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Kobe Brave and True, 2008
I haven’t really been able to write about Kobe’s passing yet, or thank the wonderful friends who wrote in support of him during his final days. In the immediate aftermath I felt like if I let that wound open, it would just bleed all over everything and I wouldn’t be able to stop it.
But today, on this day of Thanksgiving, it’s an FDL tradition that we come together and share the things we are thankful for. And I am thankful to everyone here for the support they gave us during that time. FDL wouldn’t be here were it not for Kobe, and for the people he inspired to come together to form the FDL community. So I wanted to share his memory with you and honor him here today.
For those who may be new to this place, Kobe was the inspiration for the blog, the “dog” in firedoglake. He was born in August of 2000, a companion for Katie who was a year and a half old and prone to Norma Desmond-style theatrics if left alone. He was born in Ojai, the son of Lake Cove Matisse and Mojave Rose, and thus became Kobe Matisse Rose. Whereas Katie was soulful and smart and very private, Kobe was a complete extrovert. He wanted everyone to look at him, all the time. But he was the sweetest, funniest dog ever. Your heart just went out to him instantly. He knocked Katie up in 2001 when he was 8 months old and Lucy, their daughter, joined our family a short time later.
The name “firedoglake” came about because I liked to lie by the fire with the dogs and watch the Lakers. Really the “dog,” because Kobe was the Laker fan. I never put any thought into the name because I never expected it to be anything other than a repository for posts that I’d put up over at Daily Kos so my friends and family could read them once they fell into the memory hole.
FDL started 5 years ago this month when the dogs and I were living on beach in Oregon in 2004. I wasn’t really interested in Hollywood any more and it felt like the cultural energy was shifting, but I didn’t know which way it was going to flow or how I intended to follow it. So we walked on the beach every morning, I took some drawing classes while the dogs chased sea gulls, and FDL was born.
Not long afterwards, I went back to LA and put out an invitation: if you have a blog, you’re invited to Coffee with Kobe. That’s how I met Steve Anderson, and growing out of that fine tradition there were two Kobepaloozas — one that we held at Steve ‘s house, and another at Brian Linse’s. It was at those events that many bloggers (including newbie Arianna Huffington) got to meet for the first time.
Kobe & Mom, 2000
The dogs and I traveled all over the country together. From Oregon to Los Angeles and back again, to Oklahoma and Connecticut and DC for the Libby trial, to Northern California and back to Connecticut. Kobe was with me through my battle with breast cancer, through many rough surgeries and chemo. We came to DC two and a half year after I finished treatment. Through it all, he was incredibly protective and devoted. He never left my side.
But Kobe was always a bit of a hot-house flower. Whereas the girls and I were more like hearty weeds who could throw off just about anything, Kobe always had health issues. He had bloat twice and narrowly survived. It seemed like it was always something.
But as a mom, you know how your heart goes out to the one you worry about most? I think almost losing him like that so many times bonded us. When I was going through all my own health issues, I’d just look in Kobe’s eyes and I felt like he understood. At night he would sleep next to me and I’d use his butt for a pillow. He was just a gentle guy, full of compassion, and I felt like he was in my life to teach me how to be a better person. A bodhisattva, an enlightened being who foregoes entering Nirvana so they can help others to find their way. I always trusted him to guide me and protect me.
Kobe and Fiona, 2007
Early this year I started noticing that he was breathing heavily for no reason. I took him to the doctors over and over again, and we had every test they could give him. Ultrasounds and xrays, blood tests and heart monitors. They couldn’t find anything.
Then a couple of months ago, I brought Kobe and Katie in to have their teeth cleaned. They were getting older and I wanted to have a good dental cleaning done one time before they got too old to be able to recover from going under anesthesia. They found a big lump in the side of Kobe’s throat that wasn’t visible to the eye. They did a biopsy and called me and told me they were sending it to the pathologist, but that it looked like cancer.
It was like the world went dark. I had worked through my own cancer and never thought of taking a break, but suddenly I couldn’t write. I couldn’t work. The thought that Kobe was going to have what I had was just too painful. I wanted to help him but didn’t want to put him through a lot of suffering just to make myself feel better. And at nine years old, he wasn’t a young dog. One of my wishes for my life was that I lived long enough to be with my dogs when they were ready to pass, because as painful as it was, I knew that nobody could care for them like I would and I did not want decisions about their care to be made by strangers who might not hear what they were saying. I’d always heard that your dogs would tell you when they were ready to go, and I wanted to love them enough and be strong for them and look out for them when that happened so they wouldn’t feel afraid.
