I just buried our family dog, Casper.
Although he was 13, he came to us only 4 years ago, after retiring from the army.
My mom went to Meerut for the adoption, where retired military dogs live. Many were running around in a group, but the one I’d eventually come to love was not among them. His hind legs were weak, and instead of joining the game, he trotted up to my mom. She was concerned about his legs and didn’t immediately take to him.
She went away for some paperwork, and when she came back, he came to her again. “And that’s when,” she says, “I put him in the car and brought him home.”
His legs soon recovered - I looked up doggy mobility exercises and became his physio. He started eating eggs, fattened up, and began walking without a hobble.
Casper had many oddities and quirks, things we discovered and tried to guess the meaning behind. The most noticeable one was that he never barked. He had been trained to sniff out bombs in battle, and we figured not barking was part of the deal. Only 2 occasions prompted him to bark - when tempted with his favorite doggy biscuits, and while dreaming (perhaps about his favorite doggy biscuits? 🙂 ).
He also loved carrying his leash, and he’d trot down 2 flights of stairs with it bunched up in his mouth. We never figured out why he did that.
Casper was also docile to a fault. Once on a walk, we were confronted by 8 or 9 dogs - growling, teeth bared, ears pinched, haunches raised. I was terrified and tried to retreat, but Casper had just discovered a pee spot and seemed to notice nothing. Perhaps he had never experienced enemy dogs in the army?
I have often wondered what his youth was like. Given his age, he likely never saw action, but I imagine a young Casper canvassing mountain trails, his nose pressed to the ground, a camouflage leash air in his mouth. His gentleness betrayed no sign of cruelty at a young age, and I like to believe his trainer was a kind-hearted person, who treasured him.
Casper really walking outside and smelling things. I moved recently, to a new house I got in part for him. But his health declined suddenly, and he almost didn’t make it here. He finally made it last week, and we took many off-leash walks in his few days here. He wandered the alleys, marked many spots, and seemed not to want to go home. I like to think he was happy in those last few days here.
We buried Casper in my parents’ garden, where our previous dogs also lay. It was the first time I’ve had to do the burying. We carried him there wrapped in an old sheet. We poured 2 kilos of salt on him and took a picture of the serial number on his ear to report his passing to the army. Except for the way his head moved when we carried him, he could just have been asleep.
There are few pictures of Casper and I, but I suppose that’s what happens when two people have a quiet life in each other’s company. He was my only companion during countless nights working late at home. He’d wake up every time I left the room to get water or a snack, and only ever begrudgingly let me go alone. In the mornings he’d wake before me and want cuddles, so he’d sidle up to and nudge me till I woke up and gave in.
I struggle with the notion that I didn’t give him as much time or love as he wanted. It’s impossible to adequately reciprocate a love of the intensity and unselfishness he showered on us. It comforts to know me that he isn’t far, that he didn’t suffer, that in his last moments he was surrounded by the people whose company was the only thing he asked for.
So long Caspie. Your march is at end.
I love you. I miss you. Always.
Devansh