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.

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.