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REMEMBERING
OSCAR
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by Cristina
Ramos
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Sometimes it is the
seemingly simple
choices we make that
have the most impact
on our lives.
After years of
living without a dog
in Manhattan, I
moved to Vancouver,
Canada and decided
to adopt a Shih Tzu
puppy that could
travel with me on
airplanes (in cabin,
of course), and live
in a small
apartment. I
contacted Loree
Levy-Schwartz, from
whom my mother had
adopted her Lulu in
2002. On a
trip to the Bay Area
in March, we
arranged to meet.
I had my heart set
on a female Shih Tzu
puppy scheduled to
be surrendered.
On March 23, the
appointed day, I
called Loree, only
to discover that the
family that was
giving up the pup
had changed their
minds. Loree
did say that there
were two other dogs
available: a male
Shih Tzu and a male
Shih Tzu-Beagle
cross, both
approximately 2
years old.
Having come all the
way from Canada, I
was disappointed,
but decided to meet
Loree so that she
could interview me
for the next
available female
pup. For
conversation, I
asked about the two
male dogs and their
histories. She
mentioned that the
beagle mix was too
big to travel in
airplane cabins and
that the Shih Tzu
had a congenital
heart murmur and had
been kept in a pen
outdoors by his
owners except for
winter, when he was
kept in the garage.
My heart twisted
when I heard this:
who would keep such
a small dog — or any
dog, for that matter
— in such places?
Then Loree asked,
“Do you want to meet
him?” To be
polite, I agreed.
Out came a scrawny,
sorry-looking,
little black and
white dog, his fur
practically shaved
off, wasp-waisted,
bow-legged — not
cute!
He needed to go out,
so the leash was
handed to me, and as
we rounded the
corner of the
building, the little
dog stopped, turned
and looked up at me
with an expression
and an intensity I
had never
encountered in a dog
or human! To
this day, I cannot
describe what was
communicated in that
look, but I
understood it in the
way religious people
understand their
faith: that’s the
way it is, and it’s
not going to change.
I knew only that in
that instant, the
little dog had given
me his heart, and I
would give him mine.
We marched back
inside, and I
blurted: “I’ll
take him.”
In the car home, he
very gently ate some
of Lulu’s treats
from my hand as we
debated names.
We settled on
“Oscar” since it was
international, easy
to pronounce and
spell. At my
mother’s house, he
proved to be a
tentative, quiet,
polite little guy
who deferred to
Lulu, followed me
everywhere and
snored as loudly as
a 250 lb. man.
Even the first day,
he showed a
preference for
curling up on the
first available lap!
The next week, we
took the short
flight to Vancouver,
and he fell asleep
instantly and was so
calm and quiet on
the plane: a born
jetsetter!
Once settled, Oscar
took to city life
like a natural:
trotting on the busy
sidewalks of
downtown like he
owned it and
delighting in the
parks and beaches
that make Vancouver
such a great place
for dogs. He
became my personal
trainer, ensuring I
walked and enjoyed
fresh air and nature
daily. He was
also my assistant,
accompanying me to
work and on errands.
He appointed himself
as my bodyguard — he
never let anyone on
the streets come too
close to me and
patrolled the
apartment
vigilantly. He
was not
demonstrative with
affection, but he
never left my side
voluntarily, eating
and sleeping only in
spots where he could
see me, and at home
never more than
three feet away from
me — he even posted
himself outside the
door when I went to
the bathroom!
Most nights, our
routine was watching
TV while I cradled
him in my arms like
a baby as he fell
asleep. He
insinuated himself
into my life and
heart quickly and
completely. I
could not resist
spoiling him with
food I cooked
myself. He
began to fill out
and soon grew a
lush, wavy coat: a
handsome boy!
That Christmas, we
went to Manila to
visit my family.
He loved being in a
house full of people
and the holiday
parties despite the
heat. His Shih
Tzu aloofness,
coupled with the
fact that he began
the habit of eating
only if fed by hand,
earned him the
nickname “King”.
The following
February, I found a
very low fare to
Paris, and Oscar
took his first trip
to his favorite
place on Earth.
