Kessu was also a problem solver. He'd escaped from my locked truck twice. Once was in the mountains on a hiking/training vacation. He didn't go anywhere. Just waited by the cabin for us to return with the other dogs. We called him Houdini. He got out of anywhere. Not to run off. Simply to get out. Or in - he did that too.

Kessu raiding what's left of his tomato plant.

Kessu loved tomatoes. He went bananas over them.
Each summer he had his own tomato plant. Unfortunately,
he couldn't wait for them to ripen. He'd watch them grow bigger, until he couldn't stand it anymore. Then, even if they were still green, he'd grab the biggest one and gobble it down.

We had to pull him out of Personal Protection training. He hated it. We enrolled him, hoping it would bolster his confidence. His actions and body posture were the total opposite of Peto's. He hated it so much he'd begin shaking when we approached the training site. I did a lot of socialization work with him in shopping centers. How much, if any, it helped his confidence, I don't know. But, it made him an outstanding obedience dog.

Once we thought Kessu was the healthiest of the group. Then suddenly in February of 1996, we almost lost him. He developed a Twisted Spleen. For a little over a year it seemed he had recovered well. The traumatic event seemed to bring about a change in our relationship. He always was a Mamma's boy. He seemed to just tolerate me. Then, he began to love me, slept by my side and sometimes thought he was my lap dog. Perhaps, it was because I was the first person he saw on visitors day, after his operation. Annie visited too, but she was always special to him.

Bottom line, Kessu was a lot of fun at home, but we seldom took him anywhere. Plain and simple, he would think too much. He would think himself into a mild panic state whenever something strange occurred. Kessu lived on the edge of avoidance.

10/97. Was an update on Kessu's health. A few weeks before, Kessu had had another episode. As a barrel chested male, particularly without a spleen, he was prone to stomach flip. With that in mind, his stomach was stapled in place when his spleen was removed in '96. Despite that, in Sept. his stomach almost flipped. Only the previous stapling prevented it. He had to have a tube inserted to release the pressure and allow his stomach to return to normal. It's possible the stapling tore loose in this episode. X-rays wouldn't show it, only another operation would have. We didn't want to put him through that. The episode was apparently precipitated by a routine upset stomach and vomiting. He seemed OK, but we had to make a decision. While we wouldn't encourage rough-housing with him, chasing tennis balls was his life. We couldn't take that from him, else he had no life to enjoy. We rolled them more easily and tried to avoid making him jump, but we couldn't condemn him to a life of total boredom. We thought, "if he goes under mild exercise, so be it. At least he will die a happy dog. He is a loved member of our family and he will enjoy that love, not a life of nothingness, whatever time is left". We never realized just how little time was left.

How do I close this? I don't know. I really don't. But, I have to tell this. When the Doctor returned with the prepared injection, he gently explained how to hold Kessu and to talk to him. Basically I knew. I'd been through this before. Even though sad, it had always been with older dogs who had lived full lives or puppies beyond any hope of a reasonable life. But this was Kessu, he was only 5 1/2 years old. We had gone through both levels of OB school together. We had attempted PP training together. We had spent many hours in shopping center parking lots, working on his socialization and obedience. Sometimes we drew small crowds who marveled as he achieved near perfection in obedience. We had grown from mutual tolerance to a real dog-human relationship of love. I got into position, sort of. I just half leaned over. My heart was breaking. I couldn't talk. I didn't want to see. From all his medical treatments and IV's, his forearm veins were like leather. The Doctor had trouble getting the needle in. Kessu leaped up and rebelled. He was strong, I couldn't hold him. I moved around in front of him and calmed him. I put him in a 'down'. (He was very obedient). I took position on the other side, so the Doctor could try his other arm. This time I leaned close and hugged him. Over and over and over I whispered, "good Kessu, good boy, Daddy's here, good boy". My eyes were right in front of his forearm. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him looking at his arm, then looking at me. He never moved or even squirmed as together we watched the needle go into his arm. I continued whispering and my eyes began to mist as the contents of the hypodermic went into his arm. Still he never tried to pull away. In a few more seconds, he went limp in my arms. The Doctor took out his stethescope, listened and said softly, "he's gone" as he squeezed my shoulder. That's when the torrent of tears burst from my eyes. I buried my face in the fur of Kessu's neck and totally lost it as the Doctor left us alone for a few minutes. There may be a hundred reasons why he didn't move the second time, that have nothing to do with the love between a dog and a human. One person told me, he probably just found a more comfortable position. Maybe. I'll tell you what I choose to believe and will believe forever. I believe he heard something in my whispering that he'd never heard before. Perhaps he smelled something in my attitude that he'd never scented before. He was scared, but his mind told him, 'Daddy's here, whatever they're doing to me must be OK'. When I left, I had to sit in my truck for a few minutes to clear my eyes. I drove home slowly. When I got home, all I could say to Annie was 'he's gone'. We hugged each other for a few minutes with our hearts saying what our voices couldn't. I went out on the deck and looked at the moon. I couldn't tell if it was misty because of clouds or my eyes. Then I remembered the song 'Shepherd Moon'. I decided the moon of Jan. 18, 1998 would be Kessu's Shepherd Moon and would be the background music for his page. We sincerely thank everyone that has sent E-mail, cards or told us in person for their sensitivity and compassion. It really meant a lot to us. As I left the Doctor's office I turned to Kessu and said what I'll close with, "So long, Kessu, we'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge".

The Background Music on Kessu's original page was "Coward of the County".

The counter on his original page showed 30 visitors since Nov. 20 1997.

A Story For Our Time A Tale of Courage and Grit ~ With a Twist
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