Turner &Fucking Hooch?

The BBQ Pit
1

Warning: this thread contains a spoiler for anyone who doesn’t know the ending of this 12 year old movie. Click away or deal with it.

I have a dog. More than one, actually, but this is about Caliban. Caliban is a mutt, a big mutt, #140 of walking, barking, frolicing dobie/dane/whatever mix. Well, he used to be. He’s down to about #110, now, and he doesn’t frolic so much.

He found me as a puppy. Well, he found the muddy workboots I had left out on the step and decided to make one his personal teething ring. I didn’t know this at the time, of course. I just knew I felt silly hopping around in one boot. Hours of Holmeslike deduction eventually led me to the back corner of my neighbor’s closet. He had taken the boot away from the dog and decided to keep it, even though it didn’t fit. Have I mentioned that he was a loser?

Now, “how did you get my boot” might have been a reasonably question at this point. What I actually asked was, “what happened to him?” “Him” was a gangly, mangy, malnourished and skittish bundle of black-and-tan energy. With teeth. “Him” had been staked out at the side of a highway and left to starve/wander into traffic/be rescued by my neighbor. Have I mentioned he was a good guy? Neighbor had grabbed the dog, brought him home, and left him to run with the four other dogs he kept outside. Unfortunately, said other dogs were not feeling particularly welcoming and kept chasing him away from the food trough (and into my yard, as it turns out. 5 feet of deer wire could keep them out, but mutt could jump!) Mutt could also have mange and a torn ear and numerous nips and scratches. Neighbor, of course, never thought of taking him to a vet. Have I mentioned that good guys can still be losers?

So “him” became Caliban, and Caliban became mine. Or I became his. It doesn’t really matter.

After I did my est to sabotage every close human friendship, he would still run full speed to greet me as I drove up the road. When I felt incapable of loving anything, especially myself, he would nuzzle my hand and shatter the illusion. I couldn’t take care of my own life, but I could save his after he was bit by a rattlesnake.

Later, when I found a woman whose patience exceeded my bullshit, she becanme his, too. And through 9 years of loving her I have never worried about her when he was around. I had seen Caliban step between her and strangers. I had seen him drive off a pair of aggressive strays. I knew he would die before letting her be hurt.

He’s dying now.

We don’t know when. His kidneys are failing, but we might nurse him through that for a year or more. Only he he’s anemic, too. His marrow is working overtime, but something is leeching the iron from his system. The vet isn’t sure what. He has masses on his spleen and liver. the tumors might be cancerous, but they can’t risk a biopsy until his kidney functions are stronger (the anasthetic might kill him). He still wants to roughhouse in the yard, but sometimes he can barely stand. He seems happy, but he keps losing weight. Some days, when I come home, he just lies on the floor, tail beating against the carpet, big brown eyes staring at me until I make it over to scratch behind his ears.

Nothing lives forever. He’s had a good life, a good run. He’s chased dear through the forest and caught birds in the lake. He’s led a pack and fought down challenges. He’s rended pillows and mauled all manner of footware. He’s rolled in dead things. He’s had belly and butt scratched at the same time. And he’s been loved. He is loved.

I know he will die, but I don’t know when. My wife is 6 months pregnant. Our first. I always imagined that my child would get to know Caliban, get to yank his ears and be clubbed by his wagging tail. Now, I’m afraid that Caliban won’t even live long enough to see the baby, to know that his pack will keep growing strong. (Yes, I’m anthropomorphizing. Fuck off! Bloody voice of reason.)

Yesterday, Caliban wouldn’t eat. We hooked up an IV to flush his kidneys. No good. We increased his medication. No good. We tried hand feeding him treats. No good. I walked him around the block to perk him up and stimulate appetite. He perked, but he wouldn’t eat.

Damnit. So I lie down with him on the floor and start rubbing his belly. I need something to divert my mind. Hey, Turner & Hooch is on. I’ve never seen it. Tom Hanks is amusing. It has a big slobbery dog as a hero. Cool. So I watch.

