was labored. He whimpered, as if to tell me, “I can’t wait any longer.” I felt guilty for selfishly not wanting to let him go. He finally fell asleep about 6 am and I called Lap of Love to move our appointment to this afternoon.
After a couple hours of sleep he had enough of a resurgence to go around the block one last time with Lisa and me. He got rid of his big dinner from the night before while I held him to help keep his balance. When we came home I hand fed him an entire jar of chicken and rice baby food. We sat on the back porch and two cardinals, (a male and his female partner we rescued last month after she flew into our window) came within a few feet of us and serenaded Alfie. It was breezy and he stuck his nose in the air trying to catch a scent. It was a good last morning for him and a positive memory for Lisa and me.
Dr. Anika, a compassionate and professional vet from Lap of Love, came to our home to end Alfie’s suffering. Lisa and I kissed him and said our goodbyes on the back porch about 1:30 pm while he lay in my arms wrapped in his favorite fluffy blanket. We watched as he took his last breath. I held him. We cried.
Our home is empty now. Lisa and I went out for lunch and we both burst into tears when we walked into our house and there was no Alfie to greet us. The reality of our loss hit home.
This little five pound bundle of love has meant everything to us for almost two decades. I realize to other people he was a dog. But Lisa and I saw something more than a dog. We would jokingly characterize him as a Dog Boy, likening him to Pinocchio, the puppet who longed to be a real boy. Alfie was precocious. You could see the intelligence in his eyes. He would anticipate what we wanted to do and then do his best to please us.
We stopped using a leash when Alfie was eight because he didn’t need it. We called him Free Range Alfie. He would never run away and he didn’t like to be held back. We realized how much he loved to run when we lived in Chicago and took off his leash at the Lincoln Park Arboretum. He felt so good to be free he would run circles around the gardens at lightening speed until he was ready to drop from exhaustion.
He was young when we lived in Chicago and he liked the commotion. As Lisa and I sat in our Adirondack chairs in our postage stamp size front yard with only a hedge and wrought iron fence separating us from the sidewalk along busy Armitage Ave., Alfie would stand sentry, always on the lookout for other dogs, or dangerous things that bothered him, like strollers and umbrellas.
Living just two blocks from Lincoln Park, at least one walk a day took us around the boardwalk on scenic South Pond. That’s where Alfie perfected the ability to walk off leash. Each time, we’d stop and sit on the same bench overlooking the pond and the wildlife that inhabited it with the Chicago skyline in the near distance. For ten or fifteen minutes every day I taught him how to meditate, focusing on the view in front of us and not allowing distractions. He grew to appreciate beauty and learned patience. In the years since we’ve always found a “special place,” to sit and enjoy our surroundings. Our back porch has been his favorite place in recent years.
As I recount these memories, my heart aches for the loss of an irreplaceable companion, Alfie. Dog Boy. Our best friend. 💔💔💔
R.I.P. Alfie Hopson (B: Sept. 13, 2004 D: March 15, 2022)
