Kate McWit, our first scottish terrier: in memorian

February 8, 1999+, 11:00 AM

As I have recounted on earlier posts, Kate was a "love at first sight" being, seen at a pet shop, now known as an outlet for puppy mills, but then in 1986, a store that sold animals and animal food. In a rush to see Legal Eagles, a movie with Deborah Winger and Richard Gere, we went into the store to buy my daughter, Jennifer fish food for the gold fish she had won at a local bazaar (and of course take care of her catch). Bess caught Harold's eye and he began to play with her and she responded eagerly. But he walked on. When I reached the cage I too played with her but I could not walk on; she was so extraordinary and winsome. Out of the cage she came and I watched as she ran about a little playroom. And she was mine. My heart was certain; no doubts. I wanted tot bring her home immediately but that was not possible. But the following morning, when the store was open Kate was put into a cardboard box and we drove home with our new family member. Since she had never experienced grass, when she was placed on it, she was tentative: "what is this stuff."
I have made so many errors of judgment but this was not one of the, Kate was the very best choice I ever made. She was a perfect creature: playful, thoughtful, clever, observant, beautiful, engaging: if only humans were half as fine as she our world would be so much better. She travelled to Maine, she loved the ocean, the tide; she was amazed and curious when a balloon floated close to the field she played in in Tenafly, NJ. I could make a fair list and it would never be sufficient. She looked, observed and tried to understand what that "thing" was. Ahave praised her in the past and I praise her still, and her face and a curl of her hair is in a locket that I always wear close to my heart. So dear she was to us, and to her "brother" companion Fala. She cared for him when he wa sill, and she played with him in health; She had a nurturing inclination and would take dolls out outside for play and to groom them them. And she was a ball player extraordinaire. She could pitch the ball with her mouth and then a return ball would be caught in mid-air.
Do I regret that we had her spayed. What a mistake. Her final illness was grievous and when death did not take her with ease but caused a dreadful struggle she was injected. Today her remains are on the mantlepiece and she is with us always. Her descendants are introduced to her and she is the matriarch of the family of scottish terriers who live with us. Her grand daughter Bess is our companion who has been instructed in family history and knows the story of Kate.

Kate: our first scottish terrier, in memoriam, 1986-1999, February 8

The story about how we met Kate has already been told, but it is just to reiterate that this wonder who brightened our lives, was not "intended;" rather, she was seen in a pet shop in a mall, and, once seen, I felt that the little scottish terrier who wanted to play while in her cage and when taken out of its confines immediately quieted down and sought comfort on my shoulder, cuddling to indicate that she was content had to be rescued immediately. Our destination had been a movie theater where we wanted to see Legal Eagles (remember that film with Deborah Winger?) and though I wanted to scrap that plan and take the pup home immediately, prudently Harold said wait until tomorrow. And so we did. But my fear that pup might be snatched up--she had been "remaindered" even-- determined out appearance at the shop when it opened. I told my son that we would be bringing a new young one into the family and without hesitation he suggested that she be named Kate, and Kate it was . In time we added McWit --for her cleverness-- and "of Renwick Hall" because she loved to chase bugs, unknowingly imitating the behavior of the character Renwick in Mary Shelley's novel Frankenstein.
Kate was charming, playful, imaginative, fearless, curious about the world about her and oddly nurturing. I write the latter because of the substantial obstacles she had to deal with when she was a very young pup. At the time we had never heard of puppy mills; Kate was the product of one of these miserable cruel breeding station in the North West. At an age when she had been weaned, she was crated and shipped to a store in middle America and then to the New Jersey store where we encountered her. For awhile she had a companion, we were told, a small dachshund and the two had gotten along well. But the dachshund was sold and after that Kate was on her own. And that is when our paths crossed: the gods were smiling at that moment or it was destiny. In her first year, it became evident that she needed canine companionship, because she was alone and uncaged and began to chew on various furnishings, objects and even woodwork. Some of the Victorian furniture was remodeled and she took a dislike to White Fang and several other books and, yes, records (vinyl) too. It was then that little Fala became her companion. Once he was grown the two were deeply devoted to one another. Kate's nurturing now had a "real" creature to care for. Kate lived for twelve years. We knew she was ill, but not exactly how close her death was when we took a week's trip to Venice. Upon our return, we found that she had not been looked after, probably left alone even at night and her feeding bowls had never been cleaned. The person who was so uncaring has now become a devoted father, but at that time he did not manifest any sense of responsibility and clearly hastened Kate's death and induced suffering as she approached her end. Her sickly condition was apparent to us immediately when we entered the house: She could not support herself. Within days the dying process began. I had no experience of death-how long it takes and what suffering is experienced. I tried to comfort her but she sought a "den" under a yew bush and struggled with the angel of death. When I recognized that the battle was terrible, I called her vet Dr O'Reilly and she was euthanized in our arms, I held her, Harold faced her as she was injected. Our brave Kate our, lovely Kate was cremated but her soul went to the joyous peaceful heaven prepared for dogs. There she was to greet her family as each of her family members died. Together they live in a better world, a world that can be compared to The Golden Age. (earlier posts picture this pastoral land). May Kate always remain alive in our hearts. In a sense she has come back to us in Bess, our Scottish terrier who is now almost nine months. So many of Kate's faculties are recognizable in Bess's behavior, but Bess has had a "golden" puppy hood, whereas Kate had to struggle with the worst of circumstances in the first four months of her life.
We are so grateful to have had Kate; the decision to bring her into our family is one that I never regretted: so many other decisions were pernicious ultimately, but thinking back I do not have the slightest remorse or doubt about the rightness of the decision to bring her into our family. Beautiful Kate.

