Nalu and Liko, in better times
When your dog dies, even after a long slow decline as our old girl did today, it’s a feeling not quite like any other, a unique grief. Dogs are so completely unconditionally loving that having that presence go…well, I’ve cried harder today than I have at human funerals.
If you’ve read any of my books, you’ve met my dog, Nalu, who died today—she was the model for Keiki. I made her a Rottweiler in the books, because that’s how big Nalu was in my heart. Loyal, loving, intelligent, modest, tirelessly protective and fierce in her duty, Nalu never knew she only weighed thirteen pounds and was a Chihuahua terrier—and we never told her.
Until Nalu, we were the family who could never keep a dog.
Our attempts to have a dog as a pet began early, when Mike and I were first married, and continued periodically as our kids got older. There was the Shepherd mix that howled. The Dalmatian that we loved but couldn’t get tired enough to keep indoors in the Midwest. The beagle that turned out to be a fear-biter, and chomped not just me but the kids whenever nervous. Even after two rounds of obedience school, still my son’s hand was bitten one last time. I took the dog to the Humane Society and all of us wept bitterly.
“No more dogs,” I said. “My heart can’t take it. We just aren’t dog people.”
By then I knew what having a dog meant—dealing with messes. And barking, licking, jumping. Icky smells when you pet them and they hadn’t been washed. Hair, mud, and territorial marking. The need to be walked and played with—dogs are almost as needy as toddlers, and they never grow up.
We took a family trip to Kaua`i in 1999 and camped out at Haena Beach Park. Caleb was in sixth grade and Tawny in fifth, and they met a hippie girl who had a black-and-tan bitch with puppies she was giving away. They dragged me over the see the nest of dogs in the girl's tent, and picked up the smallest puppy in their joined hands because they both wanted her so much. “Please, Mom,” they begged. “Look how tiny she is. She won’t be any trouble.”
Indeed, the pup was tiny, no bigger than a guinea pig (which we had been able to successfully have as pets) and all of the dogs we’d tried before were much larger. She was cute, too, with big ears and black-and-tan points, and the hippie girl swore she wasn’t going to grow bigger than fifteen pounds. In a weak moment, I agreed. We carried her home from Kaua`i in my purse. We named her Nalu, which means ‘wave,’ for the tan-colored curl shapes on her cheeks.
Nalu got parvo within the first couple of weeks at home, and it was our first big test of commitment as dog owners. The little adopted mutt who was supposed to be a cheap, hardy dog and ‘no trouble’ ended up costing us nine hundred dollars in vet bills, money we didn’t have back then but paid off over time on the credit card. Nalu was a fighter and refused to die, and over time, we came to joke that she had at least nine lives, and lived every one of them fully.
Nalu never had to be housetrained, and she understood when we wanted her to go to bed in the laundry room, or take a walk, or come sit on the couch with us. She wasn’t a fussy eater, and she was low maintenance—all she cared about was us. She seemed to always know what our moods and needs were as a family, never thrusting herself upon us demanding affection, instead waiting to be invited, only coming to snuggle when someone was sad. She accompanied us on camping trips and hikes, her curly tail jaunty with joy, and tirelessly patrolled and guarded our home.
We let her have one litter of puppies, a memorable experience as she got pregnant by two different (small) dogs, and succeeded in bearing six adorable puppies that we easily gave away. It was a magical experience for the kids.
When our children were in high school, Nalu got sick with cervical cancer and had to have a hysterectomy. “This is the most expensive mutt ever,” Mike mock-grumbled as we worked to pay off yet another huge bill. “Wasn’t she supposed to be ‘no trouble’?”
She came back health-wise from that, and when the kids left for college, I began to worry she would die, and that I couldn’t handle it if she did. The empty nest was feeling really empty to me. By then Nalu was ten years old and getting gray around the muzzle, so I bought Liko, a purebred shih-tzu, thinking it would be fun to have two dogs, one of them “fancy.”