Hooch is a big slobbery dog. Caliban’s a big slobbery dog. Hooch is an escape artist. Caliban could go over, under or through any fence I put up. Hooch chews up footwear. Caliban chews up footwear. Hooch is a crime fighting hero dog. Caliban is my dog!

Hooch gets shot saving Tom Hanks life. Damn!! But they get him to the nice lady vet. It’s a comedy, the dog has to be all right! They got him to the vet, damnit! Okay, real vets can’t save every animal, but this is a movie vet. Plus, she’s teh love interest. And she’s spunky!

But Hooch dies. And I’m crying. I’m crying at a fucking Tom Hanks movie! (Okay, I cried at the end of Saving Private Ryan, too. That’s different. Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?)

So I cry at movies. And I feel like crying again as I type this. And my dog is dying. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

Fuck.

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{{{{{Spiritus}}}}}

It sucks when they leave us, doesn’t it. :frowning:

(BTW, I cried at the end of T&H, too)

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Why the hell did you do this to me?!?!?!

::Wiping eyes::
[sub]It’s just dust, that’s all. Now go away.[/sub]

It’s beautiful that this dog has moved you to write something so soulful. Read it to him. He’ll understand EVERY word.

no sig,SM, just sympathy.

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Thanks for the sympathy, guys. (and the {{{hugs}}})

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Hi - my first dog suffered from acute kidney failure too. Same symptoms, refusal to eat - new meds - still won’t eat. They told us she would probably hang on for six months to a year - it ended up being more like six weeks. I remember lifting her up and yelling at her, telling her that she just HAD to eat, that otherwise she would die. I also remember holding her and crying like a child at the thought of losing the companion I had grown up with (I got her when I was 11, I was now going on 20).

The vet told us that we had two choices - a) keep her on the meds, and watch her gradually have more pain, convulsions, and a potentially agonizing death or b) put her down and end her pain once and for all. We took about a week to think about it - and made the choice to let her rest in peace. I held her to me as she died.

:frowning:

From what it sounds like - your dog is in a similar situation. Have they discussed the option of euthanasia with you? What are your thoughts? If you want to talk off the board about it, just holler.

I feel for ya. :frowning:

On the bright side, I’ve now got a beautiful one-year old canine ball of energy terrorizing my house and I love him dearly. The joy they bring to us, and we to them, makes the pain of parting worth it all.

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Spiritus, check your e-mail.

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I opened this thread expecting a cutting review of an American classic Turner and Hooch. I expected to see a negative review of a classic 80s fluff movie. I expected to see your characteristic sarcastic barbs- mocking Tom Hanks’ clean cut image, mocking that big slobbery dog, and mocking Reginald VelJohnson, just for his proximity to Urkel.

I had read the thread title, and already written a defense of this fine movie. I already parried your every attack. I already brought out pivotal scenese. I already compared the film to the great works of Kurosawa and the guy who directed Benjy. I had a post all set up that would put your nasty review ot shame.

Then I opened the thread.

What did I get?

A wonderful tribute- to a dog that sounds like the bee’s knees. A wonderful post that shows a man with great compassion and love. A wonderful post about a man who is able to see his past and recognize his own foibles, as well as see the things that made him better. A wonderful post that shows a guy who recognizes the fortune and beauty that is a part of his current life. A wonderful post about someone who can see a bright future being shared with all of the people he loves. A wonderful post about a dog that was a part of his past, a part of his present, and will be a part of his future, even after the dog’s death, in memories, in stories told, and in stories shared. In as few words a possible. A wonderful post.

In other words, a post that made my ingenious post about Turrner and Hooch invalid.

Stupid jerk!

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Spiritus - I’m not a pet person at all, but this was really touching. I’m truely sorry for you.

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Aw heck, I cried at the end of Turner and Hooch, too. I cried at your post, as well. I am so very sorry to hear of Caliban’s illness. :frowning:

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{{{{Spiritus Mundi}}}}

Sorry, Spiritus. Caliban sounds like a great dog.

But did you watch all the way to the end? There was a little Hooch, Jr. carrying on in his father’s pawsteps.
“This is not your room!”

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I believe it was Mark Twain who said that the pets you’ve lost aren’t in heaven, because they’re waiting at the gates so you can go in together.