Fala: in memoriam

our handsome sweet and stalwart Fala died on February 2, 1997, shortly before 4:00AM in the morning. When he died, his sister Kate wept as only a dog can; her howl was her farewell, and with that she woke us to tell us what had happened, to express her grief and to let the pack know that a terrible event had transpired. After Fala died Kate searched for him in the great field, where she had seen him the day previous to his death. She looked back to where we had gotten out of the car and then systematically crossed the field, marking it so that Fala could find his way home or at least to alert him to her presence. She used a rectangular schema, walking around the field's perimeter and then dividing it into smaller rectangles. Never did she forget him in the almost two more years that she survived him. Though not a blood sibling, indeed she was about one year older, they bonded and cared for one another and played joyfully together. Her loss was ours as well. I drew him the night before he died, a task that was so difficult to do; a body bloated with cancers that discomforted him enormously. Had we but known then what we know now, his suffering would have been brief. But nonetheless we were all so attached to him, with Wiggy, as we also called him, that we held onto him until death seized him in the early morning. We honor and remember him on this day, the day he was cremated.

Welcome Bess: her first walk at Tallman State Park, NY

all of our Scottish Terriers have hiked the paths of Tallman Sate Park, NY. Now our little Bess, follows in the footsteps of her "sisters" and "brothers": Kate, Fala, Aesop, and Emma. Nature was a wonder but then too were people and vehicles. She had sensorial excitement today!

The Grid: Power

looking for Bess, looking for sunlight

a stilled life: remembering Emma

no longer present, memory preserves, as do images of her during her life. but just as she is no longer physically present in "her" corner, so, too, the motifs in this still life are not corporeal.

one of Emma's pads

a pup's pad is soft and black, but more than a decade of walking roughens the surface: a sign of age and use. Emma ran and walked great distances for such a small dog and during the years her feet served her well. only when she was approaching the end did her pads begin to lose their functionality. she began to feel the cold and the sharpness of frost and snow. but no less beautiful is this foot; a lifetime is recorded in the fissures and callouses and in her nails too. photographed on the day of Emma's death, 9 March, 2010

Emma: March 8, 2010, sunny and warm. blue sky

and I even ran, well just a short distance. how nice it was to be out-of-doors in The Commons, walking along well trod paths, and when I tired I was put in Aesop's chariot. a good day, considering how bad my health is

All about Emma: radiant light

empathy and humaneness, III

Emma's bladder cancer manifested in her bloody urine. Look upon this and weep or commiserate. Life is never simple nor is death.

empathy and humaneness, II

Emma, from a healthy joyful puppyhood to living with illness for two years in her 10th and 11th years. Her body and mind still function and she is apparently pain free most of the time, but day by day she does weaken. What to do? A question we have asked ourselves again and again. Some would argue that she is old--eleven years and has multiple diseases: liver cancer, bladder cancer and diabetes--and yet she still eats with gusto, enjoys her treats, and walks, albeit withou the fervor she had some months ago. Nonetheless, though "legally" blind, possessing peripheral vision at best due to her diabetes, she still has a keen sense of smell and hearing. We have embarked on elder care for her until the time comes when she is clearly not able to function and exhibits pain as manifested by shivering and trembling. It is amazing to me that supposedly empathetic persons find this care uncalled for. Are they Cartesians, who regard a dog no more than a mechanism without "soul?' If so, animals are lesser creatures and man the noblest, who alone deserves humaneness. But we all know that ferocious killers, human that is, often begin their careers by torturing animals before subjecting humans to horrific defilement and death. Sir Thomas More and other humanists noted this as did Greek and Roman authors. And today? Too close to home I have encountered this disregard and fury directed at "that damned dog." Pity, empathy are learned. Perhaps in time it will be.

