Arrivederci, Amico

When I had to put my last dog to sleep, one of the few things that made me feel better was something my friend Jo said. He put it more eloquently, but the gist was this: Pets are here to have fun. That’s their job in life. And when they’re not having fun anymore, it’s our job to do the right thing.

Zap was clearly not having fun anymore. All of a sudden, the dog with the fathomless appetite wasn’t finishing his meals. When each breath became a struggle and he had trouble getting comfortable, there was only one thing left that we could do. We called his kindly young vet, who came over on his afternoon off. As Dan and I stroked him and sobbed our farewells, Zap settled into his final nap in his cozy bed on my lap, the way we traveled on road trips.


We always said that Zap was our sun, the dazzling star at the center of our orbit. And now we find ourselves sadly off kilter, bereft of our source of light and warmth. It’s going to be a cold winter.

There’s no way I can explain what Zap was to me, but I have to try.

When I met Dan, I’d never heard of an Italian greyhound and had rarely given much thought to toy dogs. Zap changed that forever.

I will never know how so much personality, so much character, could be contained in such a little package. Every so often, even recently, I’d be struck anew: I can’t believe he’s so small. Clever, too. When we first got Devo, we were trying to figure out what commands he knew. “Sit!” we said repeatedly until Zap, exasperated, lifted his paw and slapped Devo on the ass. Put your butt on the floor so they’ll give you a treat, dummy!

Some dogs take a while to warm up to you. Not Zap. He welcomed me from the start, figuring correctly that two daddies meant twice the love. His favorite spot was between us, where he was guaranteed maximum attention. That dog had me wrapped around his bony little finger from the first day to the last.

Zap was regal yet comical. A whore for the camera, he’d pop up in photos like Forrest Gump. He was happiest running on the beach, basking in a patch of sun, or swaddled in fleece or flannel. With his narrow body and matchless burrowing skills, you learned to do a Zap check before sitting down. (There were several close calls over the years, but tragedy was always averted.) He was a master napper, quick to share his expertise and guidance. Above all, he adored being adored.

An inveterate schmooze, Zap was a diplomat from canine to human society. He made friends wherever he went, charming strangers and drawing smiles. When we lived in Oakland and Dan had a more flexible schedule, he and Zap volunteered for canine therapy, visiting nursing homes and hospitals. Zap craved attention almost as much as food, and his winsome manner got him more than anyone else I’ve known.

Flipping through a dog book once, I went to the Italian greyhound page and was amused to read: “Purpose: lady’s companion.” Another suggested an IG would make a good pet for an invalid. I scoffed at the time – who would walk the poor thing? – but later learned how true it was.

On disability since 1999, I spent probably 95 percent of the past decade in Zap’s immediate company. Throughout my long, slow decline, he was at my side – often literally, curled up against me in a toasty little ball. He slept with me every night, his sleek body molding itself to the contours of my not-so-sleek form. It felt nice in warm weather and sublime in cold: comfort in its most primal form.

Zap took all my changes in stride: the clumsiness, the ever-growing array of medical equipment. To him, my retirement offered constant companionship, immobility made me a great snuggling partner, and the wheelchair meant my lap was always available. In return, I appointed myself his acolyte, making his comfort my singular mission. If I couldn’t join him on the sofa anymore, I could at least tuck a blanket around him.

Only in the past week did I begin to realize the enormity of Zap’s role in my response to ALS. In the grim, grinding march of the disease, as the frustrations, losses, and indignities piled up, I never felt overwhelmed, because that miraculous little creature was always there to keep my spirits up with licks, hamming, or a shared nap.

This lady could not imagine a better companion.


Photo by Dan.