The doctor called a couple of days after the surgery to say that Kobe’s biopsy had been a false alarm — the pathologist said that it didn’t look like cancer to them. They gave Kobe some antibiotics and told me to bring him back in a few weeks, and for the moment, I felt wonderful. Like we had been given an amazing gift.
In retrospect, I think it was an amazing gift. We got to spend the next few weeks feeling like everything was okay, and just enjoying our time together. But as time wore on I didn’t feel like Kobe was okay, and I didn’t trust the doctor who diagnosed him. I took him to another doctor, and I could tell from the way he was talking that he thought something was very wrong. I asked if we should have a better biopsy so we’d know what we were dealing with, and he said that was his recommendation. He sent me to a surgeon and Kobe was scheduled for surgery two days later.
The night before Kobe’s surgery I turned the computer off and spent time just quietly being with him. I had intentionally not tried to figure out what his prognosis was because I’d just drive myself crazy, but we both knew there was a good chance our time together here was coming to a close. I snuggled with him and told him that I needed another lifetime at least to just spend taking care of him and being with him, because I couldn’t think of a single thing that I’d done that was more important. I let him know what an honor and a blessing it was that he spent his life with me. He wasn’t his usual goofy funny self. Even though I was well aware that I loved him to distraction, I was surprised by the power of the bond I felt between us at that moment.
Connecticut 2006
I took him to the hospital early the next morning and stayed with him until they were ready to take him into surgery. He was scared. I took his head in my hands and I looked into his eyes, and I said “Kobe, I know I’m a part of you like you’re a part of me. I’ve had so many surgeries that I’m not scared of them any more. So if you just call up that part of me that lives in you, you don’t have to be scared either.” And they took him away.
Kobe’s surgery didn’t go well and to this day I don’t want to know exactly what happened, but I felt then and I feel now like he trusted me and I let him down.
I just wanted the chance to bring him back to the beach in Oregon and let him live out his final days there, however long that took. He loved it there so much. I’d always told the dogs that one day when we were all gone, I’d asked my nephew take our ashes and bury them together under some tall tree high on the cliffs above the Oregon coast. There we could climb the roots together in some Thanatopsis vision of forever while we watched the waves break over the shore.
At the very least, I wanted Kobe to come home and be surrounded by everyone he loves when he was ready to go. I didn’t want him to die in some animal hospital.
When I arrived at the vets the next morning I met a minister whose dog was getting chemotheraphy. She reached out to me when she saw me crying in the lobby and I told her how much I wanted to take Kobe to the beach. She told me there was a great beach house she know of in Delaware and said she would email it to me.
When they let me see Kobe that morning it was clear he wasn’t doing well. One of his nerves had been cut and his left eye was closed. They told me he needed to go to another dog hospital where his cardiologist was, and where they had an ICU. While I waited for Chris to come with the car I emailed the minister and asked if she would come down and pray with us if she was still there. She had already left but she sent this:
Dearest Father:
We thank you so much that you love us and have given us companion animals to brighten our days and comfort our nights. Bless Kobe, we pray, and give him comfort and peace. Thank you for bringing him into Jane’s life and allowing them to walk together for a time. Bless my sister, Jane, too, and surround her with your love and fill her with your peace. Give her grace and strength during this trying time, and help her find her hope in You.
This we pray for your Son’s sake.
Amen.
Chris and I took Kobe to the other hospital. He almost didn’t make it. They wouldn’t let me be with him in the ICU except for 20 minutes every 2 hours as he fought for his life. I checked into a hotel in Virginia so I could be with him as much as possible, and so I could get there quickly if anything happened. He was hooked up to heart monitors and all kinds of tubes and it tore me up to look at him. He was so proud of how handsome he was and I knew he didn’t want people — didn’t want me — to see him this way.