At the airport, he
rode the luggage
cart like a Pasha,
perched on my
suitcases as the
officer waved us
through customs and
immigration without
inspection! He
loved the snow, the
Metro, cruising on
the Seine, sitting
in cafes, snoozing
in boutiques as I
browsed, getting
smuggled into
churches, charming
everyone in the
pharmacies, street
markets, bistros and
parks. Paris
was his oyster.
Without my knowing
it, Oscar changed
me.
Officially, I
rescued him, but in
reality, it was he
who rescued me.
He made me a better
person: more
tolerant, more
patient, more
accepting of other
people and the good
in them. He
taught me to
appreciate a nice
day, dozing in a
patch of sunshine,
totally in the
present moment.
The simplicity and
clarity of his love
for me opened up a
new definition of
friendship and
family. He
softened me.
In short, Oscar made
it possible for me
to fall in love.
In September, 2007,
I married Jose, a
wonderful man whom
Oscar adored (after
biting him their
first meeting just
to make sure Jose
understood who he
was answering to!).
Oscar and Lulu had
not been allowed
inside Mission Santa
Clara — a big
disappointment as I
had wanted them to
be ring bearer and
flower girl, so I
did without.
My favorite surprise
of the day was
finding them both
inside the church
after the ceremony,
the first to
congratulate us.
Lulu was in a pink
ruffled ball gown
and Oscar — my
handsome boy — was
dashing in a tux to
match his Papa’s!
We three settled
down happily.
Oscar enjoyed
domestic life,
staying home on a
rainy day snuggled
under a blanket for
a nap on the sofa,
entertaining dinner
guests, strolling on
the beach.
Oscar loved being
included in whatever
we did — even when
we did nothing at
all. I loved
watching him in his
contentment.
The joy he showed by
simply being with us
was a gift.
Oscar taught me to
see how precious an
ordinary day spent
with those you love
truly is. In
June of 2008, we
were lucky enough to
return to France,
where Oscar
delighted in
re-exploring Paris
and discovering
Provence: he was a
natural bon vivant.
In February of this
year, Oscar’s
congenital heart
problem, dormant for
nearly five years
struck.
Literally overnight,
my darling boy went
from healthy and
energetic to
struggling for every
breath.
Because of a
misdiagnosis by his
regular vet, three
nights passed before
I realized it was
more than a simple
infection treatable
with antibiotics and
got a second
opinion. At
that point, we were
sent straight to the
critical care
hospital. The
doctors there hoped
to stabilize him and
then drive down to
the canine
cardiologist in
Seattle. T hat
night, as I cried
and prayed and
bargained with God,
I suddenly thought,
“It’s time to talk
to Oscar”.
Over and over, I
thanked my precious
boy and told him
that I loved him and
whatever he needed
to do, I would
understand and I
would wait for him
to come back to me —
at whatever time and
in whatever form.
Just past midnight
of February 6, the
critical care vet on
duty called to tell
me that they were
performing CPR for
the second time,
that he knew it
wasn’t working, and
that we would not
get there in time to
say goodbye.
He was at peace when
we arrived and I
cradled him, as warm
and soft as always,
for the last time.
The next morning, we
witnessed his
cremation and took
him home at last.
The following month,
we buried part of
his ashes under his
favorite lemon tree
in my mother’s San
Mateo backyard — the
first home he came
to when he joined
our family. As
soon as I can return
to Paris, I will
scatter some of his
ashes around his
favorite spots.
But that is not the
end of Oscar’s
story. Shortly
after he passed
away, a little black
and white rescued
Shih Tzu named
Valentine had a
litter of five at
Boulevard Pet
Hospital. Only
one, a black and
white male,
survived.
Coincidentally it
was Academy Awards
night, and Loree
named him Oscar.
He is now officially
Rajah (Malay and
Sanskrit for “King”)
Oscar. He goes
simply by Rajah, and
he has come home to
Jose and me.
It is my conviction
that Oscar led me to
the little pup in
the darkest days of
my grief for him.
The pain of losing
Oscar has not
diminished with time
— I miss him every
day, just as keenly
as the day I lost
him. But Rajah —
definitely his own
little personage —
is my link to Oscar
here and now.
He is a reminder
that love, hope,
joy, discovery and
wonder are our
rights in life.
He is Oscar’s legacy
to me. |
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