Rex

Rex in our backyard.  This photo was likely taken sometime in the early nineties.

This is a sad story.  One of the sad things about it is that I can’t really address the prompt: What was your first childhood pet? Describe it in detail.

The truth is I never knew Rex very well. Certainly not well enough to describe him in detail. And it’s also true that Rex wasn’t my first childhood pet either.  We had Wolfie and Nugget in Oregon.  Nugget was a beautiful golden retriever and Wolfie was a black dog.  That’s all I remember about them.  We had Garfield during my elementary years in Orlando.  He was so named not because he bore any resemblance to the the cartoon (our Garfield was a lithe, gray tabby that lived outside, not a fat orange house pet), but simply because he was a cat.

I chose to write about Rex though, because he was the pet that permanently changed the way I think about pets and pet ownership.

As a kid, I never felt a close connection to our pets. Maybe because none of them were my own animal--they belonged to all of us, and as a result, none of us. They were just around, strictly outdoor animals and I never paid much attention to them.  Rex was no exception.

We got Rex as a puppy from our cousins in Michigan.  He was part of a litter from our cousin’s dog Eve.  I don’t know what happened to the other puppies--I assume they were all given away, but the Salibas kept one puppy, Butch, and gave one to us.  Rex as a mix of several breeds, but I believe golden retriever and German shepherd were in his bloodline.  He was an orange-brown color shot through with darker brown and black.  He really was a beautiful dog.

I don’t remember much else about Rex, but I like to think we he was gentle, friendly, and incredibly patient.  I’m sure we played with him a lot when he was little, but after awhile he just kind of receded into the background and I barely noticed him. When we moved out of my grandparents house in 1987, Rex came with us. He took up residence in our fenced in backyard on Sue Drive and I hardly ever thought of him.  He was fed and watered daily, but that was about it. He never came inside the house and we rarely ever spent time with him in the backyard. We didn't take him to vet visits or bother with things like flea collars and heartworm meds.  I don’t recall him ever looking abandoned or neglected.  He never looked like the dogs you’d see wandering the streets in Saipan--mangy, matted fur, open sores and the like. He looked like someone was taking care of him.  I just don’t recall it being me.  Maybe it was Mom.  Perhaps there was some sort of rotation we followed because I do remember on occasion dumping food into his dirty bowl and being creeped out by the roaches that sometimes got into his food bag that was stored in the shed out back. But Rex never complained.

Then one day when I was in college my mom called to tell me Rex had died.  I guess he’d been ill and she’d taken him to the vet.  I can’t remember for certain but I think he had worms, probably as a result of not taking medicine that should have been part of his care.  Rather than expend big bucks to try to bring him back to health, it was decided to just put him to sleep.

I was horrified and enraged at my mother.  Suddenly all the guilt of those years and years of ignoring Rex came crashing down at once.  I was really hard on my mother about it, but I think I was a bit unfair to her.  I’m quite certain she did more than we ever did to take care of Rex.  But I still felt--and still feel--a lot of shame over how things went with Rex. He deserved so much better than I’d given him.  He needed more care and attention than he’d received.  I failed him.

And right then, I swore--never again. I would never let a dog under my watch go through what Rex did.

I kept that promise when about ten years later we adopted Kimo.  We did everything right by her, and even spent the money to bring her to the U.S. mainland when we couldn’t find a family to adopt her.  Kimo stayed in the house with us and so it was easy to spend time with her.  Of course being an indoor dog she needed her exercise, especially when she joined us in our apartment in Ohio.  We couldn’t just let her out in the yard to run like we did Saipan.  Every morning we walked her for a little bit to let her relieve herself.  No matter the weather, or how tired I was, I made sure she got her evening  exercise of walk of 30-40 minutes.  And every step was a step for Rex.  

When Rex died I couldn’t have told you when I’d last rubbed his head or even seen him.  But when Kimo died of cancer in the winter of 2013, I was by her side when she breathed her last.

Kimo with the family in 2011.

I don’t know when we’ll get a dog again. Our boys would love one, but I’m kind of a hardliner when it comes to getting another dog.  And again it’s because of Rex.  I’m not one of those people who gets all googly-eyed and lovey dovey about having a dog.  I am fiercely practical.  The dog must be fed, washed, exercised, and played with. A lot of money and time must be invested.  And when everyone else doesn’t feel like it or can’t be bothered, I will be the one who has to make sure all these bases are covered.  Because of Rex, it can’t be any other way.

And I’m just now realizing that maybe when we get do get another dog, finally, this dog should be mine. My first pet.  The kids can play with him.  Babs can cozy with him.  But I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.  Maybe, I’ll even name him Rex.