Moab Joseph Willis, RIP (1998-2011)

The end arrived today for our family dog, Moab, aka Mo, aka Mo-jo.

He’s been “failing” of late — not being able to walk very far.   Not able to  climb stairs or even get up off the floor without difficulty.   He had noticeable tumors and increasing pain.  It was his time, and I had to take him to the vet today to “put him down.”   It was sad.

We have had some good times together.  We got him in 2002, when he was a 4 year old.  He and his twin brother played rough-house style, which was OK until the owners had a baby.  Then they had to give one of the dogs up, and we got Mo.

I thought then, and still do, that he was a very cool looking dog.  He was also a bright dog, half German Shepard, half Labrador, and he had the qualities of both breeds, with the “niceness” of the Lab predominating (and the shedding hairs of the Shepard a close, and annoying, second).

Moab had some really neat tricks when he arrived.  First, he’d “break dance” (which looked a lot like “rolling over” but with a few spastic moves in between).  Next, he loved to chase lights —  laser pointers, reflections of the sun off wristwatches, flashlights … any moving bright spot.  He would heel, sit, come and lie down on verbal and hand command.  And he would NEVER lick you.  Frankly, it’s pleasant to come up close to a dog’s face and not get licked.  The prior owners trained him well.

He was, truth be told, a bit of a lunatic.  He had severe “separation anxiety” — and would go into a panic attack if left alone.  We told him to “get over it” and “you’re just a dog” … but he trained us to rearrange our lives so that at least one of us would be with him, most of the time.  And when we had to leave him, we arranged to leave him with a woman who really liked him.  No kennels for this guy!

Mo was a great sport.  We could dress him him up, like here at Halloween.  But Christmas was his favorite time, really.  (Sorry I don’t have the picture of him with reindeer antlers — but he really didn’t like those; they stayed on a maximum of 8 seconds each time!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moab was a house dog. Happily he’d be satisfied with short walks morning and evening to “take care of business”.  But he didn’t need huge fields and miles to run.  He was happy as a city dog.

We called Mo the Shed Monster for a reason:  He shed more hair than any dog we have ever seen or even heard about.  Seriously, if you combed this dog out for twenty minutes, the twentieth minute would still see handfuls of hair coming off his body.  He was really terrible about shedding.  Luann once threatened to spin the hairs into yarn and make a “Mo Hair Sweater.”  There sure was enough hair to do that!

A great day at Fort Funston

Fort Funston, near San Francisco, is a park where dogs can run free — and we had a great time there one weekend:

 

 

 

 

 

We did have some great times together. Let me list them now, lest I forget:

• Patrolling the yard nervously while Debi and I were in the hot tub on the Alvina patio — we called him our “Secret Service dog” because he hovered like a Secret Service agent guarding a presidential candidate.
• Chasing squirrels, anywhere, anytime … even along a wire or down a fence line.
• Accompanying Debi and me on “hikes” at Quicksilver Almaden park — and he was able to do that almost all the way to the end.
• Being a “scaredy dog” — and giving a wide berth to other dogs, even those on leashes passing in the opposite direction.
• Sleeping on the foot of the bed until the arthritis got so bad he couldn’t climb onto the bed any more.
• Shedding while standing still — backlit in the sun, hair just falling off him, merely from the effort of his breathing!
• Listening patiently to those of us who sought his advice or sympathy on matters we otherwise consigned to an interior dialogue.

Today we faced up to the facts:  He”s been on a declining path for a while, being 13+ years old.  He has cancer, arthritis, declining vision, one gimpy leg and some evidence of chronic discomfort or pain.   He can’t get up and down the stairs.  He has trouble standing.  This is no way to be.   So we took him on that one-way trip to the vet.

Good bye, dear Mo.  We love you.  Rest in peace.