Liko has never been half the dog Nalu was. He’s stubborn, territorial, pees in the house no matter what we try, and needs to be groomed, which it turns out, is not something I like dealing with. Worst of all, he isn’t smart.
We had become so used to Nalu’s almost telepathic understanding of us that we’d forgotten how special she was, how no other dog but her worked for our family.
Over the last five years she aged, gradually becoming blind and deaf, losing weight and her appetite, needing to be carried in an out of the laundry room to bed, needing special food to be tempted into eating. She became incontinent, and slept a lot. Several times we thought she was going, but she always fought her way back, clinging to life and, we sensed, one more day of looking out for us, her sworn duty.
In the last three days, at sixteen years old, she stopped eating and drinking, crawling off to strange places. We knew she was trying to die. We found her behind the dryer, under the house, and last night, out in the long grass of the yard, shivering with the night’s rain.
She didn’t want to inconvenience us with seeing her like that—she’d always been modest that way, trying to poop or pee out of view, hating it when she wasn’t in the pink of health because she knew her suffering caused us to suffer.
Mike and I took her to the vet to be put down when she began to have convulsions this morning. We wrapped her in a red beach towel that said HAWAII on it and carried her into the vet’s in a laundry basket. Nalu was stubborn about that one thing—she wouldn’t die easy. She could have passed eight or nine times at least through all our years with her, and she refused to. Now it was our turn to do the right thing by her.
I’m a total coward, though. Avoidance is one of my main grief coping strategies. I don’t know if I could have followed through on being with her to the end without Mike helping me by joining in the misery of it. I sobbed into a harsh paper towel from the vet’s dispenser as I petted her silky head. She died with no drama, curled up small and quiet in the basket and by now, almost as tiny as when she was a puppy.
Mike and I worked together and dug a hole in the back yard, in the “pet cemetery” area that, in sixteen years of raising kids in this house, now holds the bones of countless bunnies, birds, guinea pigs and cats.
But Nalu’s spot is special, against the back fence, under the fan palm. I planted a climbing rose on her grave, and I can see that palm, and that rose, from any window in the house.
I’m proud of us. The family that could never keep a dog, kept one from the beginning of her life until the last minute of the end—and the world will always know her too, because she inspired Keiki in my books.
Thanks, Kaua`i hippie girl, for giving her to us. Thanks, kids, for begging me to say yes. Thanks, Nalu, for being who you were and loving us the way you did. Even with my heart breaking, I wouldn’t have missed having you in my life.
That's what happens when your great dog dies.
Crying with you. I have never been so heartbroken it seems as when a beloved, treasured animal passes. So very sorry for your loss. Love that Nalu lives on in Keiki. My sincerest condolences.
Oh Toby, I am so sorry for your loss. I know that words don’t mean much to this kind of pain, but they are all I have. Our furbabies are precious in a way that non-pet-owners just can’t understand – and even some pet owners can’t, those to whom they are “merely” pets and not truly family. To those who they are family, they enrich our lives in a way that others can’t comprehend – and the loss is so much more bitter, when it inevitably comes. All my love to you in your grief.
It is devastating, but a recognition of great love and devotion. She will always be in your hearts.
My heart breaks with you, Toby. I understand how difficult this type of loss can be. I will think of Nalu every time I read one of your books and picture Keiki running up to greet Lei. Take good care of you now. Grief is stressful. Hugs.
Oh, it is so very hard to say goodbye to such a loving, devoted and special pet / family member like Nalu. My heart breaks for you and your family even as I still grieve the loss of my “one dog” almost 18 months ago. They give us so much, and yet do take a little bit of us with them when they must go. I am so very sorry for your loss. Wishing you peace and many good memories ~
I’m crying too! I’m sorry for your loss. I have lost 5, plus a cat, so I totally understand.
Such pure, loving spirits in our little animal friends! I know what you’re going through. It is so hard. But remember: Nalu will have a “paw” in whichever pup comes your way next, you can count on that.