Kate: in memoriam

Remembering Kate, our first scottie. Katie died on this day in 1999. She struggled with death lying under a fir tree on a snow covered ground, but when it became evident to us that her death was not fast we rushed her to a Dr. O'Reilly who mercifully euthanized her immediately.
Kate was a remarkable being. Born in a puppy mill she was shipped around the United States. We encountered her at the Bergen Mall, in New Jersey. The morning after seeing her we brought her home and there she lived with us for twelve years. Her companion was her "brother " Fala. The two were inseparable once Fala was old enough to hold his own. Kate cared for him when he was ill; together they played with joy and inventive doggy happiness.

Emma: the end approaches

Emma will die shortly from bladder cancer. As the cancer grows within the the bladder it creates a smaller "container," and the bladder is unable to retain her urine. In addition, the urethra narrows, becomes inflamed, and opportunistic infections occur. This post is to assist other dog owners to understand what happens when their pet contracts this cancer and what to expect. The medicine cabinet is now bare in her case; antibiotics have been exhausted, unless higher doses are used. This would cause inflammation of her stomach lining and cause considerable abdominal pain. We must accept Emma's circumstances; she has soldiered on, suffering the loss of her older brother some months ago. In addition to bladder cancer she also has liver cancer and active diabetes requiring 2 injections daily. Still alert, still curious, still enjoying the company of other dogs, but we will soon have to accept the inevitable and help her through the last days of her life, giving her comfort as best we can.
Our beautiful Emma

Fala: in memoriam, our handsome Scottish Terrier

June 3, 1987---January 3, 1997

Fala, named after FDR's dog, the first dog that I ever "knew," was Kate's "brother," and loving friend: tussling over a stick, running in fields chasing hares or one another or lying proximately in felicitous comfort or eating with enthusiasm, Fala, after he died, was sorely missed by Kate. Liver cancer was the disease that killed him. Today we know better about end of life and recognizing its signs; had we known what we now know, we would have intervened to prevent the suffering he experienced. We did not understand or recognize that his trembling was a sign of severe pain; no one did, not even his vet. And so when he when he trembled--his abdomen bloated (cancer which we did not recognize as such and fluids)--we would place him near a radiator in a thin "sweat suit" to alleviate his "coldness." The day before he died the weather suddenly warmed; it was in the seventies, and the sun was cheerful. Fala seemed to pick up and when he came home from a walk in a field he ate a bagel with enthusiasm. Again we missed the signals of oncoming death: before death an organism rallies and seems healthy. That night he curled up and slept. As best as I could [als ich kan] I quickly sketched him, showing his eye in particular still aware to that he was alive. No time for feet and other body parts and his beard, which was white in his later years, was emphasized. In fact there was some brownish hair in his beard by then, again a sign of his overwhelming illness. That night we slept: he in his bed, Kate in hers. About 4:oo am I felt pressure alongside the bed, as if one of our scotties was pushing it. I did not wake up until a fearsome howl, Kate's signal that Fala had died, woke us. That howl, which I written about before, was unique. I had never heard it before and never since then. Grief, the epitome of loss.
Fala was a peerless dog, sweet and faithful, who enjoyed his life but had many ills. He suffered greatly from flea bites, tearing his hair from his body. To assuage his pain, Kate would lick him, lick him on the flesh where he had pulled out his hair. Today, thanks to medication, no dog need experience this allergic reaction. Neither Aesop or Emma have had this awful experience.
Fala's nickname was/ is "Wiggy." His tail signaled friendship and love. However, if another dog, actually males only, approached, he became aggressive, barking to protect Kate, as well as us.
But this was not commonplace behavior.
Fala was almost killed by another dog in the field behind Tenafly High School. He met a Schnauzer and as the two were sniffing one another, the schnauzer grabbed Fala, who was much shorter, by the neck and began to shake him. This was a prelude to breaking his neck. When I realized what was happening, I intervened and separated the dogs--all others were onlookers. While saving Fala, I was inadvertently bitten on my right pinky by Fala. He was saved; the schnauzer was tested for rabies--and thankfully was found healthy, and I had to go to the emergency room. To this day I have a bump on that finger and it swells on occasion. A reminder forever for me of my Fala's close call. After that experience we were especially careful when the dogs played with others of their kind. In fact we stopped their play unless the dog was very well-known to us and to the doggies. Too bad, because Kate, for instance, socialized with adult dogs when she was a very small pup and enjoyed the experience, so it seemed to us. And she taught Fala. But it may well be that the behavior of male and female dogs are different
Fala is now in his doggy heaven with Kate and his younger brother Aesop. This "story" helps us with the sorrow we experience. Unlike mankind, "creatures" do not deliberately cause pain or perhaps more appropriately, they are not malicious and do not connive. Yes they do plan, yes they do think, and yes they do have emotions, and yes they have cultures. Genes can account for certain behaviors, violent and otherwise, but when I contemplate the deliberate harm that people visit on others (and of course on animals), I do not see the rational, planned violence or "mind games" people engage in.