Baby Kobe, 2000
I was so scared. I posted on the Seminal and asked for people to tell inspirational stories of dog recoveries, because I needed to believe. I couldn’t give in to fear and despondency, I had to stay strong for Kobe. I took in each and every word that people wrote to refuel that hope and give me strength. I was so grateful for them, and for the support that all those who work at FDL gave during that time. I just felt like I was pulling on this incredible network of love and support that spread out like a spider web to people I’d never even met who were there for us, who would carry us through no matter what happened.
I went to the hotel that night. I bought Mexican food because bmaz said it was good for the soul in these situations — he’d dealt with doggie cancer before. So had Marta Evry, who spent a long time on the phone telling me what her dog had been through. I couldn’t sleep much.
They called me at 4:30 the next morning to tell me Kobe wasn’t doing well. I came down to the hospital and the doctor told me his heart was having a rough time. I asked if I could stay with him and they said yes.
So I went into the ICU and I crawled into his cage with him. I had been asking myself if doing all this was the right thing to do, if I was just prolonging his suffering, but I felt like he’d tell me if he was ready. He looked up at me and put his paw on my arm, and gave me that look, and I went “oh no, Kobe, not that.” I pulled my arm away. And he put the paw up again.
I petted him and tried to push every single bit of strength I had into him, to will him back to health. I prayed. I bartered with God and offered time off my own life if only I could bring Kobe home.
And then he rallied. Suddenly his heart rate got better and he started to breathe much easier. He really seemed like he felt better, like he wasn’t struggling so much. I read all the amazing pet recovery stories to him that people had left for him on FDL, and the emails and tweets that people had offered in support. They made him happy. They made me happy. Then I lay down next to him and one last time fell asleep with my head on his butt.
I felt so connected to Kobe lying there. I felt like the energy just flowed up through me and into him, and then back again. It was a rainy day but I had this vision of Kobe walking out of the hospital and into the sunlight. When I woke up the Doctor told me his blood test looked good and his white count was up. I was just filled with hope. I stayed for 3 and a half hours, and when it started to get busy they asked if I could come back in a couple of hours. I kissed my boy and told him I’d be back soon.
As I was driving back to the hotel I was so happy. I felt like Kobe was going to walk out of that hospital. And on the radio came George Harrison singing “Here Comes the Sun.” I thought Kobe was singing to me, letting me know that he would be okay, that he didn’t want me to fall into despair and that this was the song he wanted me to be thinking of when I thought of him.
Kobepallooza II, 2005
I called Glenn Greenwald and I told him what had happened. He said “I think it’s great that Kobe rallied and that you got to spend that time with him, and I hope he makes it, just don’t get your hopes up too high.” I started crying and pleading with him, like if I could convince him Kobe would be okay that he would be. Kobe had to get better. He was singing to me.
I tried to get some sleep but I couldn’t. I called the vet right at 2 hours and I asked the doctor if I could come back now. She said it was busy and wanted to know if I could call in an hour and a half, and I said I would.
As I put the phone down I heard Kobe speak just as clearly as if he were sitting there. He said “Mom, when you saw me walking out of the clinic, I was walking out in you. I’m always going to be a part of you.” I felt dissociative, like I wasn’t in my body any more. Like I was standing across the room looking at myself.
The doctor called back minutes later to tell me Kobe had gone into cardiac arrest.
I panicked. I couldn’t find my keys. I was tearing through the room trying to locate them and ran out the door in my pajamas, consumed with grief and fear that I wouldn’t make it in time to see him as I jumped into the car and raced for the hospital.
As I drove the panic subsided and I could hear Kobe’s voice. “Mom, I know this time is going to be hard for you. Just remember that I live in you like you live in me. And if you can just call up that part of me that lives in you, you don’t have to be scared.”
Coincidentally, Egregious was in Vienna visiting her kids and staying at her old house. She had emailed me the night before to ask if I needed her to come by. “Email egregious,” said Kobe. So when I got to a stoplight I did. I asked her to meet me at the clinic.
When I got to the clinic they were standing around him, trying to keep him alive so I could see him again. But it was too late. He was gone.
I don’t know how parents of young children who die live through it. I just felt like the whole earth opened up in a giant, raw scream. I hugged him and I told him that he was the very best part of me and that it felt like someone had just put out the sun. I didn’t know how to live without him. He was so written into the daily fabric of my life, into everything I did and was and hoped to be, that I didn’t know where he ended and I began any more. And that I was so, so sorry I hadn’t been there for him in the end.