I’m sure Caliban will wait up for you.

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Beth (and others) thank you for your kind email. If you don’t mind, I will recycle one line from my response. It applies equally well to those who have responded here.

And Pat: your first few paragraphs made me laugh, which is a true comfort. But really, how can you think such things about me. I mean, would I mock someone just for proximity to Urkel when I can mock him for proximity to Crocodile Dundee, too?

Besides, aren’t you used to having your posts made invalid by now?
:smiley:

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“On A Good Dog”

O, my little pup ten years ago
was arrogant and spry,
Her backbone was a bended bow
for arrows in her eye.
Her step was proud, her bark was loud,
her nose was in the sky,
But she was ten years younger then,
And so, by God, was I.

Small birds on stilts along the beach
rose up with piping cry.
And as they rose beyond her reach
I thought to see her fly.
If natural law refused her wings,
that law she would defy,
for she could do unheard-of things,
and so, at times, could I.

Ten years ago she split the air
to seize what she could spy;
Tonight she bumps against a chair,
betrayed by milky eye!
She seems to pant, Time up, time up!
My little dog must die,
And lie in dust with Hector’s pup;
So, presently, must I.

(Copyright Ogden Nash.)

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You know, Spiritus, I ignored this thread for a full day because I thought, “Turner & Hooch, who cares?” Then I finally read it. I have to say, that was beautifully written and a wonderful tribute to a good friend.

{{{Caliban}}}

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{{{{{{{{{{{Spiritus}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{Caliban}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

Robin

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Spiritus, I am sitting here sobbing now. For you, and for Caliban, and for everyone who has ever lost a pet (I’m among them). I know a little of what you’re going through. My dog (well, I don’t live with her anymore. I got married and moved, she stayed with my parents) is about 13 now, and we don’t know how much longer she’ll last. It seems like every time I see her, she’s a little older and a little weaker. I don’t know what I’ll do when she dies.

I don’t know what I can possibly say or do to make you feel any better at all about what’s happening. Just know that I am so sorry that you’re losing a member of your family. And I will pray that when Caliban goes, that it will be as peaceful and painless as possible for both of you.

{{{{{{{Spiritus}}}}}}}
{{{{{{{Caliban}}}}}}}

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I opened this thread fully expecting to chastise Spiritus Mundi, but, since he had something good to say about Turner and Hooch, I can make this post in a happier vein.

My wife’s uncle, Dennis Shryack, wrote the screenplay for Turner and Hooch. He also wrote Pale Rider starring Clint Eastwood.

Thank you for letting me share this little bit of obscure family history. We now return you to the rest of the thread.

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Spiritus, I’m so sorry to hear about Caliban. I lost my first dog 12 years ago and to this day my heart aches when I think about him. He was the lovliest little dog, and it hurts so much to think that he had so many years left when he died. He was only four years old when he was hit by a car, and broke his neck. In a sense, I can be relieved to think that he never suffered, he probably never even realized what was going to happen. I hate to think that he was scared when he died.
I know it’s hard for you to see your dog in pain. I don’t mean to belittle the pain you’re in. But in some way, you know that Caliban had a good, long life, and you get to say your goodbyes. I wish I had had that opportunity.
I’m so sorry.

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Aww, fuck you, Spiritus. I was feeling good & now I have tears in my eyes for you & your lady & Caliban.

Shit. I am so, so sorry. I’ve been through this.

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{Spiritus and family}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

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I don’t plan on keeping this as a “running update on my dog” thread, but I will add at least this one.

He is eaing again. We found a higher protein diet that he has rstored his appetite. Unfortunately, the reason he was on the old diet was to preserve his kidney finction for as long as possible. I feel like Capt. Yosarian, but even a bad meal is less damaging than starvation. I would rather he be happy and die in 6 weeks than be miserable and last for 6 months.

Anyway, I’m not sure what I intended when I started this thread. I was just sad and frustrated and needed to purge. Tom Hanks wasn’t available for slapping, so you folks got to see my emotional garbage. Thanks for sifting through it with such grace and compasison.