With Russell’s passing, we’re missing the best kind of boring

The first thing you need to know about our dog Russell was that his previous family brought him back because he was "too boring."

Boring is a trait I’ve always wanted in a dog, so we signed the papers at the Waupaca Humane Association shelter and made Russell’s next home ours.

It’s true, he had no use for balls or stuffed toys that look like cats or dinosaurs. Fetch was a game for dogs who needed affirmation. Russell was secure with his own value. Though he was OK with visitors going on about how handsome he was. And they invariably did.

We had 10 years with this gentle, handsome, ok, boring dog. Our time together ended Jan. 11 on a day and time we chose. That is to say we called our vet and made the hardest decision a pet owner ever faces – euthanasia.

Being able to decide when to end a creature’s life makes it clear society views our pets as property. It is in truth a huge responsibility. It may seem more logical, more humane than not doing it, but it never feels like the unquestionably correct decision. Just like every other time we had to make this choice, I had to suppress an overwhelming urge to yell, “No, stop!”

Russell, a 14-year-old Lab-terrier mix, had nasal cancer. He was the second of our dogs to develop the disease that vets tell us is extremely rare. Our first clue was droplets of blood falling from his nose and huge sneezes that sometimes slammed his sweet face on the ground.

When he was diagnosed in September, we were told to expect he would have maybe four to six weeks. Without any chemo treatments, he made it past Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then New Year’s.

Russell’s sense of self-confidence meant he was never in a hurry to walk anywhere. We called it Russell speed. Yell until your face turned blue or hold out any manner of treat and it didn’t speed up Russell speed.

He was not in the least food-motivated. He did enjoy a good drink of water, but not the stuff from the tap. Something sweltering in a bird bath or an uncovered bucket was more to his liking. Better yet if muddy and stuffed with leaves.

The combination of his gentle presence and his handsome face made it impossible to stay angry with him.

In recent years, we have taken “pasture walks” with the Russell and our 8-year-old Lab, Rosie. This was a loop around the outside perimeter of the llama pasture that took about 15 minutes, depending on how many new smells we found. One afternoon, we looked and called and called and looked and couldn’t find the dogs. Finally, we spotted them at the top of the pasture. When we were too busy to go for a pasture walk, they decided to take each other.

Russell’s decline was marked by more bleeding, weakened rear legs and general confusion. He had four seizures, shaking violently for several minutes. The fear was obvious on his face – and ours. His awareness seemed to improve after the seizures. He walked with more purpose, rather than turning left again and again.

He stopped eating. We offered him chicken and rice, baby food, even Braunschweiger, but he refused them all. He grew thinner and weaker. His quality of life had diminished greatly and there was no chance it would ever return.

Finally, we agreed it was time.

Our vet, Jim Ziegler, takes in all manner handicapped dogs and sticks with them until life is no longer a favor. He is kindness embodied. He agreed it was time.

He came to our house to administer the injections. Russell was on his favorite bed in front of the fireplace. When it was over, he appeared to be sleeping where we had seen him 1,000 times. But the reality was that he is gone from our lives.

His ashes will join those of our other past pets. The memories of this delightfully boring dog will live on in mental images of him circling the pasture, watching for us from the sidelights of the front door or lying in his guard dog spot on a grassy hill. We will encourage those images by retracing his steps – at Russell speed.