They said they wanted to clean him up and then I could stay with him for a while. Egregious arrived and I can honestly say I don’t think anyone has ever done anything more compassionate for me than what she did that day. She just stayed with me and let me work through the grief. It was so incredibly emotionally generous that I have a hard time even writing about it. She was the living, breathing testament to the family, the community that Kobe inspired.
They brought him into a room and we wrapped him carefully in blankets. We just sat with him for a while and let the loss sink in. I called Glenn and told him Kobe was gone, and how guilty I felt for not being there with him when he passed. Glenn said that his mother had actually collected stories of people and animals and how they would rally just before they died so they could spend meaningful time with the people they loved, and then failed quickly and wanted to be alone when they passed. He said it was an incredible tribute to Kobe and his great spirit, his compassion and his kindness that he let me know it was time to go, and then rallied in spite of it so we could have that wonderful last few hours together. He said Kobe did not want my last memory of him to be of his death.
The vet told me that if I wanted, they could box up Kobe’s body and send it to a crematorium in Maryland, and I’d get his ashes back via UPS in a couple of weeks. I looked up in horror. There was no way I was going to be able to get through the night thinking of Kobe cold and alone in some truck headed for Maryland, so we found a crematorium in Virginia that we could take him to and then pick up his ashes later that night. When I woke up in the middle of the night and realized he was gone, I really needed my boy to be there with me. I needed to know that he was home.
But I knew that despite Kobe’s best efforts to make my last memory of him positive, I’d quickly rewrite it in my head and only be able to see the emotional and physical trauma that had preceded it if I went straight to the crematorium. So I asked egregious if we could have a little memorial service first.
Kobe's last ride
We wrapped him up and gently carried him into the back of my station wagon — his station wagon — and put him in his bed. I sat back there with him and tucked the covers around him to make sure he’d stay warm. We stopped at a florist because I wanted to have flowers for the memorial service, and the minute I walked in I saw the most beautiful bouquet of lavender roses. Purple like the Lakers, fit for Kobe the king. We went to egregious’s house in Vienna and printed out the lovely tributes that people had made to Kobe online. Egregious didn’t have pumpkin loaf (Kobe’s favorite) but she had some nutmeg loaf, which was close enough. We parked the car where we could see the woods from the back window, lit some candles and turned on my computer to record the tributes as we read them aloud and had a lovely, lovely memorial service where we told stories about Kobe and his life, and remembered what a wonderful friend he had been.
And then we played “Here comes the Sun.”
Every time I try to rewrite those days in my head into a horror story of loss and grief, I remember Kobe’s incredible strength and generosity. And I play the video of the memorial service, and see that I was happy. He — and everybody who makes this blog what it is every day, who wrote comments that we read to send Kobe off on his journey — gave that to us.
Then we took Kobe for his last ride. They were very kind there as they gently carried him inside and let me spend a few moments with him before we left. I told him that every time I looked up at the night sky I would know that the dome of heaven was really his big fluffy head over me, and that his spirit was bigger than all the stars in the sky. I told him that I would be joining him, and that I knew he would be waiting there for me. And that I would always try to live the life that he inspired, and be the person he wanted me to be.
One of the nicest things that anyone wrote after Kobe’s passing came from Lisa Derrick, who knew me both before and after Kobe came into my life, and reminded me of the remarkable changes that had happened as a result:
My deepest condolences and tender love to you, dear Jane. I saw the beautiful transformation and growth Kobe brought to your life and how he helped you tap into You-ness and bring out a healthy happier Jane, a true, new Jane.
Pets, our familiars, are markers in our lives and they carry us to a specific place, help us to a point in our lives, and then when we are ready they let go so we can carry on. Kobe‘s leaving will open roads and indicates a shift, a new direction, a new stage of growth, and as horrible and painful as it, know that this marks a new beginning.
And know too Jane that you were and are an amazing doggie mommy and you gave Kobe a life of joy and experiences and love.
with love and sorrow and hope
Kobe was a bodhisattva, and a zen master’s final teaching to his students is always his death. I told Kobe that I would try to figure out what that lesson was as I stroked his fur and kissed him and said goodbye for the last time.