Fala, now that your sensate life here has ended, we imagine that all pain has ceased and that you enjoy the joys of canine existence in a better world.

2009: the year that our Aesop died

our brave handsome Scottish Terrier, stoic it could be said in the face of fearsome adversity, who loved life, was "faithful", and possessed all the other virtues that a pet could possibly have

Emma: Happy Birthday, part 4

Aesop and Emma, talking; Aesop looking after his baby sister Emma; Emma with a monkey doll, sleeping, and Emma, spunky monkey as Harold likes to call her, trying out a bone, chewy. As it turned out Emma's mouth was too small to hold a ball and we were concerned that she might choke on rawhide or other chewy toys. But Emma's independence is evident in this picture. She has remained so; my body, myself. A charmer. So blessed we have been to have our Aesop and Emma, as we were with Kate and Fala, siblings through adoption but deepest love nontheless. Each one was always concerned about the other's well being.
Dogs are not a lesser life form; canines are thinking, emotional beings, but they are not human, for which we are grateful.

Emma: Happy Birthday, part 3

Emma in Maine, summer 2009; Emma in Tenafly, 2008 and Emma in Tenafly 2008; Emma and Harold, Halloween, 2005?

Emma: Happy birthday, part 2

Emma a few months ago, Emma in summer 2009 in Tenafly, Emma alone on deck after Aesop died looking in the direction where he slept or looked at the world through the south gate, Aesop and Emma on the deck

Emma, Happy birthday, 11 years old, born December 16, 1998

Emma was born in a Hudson river town in New York on the sixteenth of December, 1998. We brought her home to Tenafly, New Jersey, after she was weaned and old enough to contend with her brother Aesop, who had been born in a previous litter. From her earliest days we knew that Emma had a distinct personality, which differed from her brother's. Whereas Aesop adapted to his older "sister," twelve-year Kate , and learned doggy ways from her (Kate had an a different lineage altogether; she died during his puppyhood), Emma asserted herself and drove poor Aesop to distraction when she was a pup. Her baby teeth must have bothered her, but they could also be used for play that was painful. Had she remained with her siblings then she would have known that you do not jump on the back of your sister or brother and nip them with your needle-sharp teeth because the rough and tumble could be turned against you as well. So poor Aesop found himself beset upon by Emma; Kate was a venerable 12 year--old, who taught Aesop to keep his distance. Aesop's solution was not to bite back but to run upstairs and settle on a couch to look out of the window. With her baby legs she was unable to follow him on the daunting staircase. Aesop solved the problem in a pacific manner.

In time, Emma lost those teeth, matured and within a year brother and sister settled down together and lived harmoniously..

When Aesop died at the end of September (2009), after suffering digital melanoma requiring amputation of a digit and lymphoma, which manifested itself in his mouth, it was evident that Emma was profoundly affected. She looked for him, marked territory, and showed signs of fear. Though Aesop was pacific, nevertheless he was Emma's buffer to the world: he led the way and Emma followed. He signaled to her that it was safe to proceed or indicated that danger or discomfort was imminent. The wonderful Dr. Howard Gittelman of New City, New York, and his staff at Animal Medical Center, cared for him through all his sufferings. And when finally it was time to let go, Aesop was treated with consummate skill, care, empathy, and sympathy.

Now Emma is in a dire condition. In addition to diabetes, which requires insulin injections twice daily --which Harold administers with love and exactness--she also has liver cancer (a common disease that Scotties contract) and bladder cancer (also common among Scottish Terriers). It is the latter which will cause her death. As the cancer grows in the bladder, it fills up the cavity, eventually making it impossible to urinate. Opportunistic infections proliferate in this environment.

Emma has withstood these onslaughts. Many months ago, someone said that she had at best only 3 months to live. But that prediction proved incorrect. She still enjoys her food, her COOKIES, walks and even play. But we know that we cannot stave off the diseases that are killers. May these final days be borne with the knowledge that we gave her the best that we could and that we will know when the final parting has come. My she live live on in a mythical doggy heaven, playing with Kate and Fala, and Aesop, all family, and do forever the things that dogs enjoy best and may we from time to time visit them in their paradise.

The first picture shows Emma, posing for her birthday portrait today; next a picture of doggy heaven, and the third, a corner in the dinning room which she favors at present: nature indoors, hidden but she can still see us and we her, and also a view to the garden. How much she actually sees is uncertain. Diabetes has taken its toll. her left eye probably allows her only to see dark and light, the right perhaps somewhat more.