Ode to Perko

30 Jun 2007
Ode to Perko

Dear Perko,

You were born on December 25, 1993. You are the best Christmas present I've ever received.

In March, 1994, you came to live with the Shippey family. We picked you up from the airport after your flight from Guide Dogs For The Blind headquarters in California. Mom knew your name before Chris and I did. We knew it started with a "P" and couldn't figure out what Mom was on about when she said it rhymed with a name you might call someone if you didn't like them. "Pitch?" "Pimbo?" Chris and I were pretty convinced that Mom was a total nerd when we learned your name was Perko (which rhymes with "Jerko.")

Being that you were the fourth in eight Guide Dogs we would raise over the years, I don't remember much about your puppyhood distinctly. You were the only black lab we raised, and I remember how adorable you were. I don't remember if you ever destroyed any of my shoes, or if you chewed on the furniture. I'm happy that I can't remember the bad things, because I'd prefer to keep you perfect in my memory. I remember you had a small cyst in your ear that had to be removed. I remember enjoying the fact that you were black because, as the disaffected, adolescent angst-fuelled hippie that I was, your hair didn't show as clearly on my black clothes as the yellow lab hair did. I also remember that you always had to eat your dog biscuits in the same spot: the bottom of the stairs. We would give the biscuit to you any where in the house, but you always had to run through the kitchen, around the corner into the living room, and then you would settle at the bottom of the stairs to enjoy your treat. Without fail, you did this every time.

I was sad the day we gave you back to Guide Dogs. As with all the puppies we raised, I wished that I could keep every one. When you spend a year with a dog, you form a bond.

When you got to California, you developed ear infections and were thus disqualified from becoming a Guide. You became "Career Changed" and were offered back to us as a pet.

This is when I really got to know you, Perko Buddy. My Perko Buddy.

When you got back to our house in Denver, we gave you a biscuit. Guess what you did! You remembered. You remembered us!

You were patient as we raised three more puppies. You made friends with the cats, Phoebe and Eldon. You would lay in the sun by the patio door, and the cats would curl up beside you.

You knew you weren't allowed on the furniture, but WE knew that you snuck up when we weren't home. The tossled pillows and blankets were a dead giveaway, as was your "guilty dog look." If anyone was laying on the couch and there was even an inch of blanket touching the floor, you would attempt to curl up on it. I don't think you ever knew that you were an 80 pound black lab. Perhaps you thought you were a cat?

You taught yourself how to knock on the door when you wanted to come inside. You wouldn't bark or whine or scratch...you simply picked up your paw and went "clunk" on the door, then sat there and looked at us with your big black eyes. If we didn't respond promptly, you would knock again.

You were handy to have in the house due to your hugeness. Little did any stranger know, you'd sooner lick them to death than hurt them. You were so sweet and gentle. You were my Buddy. My Perko Buddy.

In 2002, Mom and Dad took you to the vet for your annual "well puppy check." The vet said you looked great! You were at a healthy weight, your coat was shiny and thick, your teeth were in good shape. You looked good for a 9 year old dog! Then he felt the lump in your groin.

A biopsy proved cancer. My Perko Buddy had cancer. The vet said that we could spend $3000 to remove the tumor and treat the cancer, but that there was a 70% chance that it would recur. Or, we could feed you healthy food, give you medicine for pain management, and get you a puppy. They said you would live another 6 months or so.

We opted for the latter. As a family, we decided to let you live your last 6 months without wild medical treatment. 9 years old is pretty ancient for such a big dog! We adopted Dora, another black lab. What a difference she made in your life! You were like a young pup again! We made a decision as a family that we would put you to sleep when you stopped being "Perko." We knew we would know.

You made it four and a half years past what the vet predicted you would live. Your tumors grew to the size of golf balls, then tennis balls, then grapefruits...and you were still kickin' it! You could still fetch, you still loved to go for walks, you still snuck up on the furniture, and you still went bonkers over biscuits. You still knocked on the door.

In the last few months, however, you started to lose your "Perkoness." You would lose control of your functions in the house. You forgot what to do with biscuits, and your legs were no longer strong enough to get up the stairs, let alone jump on the bed.

Today, Mom and Dad took you to the vet for the last time. In a quiet room, they said goodbye to our Perko as you drifted off to the Great Biscuit Bin in the Sky. The Eternal Dog Park. The Giant Comfy Couch.

Perko, you were the best dog. I'll never forget your big, fat head resting on my knee, your "demon dog" run where you would hunch your hindquarters down and run like mad around the house playing Hide and Seek. I'll never forget you sneaking out the back gate, only to walk around to the front and knock on the door. I'll never forget you, Perko. My sweet Perko Buddy. For over half my life, you were there.

I love you, Perko. I always will.

To remember you, we are getting a small plaque to put at the bottom of the back door. It will say:

"Here Knocked Perko Shippey."