Kiynago Grubor Thomas (1995-2009)

On Tuesday we made the difficult but necessary decision to put down our beloved pet, companion, and best friend, Kiynago.

Here's a picture of his irresistably cute face upon me rudely waking him from sleep.

About His Breed

His breed, the Tibetan Terrier, is actually not a terrier at all. It is most closely related to the Lhasa Apso. In Tibet, they are considered "Holy Dogs," usually raised by monks in monasteries, but the name was not acceptable in the US, hence the moniker "terrier" because they are roughly terrier-sized. They are never sold in Tibet, because they are considered good luck, and no one should ever sell their luck. However, it is acceptable in the Tibetan tradition to give them as gifts. Sadly, with the atrocities in Tibet, the dog is also subject to death not just because of economic reasons, but precisely because of how meaningful a place they hold in the lives of the devout Tibetan Buddhist practitioners. Read more about the breed here.

The breed is also subject to cruelty in the US, if you want to help (especially if you live near New Jersey) or donate, please read here.

About His Awesome Life

Kiynago was truly a gift to my family. His influence on our lives was immense. I do not hesitate to call him a family member. I lobbied for his place in our home at age 15, as a sophomore in high school. I promised to be a good mother (though I ended up really being more like a big sister) and my mom did most of the dirty work while I enjoyed his cuddles and protection.

14 years later, he has seen me through the most monumental highs and lows of my life. He has been there to comfort me after a bad audition or break-up, to be the ice-breaker for new relationships or friendships, the missing puzzle piece in my first home. His warmth and constant love was a solace during the last few turbulent years. When I needed companionship, but didn't want to talk, he didn't mind silently keeping me company. 

Mike and I mused how his presence was integral in our relationship from the start. When Mike would come over to hang out or have band practice, Kiynago bonded with him right away. When Mike and I moved in together, he welcomed Kiynago into our home, insisted on it. Sometimes we'd even talk to each other through Kiynago, pretending, "Kiynago is really mad at you today." Or, "Kiynago forgives you for what you just said."

Kiynago was a dog with a unique personality. Everyone we know who has had the pleasure of meeting him agrees. He was not the kind of dog that sat idly by while life happened, waiting for his cue from the alpha in the home. Nor was he an always-aggressive defender of his home territory (okay, with exception of anyone he believed posed a threat to his food bowl or front yard.) He loved hanging out with us every second, but he wasn't pushy or needy for attention. He was happy hanging out a few feet away, not bothering me while I worked in our home office, or doing yoga. Or he was ready to cuddle if I was studying on the couch or watching TV with Mike. (Especially if food was involved, he had a very subtle pawing-at-the-arm technique.)  

He was the perfect dog. 

His proportions deserved study by fine artists, I swear. I've never seen such a good-looking dog. No matter how old he got, or how grey his hair - we were always asked if he was a puppy because of his youthful look. Walks with him were an adventure. We'd let him choose where he felt like going. He had an even gait, light, but not prissy. He had a chic disheveled hairstyle, atypical for his breed, (which is usually outfitted with floorlength hair and bows that Kiynago would never risk being caught in). If he wore any sort of accessory, a scarf-apres-bath was acceptable, or the obligatory collar and leash to lead his owners around the neighborhood a few times a day. (He never understood why we would get lost without him, but he upheld his duties.)

About His Last Days

We knew the day we had to let him go. His health had been steadily declining since winter, his appetite decreasing, his confusion and fear of his surroundings increasing. I'd started making his food from scratch to entice him to eat, and he would often be found barking at nothing until we came to get him and he felt safe again from the sound of our voices. The last few weeks he was looking out the window less and less because cataracts clouded his vision (his favorite pastime was guarding the house) and was sleeping more and more. His breathing was heavy and halted. I would be lying if I didn't say I would freeze with fear every time I came home and he wasn't downstairs, rushing upstairs to see if he was still alive. Mike revealed he awoke every morning with the same fear, checking to see if his was still breathing.

This was not a way for a dog to live. The only problem is that because of his slow decline, we were unsure of when exactly we should make the horrible decision to put him to sleep. We had heard stories of owners waiting far too long, and later realizing they kept their pet alive because of the inability to let go, even though the physical and psychological damage to the pet was far worse being kept alive. 

On Monday night, Kiynago lost the ability to walk, his hind legs gave out on him, and he was wincing in pain. Pain killers sedated him, but didn't take the pain away. He would cry when he tried to walk, and we had to carry him everywhere. The next day, Mike and I took turns sitting with him while he simply lay on the ground. He made it outside twice, and Mike and Kiynago spent a long time sitting together on the front lawn, basking in the breeze and sun of an unusually beautiful day. I had hoped Kiynago could take a walk to say goodbye to his neighborhood friends, but he was unable. Oddly enough, they both passed by while he was on the lawn to pay what would be their last respects.

We took him to the vet, and upon examination, she revealed his problems were more numerous and than we had thought. The tests would be potentially painful, inconclusive, and even then, the solutions invasive or resulting in a far decreased quality of life, pumped up on painkillers. We couldn't bear the thought of feeding him full of drugs, getting x-rays, biopsies, or surgeries, and him living the rest of his life in a vet's office or splayed out in our home. Our vet said even with the most extensive treatments, he had only weeks or months to live.

His Special Friendships

I've compiled a list of his many names, in no particular order, yet each with special significance. His real name means "Black Dog" in Tibetan.

In addition to family and friends, many of the names came from Mike, who endlessly created new ways for us to connect with Kiynago and make him happy, healthy, and comfortable these last few years. Mike has a special way with animals, and he and Kiynago seemed to be best friends the moment they met. I've asked Mike to say a few things:

I want to write a letter to my friend,

Dearest Kiynago,

I really love you and it destroyed me to see you suffering so much those last eighteen hours. You and I are best friends forever. I hope you understand why I had to do what I did. I hope you know that I would've given anything, paid any amount of money to fix what was wrong but there was nothing I could do. Every other option was incomprehensibly worse. You should know how much I miss you everyday. Thank you for for being my buddy, teaching me empathy, making me laugh, comforting me and hanging out with me. We'll hang out again someday, I promise.

Love,

Mike

Their last afternoon together.

Kiynago is loved. Big, huge, never-ending love. He loved us back. He will be forever missed. 

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