Took me a while to read this… I had a Muffin I had to put down, and now my Sam is slowing very fast… sobbing with you!
So sorry for your loss. There are no words.
Not a dry eye in the house. Grieving with you as we still feel the pain of losing our beloved CC in June. Our thoughts are with you all.
So sorry for your loss. I still miss my Suzie after almost 15 years. Best dog we ever had. I love Keiki in your books!
*sniffle ~ wiping away tears* Oh Toby, I’m so sorry for you and your family having to say goodbye to your beloved Nalu. Until the last few years, when travel interferred, I’ve always been a pet owner (usually multiple) and through the years have shed buckets of tears saying goodbye to them. It’s hard, as you’ve so tenderly shared with us here. All those treasured memories will soothe the sadness in time. Hugs!
Thank you, Toby, for sharing her with us, both in this writing and as Keiki. I know how hard it is to lose one of your “kids”. The hard grief will pass and she will be a continuing happy memory.
So sorry for your loss of Nalu. So hard to put down your furry child. She was blessed to find such a loving home with you folks. Rest assured you’ll meet again over the Rainbow bridge.
Toby,
I feel your sorrow and empty nest. I’m thinking of others who lost their dogs this past year too. I ached for my Misty who I had to put down with breast cancer as a five year old black lab back in 1991. It was difficult to go work in the ER. My boss (a dog lover)called me at home to talk sense with compassion and it helped very much… Hugs
“We who chose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live with a fragile circle; easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.”
Irving Townsend
Thinking of you with love today, Toby.
{{{{{hugs}}}} Exactly the “right” dog comes to us when we need them, whether we know it at the time or not. Thank you for sharing her with the world.
So sorry for your loss.
The words are blurring as I respond to your beautiful words. Nalu sounds very special and I my heart goes out to you and your family. A special dog leaves a gaping hole. My Chow Chow Molly was blind and deaf in the end. My sister and I agreed that as long as she went to the wall and touched her leash hanging there, wanting to go for her daily walk, we would not put her to sleep. She passed away one morning stepping off the patio to go for a walk. To this day I swear I hear her rattling her leash. Some people say dogs don’t have souls, but we know better:)
Oh I’m so sorry, I have had a few dogs and know your pain. My current dog Connie is my life she is nine soon and is getting old but the love she gives me is just unconditional and I’m dreading that day in the future when I have to put my feelings aside for her needs.
God bless you all hugs and we’ll wishes sent your way and thanks for a heartbreaking blogg
Read this with such a sad heart. One of the best friends I will ever have was a Rott-Dobe mix (puppy) found wandering in a grocery parking lot. He was a constant companion, and a big “talker.” A trespasser (on my ranch) shot him not long after his seventh birthday. I lost myself into depression for months. My novel, Ghost in the Rainbow, was written for him. I sometimes see him, when rainbows touch the ground in my pasture. My heart is with you, Toby. I truly understand this unique pain.
Toby, I’ve never really been a pet person, but all three of my grown daughters are (probably because they didn’t have dogs growing up). Last spring, however, when I was living with my youngest daughter and her family, we experienced much the same thing as you. Lucky was a yellow Lab and my daughter and her wife had gotten her when they first married (in Canada before the US wised up) in 2004. Lucky was my first granddog as well as the first big dog I ever liked. They all lived with me when my daughter was pregnant with her son and they always held onto Lucky while I came from downstairs (my domicile while they were there) so I could get out the door without attracting yellow Lab hairs all over my suit that I wore to work. When my grandson was birn, Lucky became his footstool so he could get up on the couch, his protector lying in the doorway to his room and his first playmate outside as he threw the ball countless times and Lucky happily retreived it countless times. No matter how anyone in the family felt, Lucky mirrored their sadness or joy and provided the comfort they needed – at exactly the right time. I dogsat Lucky the same as any grandchild when their family went on vacation. Lucky was always regal right up until last spring when we felt it was really cruel to attempt to improve His quality of life as his health deteriorated. He, too, was given special treats hoping he’d eat better and trips to the vet for several ill-health diagnoses. My daughter, her wife and their two children they had by that time spent a week loving on, photographing for the family’s scrapbook, and grieving because they knew Lucky’s time on this earth was coming to a conclusion. Lucky went peacefully, too, with his loving human parents holding him. There was continued grief after they came home to the kids and he didn’t. Lucky’s ashes were given to them later in a beatiful wooden carved container which they brought back to our home state of Washington after living in New Mexico for a year (during which the tables were turned and I lived with them). We’re all back in our own homes again, but theirs will always hold the wonderful memories of Lucky. The lucky ones, though, were all of us who were privileged to know Lucky.
