Phantom Felines And Other Ghostly Animals - Gerina Dunwich 2006

Tyson
Hounds and Hauntings

by Michelle Morgan

Tyson came into my life five years ago as part of my new marriage. Although quite intimidating to look at, this 130-pound rottweiler didn’t take long in winning the hearts of my children and me. We gave in to his demands for toast and jelly in the mornings when we were rushing to work and school, and we learned to tolerate being followed about our tiny old house by our oversized “shadow.”

We often laughed when people hesitated when they first met Tyson, knowing he was most likely more afraid of them than they were of him. He did have a very vicious growl that he saved for strangers but this often emanated from him while hiding behind a door. The only time Tyson seemed overly protective was if I was sleeping and someone came up the stairway that led to our bedroom. He often posted himself right in front of my bedroom door as though he were standing guard until he decided it was safe for him to retreat for the rest of the night into our room.

Tyson would stay close by me while I worked in the house. If I spent too long ignoring him while working on the computer, he came over and knocked my hands off the keys with his head and rested his head in my lap. He never quite figured out that his hulking size didn’t make for a good lapdog, and if I attempted to watch TV or read, eventually he tried to crawl in my lap. I attempted to push him off and usually give up when he turned his sad, big brown eyes on me with “that look.”

I had to admit I loved him as much as he loved me. He often tried to sneak up on our bed after we fell asleep to nuzzle in next to me. Tyson was content just to be as close as he could to us at all times. I tripped over him many times on my way up the hall in the middle of the night. With his large size, it was hard not to stumble over him at least once a day in our narrow hall leading to the bedrooms. The inconvenience and the stubbed toes were all worth the unconditional love we found in this gentle giant.

As the years went by, Tyson became nearly completely crippled with arthritis. In July of 2005, at the age of thirteen, Tyson fell down the stairs and we couldn’t get him to walk. My husband and son carried him in on a blanket and we nursed him all day. When there was no change, we took him to the vet. We had put off the trip there earlier because we all knew this was the end for our beloved friend.

After examining him, the vet said his hips had deteriorated so badly there was nothing left and little hope for any sort of recovery at his age. My husband, son, and daughter all gathered there in the reception room where they brought me the papers to sign to put Tyson to sleep.

I stood with the pen poised, putting off writing my signature that would seal his fate. A little girl who had two very rambunctious terriers with her was standing nearby and asked, “Where is your dog?” I found it difficult to answer her as I felt the lump forming in my throat. Her father realized what was happening and hurried her to a seat across the lobby with her new pups. I stared back at the release form that would allow the vet to put my darling Tyson out of his pain and felt like a traitor. I thought, How could we let him die? A voice in my head also questioned, How can we let him suffer? Tears spilling, I took a deep breath and signed the papers with the stipulation that we all be allowed to see him for a moment alone before he was put down.

I remember going in that room where he was lying and thinking about how much he hated going to the vet. Unlike the other trips he would often take in my van, he would get anxious on the ride to the vet and start carrying on in the car as if he intuitively knew where we were heading. Yet that day, he only lifted his head once and looked at me with resignation. I think he realized his time had come. I looked down on my dear friend lying on the gurney and I realized he looked as weak and helpless as a newborn pup. He was just a shell of what he had once been. I cupped his head in my hands and told him there wasn’t going to be any more pain for him and that we loved him very much. I told him that there would be people there in heaven who would watch over him till we were together again. He put his paw on my face and licked at my tears. Even in his weakened state, he was still trying to console and protect me.

My daughter, Jesselyn, and my twenty-year-old-son, JJ, were both in tears as they said their good-byes. My husband’s shoulders were slumped and tears filled his eyes as he watched and reluctantly came over to bid farewell to Tyson. Once we left the room, a nurse almost immediately came back out to tell me that Tyson had passed. She brought me his leather collar, which I held all the way home.

My heart broke when we arrived home and found our other dog, Chloe, had firmly planted herself in the window looking for Tyson, who had been her surrogate father since the day she arrived in our home as a pup. She cried and paced through the house for several days looking for him and not understanding. The hardest part came when my youngest son, Brett, who adored Tyson most of all, came home from a visit with his dad and we had to break the news to him. Each of us felt an emptiness in our home that nothing could fill. He was as much a part of our family as any person could be and we mourned our loss.

About one month later I awoke in the middle of the night and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Blurry-eyed from sleep, I brushed against the large body I often found there and instinctively whispered, “Tyson, move!” I heard him shift out of the way and give one of his trademark “chuffs,” indicating he was disturbed from a nice dream, and I continued on to the bathroom down the hall. Once I reached the bathroom I was fully awake and realized I couldn’t have bumped into Tyson. Tyson was gone. I checked for our other dog, Chloe, but she was lying in bed with Brett with the door closed. I was unnerved by the experience and I decided not to mention it for obvious reasons. The following night, my husband said he could have sworn he saw Tyson in the hall. I looked at him and laughed, deciding not to mention what happened just yet.

Over the course of the next few weeks, we saw, heard, or brushed against what we thought was Tyson while in the upstairs hallway. Had he come back to watch over us as we slept as he often did in his life? We may never know the answer, but we have gained great comfort from the thought that even in death, he had not forgotten us.