Thank you for your post today, Toby. While I was reading it I recalled all of the cats and dogs I’ve had and seen die in my life. They were family members that I grieved over, every one. That unconditional love they had for our family was priceless. I like to think they made us better humans.
I am so sorry you had to say goodbye to your dear critter. As someone said in an earlier post, there are no words to make it better. My dog, Jessie, who is luckily still alive managed to beat death twice. Once when the pound was going to euthanize her and once when we woke up and she was paralyzed. She made it through the surgery (they gave her a 5% chance of making it). She has recovered about 90% of her mobility. She is still darn fast! The surgery alone was over $7,000. The after visits and tests racked up almost another $3,000. Thank goodness we had the money to save our little pack member. I hope you have lots of great memories of Nalu that will help through this difficult time. As I said earlier, I wish I had words of comfort for you.
Hugging you tightly with all my heart and thru my tears. It is so very hard to lose our fur babies they add so very much to our lives. I am so sorry for your loss. ?
I empathize, so tears in my eyes are for you & Nalu AND for me & Fluffie. I still feel her near me, at times, and it’s been years. Virtual (((hugs))) & Love from SoCal
So heartbreaking when our beloved family members pass ….missed , mourned, sweet memories !! ??Prayers?? and AL?HA…
You really are an amazing writer and soul. I have been at that place…that very, very still last moment…Going home alone without my life’s mascot…..They are so much sweeter than us and give us so much. What an awesome tribute to your darling little lady doggie. Thank you for sharing it with us. Sending you and your family and Nalu so much LOVE for her new journey.
Thank you for sharing, Toby. It’s very sad, but also very inspiring. Touching. We’re lucky to have certain creatures come into our lives and change them. Thoughts and prayers are with you and your family, and of course for little Nalu. Aloha
Aloha oe, Nalu! So glad you had her in your lives. All four of you are ever so much richer for the unconditional love and time she shared with you. Aloha pumehana, Tita.
Heartfelt condolences to you and your Ohana Toby…a deep loss, and a unique one I empathize with… those moments, that only Nalu could bring, are such a gift and I pray bring comfort…
It’s been such a pleasure getting to know Nalu through Keiki, who continues to be my favorite character next to Lei. Magic happens in me when I get to work with her :o). She embodies so many wonderful things…unconditional love, support, loyalty, adventure, patience, intellgence, courage, joy, etc.. Thank for sharing her with all of us.
My Scooby, who we too helped transition to heaven, surely he has welcomed Nalu with open paws, tail wags, and respectable okole sniffing. Aloha Oe Nalu, and heartfelt condolences to those hearts she touched ✨❤️✨
Shedding tears for you and Mike. Bless you.
What a lovely, touching tribute for an adoring, treasured friend. I am so sorry for your loss and will miss Nalu too.
Ah, Toby, I cried when we talked, and I cried again when I read this. She was so lucky to have you as her human spirit! My heart is with you.
Wow, just got back from the vet’s. After 20 years it was time to let our 20 year old cat go. She showed up on our doorstep 20 years ago and moved into our hearts. It was a difficult day but she was just holding on for us. Miss Trouble was her name.