And then the little firedog made his final journey into the fire.
Kobe in his favorite spot
My best friend from high school, MaryJane M., took the train down that night to be with me so egregious and I went to pick her up at the train station. She made us comfort food as we sat waiting for the call that Kobe’s ashes would be ready. I had taken a clipping of Kobe’s hair and when I opened the bag, the girls came running and stuffed their noses in it trying to find him. When the call finally came, we drove back to Virginia and picked his ashes up. And when I put my head down on the pillow that night, the girls and I knew that he was with us — and always would be.
There will never be and end to the Kobe story, it goes on every day both here at FDL and in our lives. But there is a coda.
A couple of weeks later we got the news that Katie had cancer too. I just shut down. I couldn’t even talk about it.
The night before Katie’s surgery, I wanted to spend time with her too. I was sitting on the bed with her and Lucy, and you know when you have those moments when you really connect with your dogs? It just clicks, and you’re right there, beyond words, in some kind of weird hyper-real moment? That happened. It got really quiet. And I asked, “is Kobe here?”
Both of their heads swiveled toward the other side of the room. And we just sat there. I looked over to where they were looking, didn’t hear or see anything, and I thought “you know this isn’t fair — I should be spending this time with Katie, not dwelling on Kobe.” So I said “where’s the toy?” And both of them went tearing off the bed and got their orange non-toxic recycled rubber bone that will no doubt take out a plate glass window one day but I don’t have the heart to confiscate it.
They started playing with it and they were really cute and I remembered how fiercely I’d been hunting for every picture ever taken of Kobe after he died. I thought “I should be taking a picture of this,” so I grabbed my camera and found it was full.
I downloaded it and found this. It was clearly taken right after Kobe’s teeth cleaning because he’s got a shaved leg where he had a cyst removed.
I had no memory of taking that video. But when I saw it, I felt like I’d been given this incredible gift that I wouldn’t have traded for millions of dollars. Kobe wanted us to know that he was there, watching over us, and that he wanted to play with the orange bone too.
Katie’s tumor turned out to be a non-spreading kind of cancer and they got clear margins. She’s old and the surgery wasn’t easy — for either of us. But Kobe got us through, and though Katie is taking some time to rebound, she’s okay.
Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of Kobe around the house, but it’s hard. I try to do what he told me to do and call him up inside of me but he’s so much a part of me I can’t feel the distinction, the presence, the goofy wise Kobe that just makes me happy.
I was feeding Lucy one day and I asked her where Kobe was. She said “he’s here Mom, you just can’t see him.” I felt Kobe there in that moment.
But I miss him every day. I see him in everything. In the wind shaking the leaves in the trees that I see when I open my eyes in the morning, or in the smile that lights up a friend’s face or the small acts of kindness and emotional generosity that connect us all with hope for the future. I see him every day in the blog — in the compassion this community has for those who are suffering, in the fierce emotional commitment that we all share for social justice, and in our determination to be stronger together than we could ever be apart. That kind of connected emotional wisdom is the very soul of Kobe.
Hs passing has changed the world for me. That raw sense of loss still tugs at me, but I guess I don’t want it to go away, its immediacy makes Kobe feel very present in my life and I don’t want to lose that connection for fear of losing him too. I look forward to a time when I can be with him again. When I first got cancer I called my friend Rene and asked her to tell me beat by beat what it was like, and when she was done I said “I can do that.” I got to be with Kobe and watch how brave and generous he was to me in his final moments, and felt the power of the wonderful people he drew around him — and around me — as he ended this leg of his journey. And now I know I can walk through that door too.
When that moment comes and I take my last breath, I know I’m going to see Kobe standing in the light with an orange bone in his mouth saying “come on Mom, let’s play.” And as I walk toward him I know that I won’t be afraid.
I’ll be thankful for a wonderful life, and all the incredible people and things that Kobe brought into it. And as I hold him close and smell his hair and throw the bone for him once again, we’ll both know that we live on in a million hearts and pixels of those we’ll still be connected to long after they bury our ashes beneath that tree high on the Oregon coast.
Thank you all for being part of FDL. Because Kobe lives on in you, too.
Kobe on the Beach, 2006
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We love you Jane. Kobe Brave and True, in our hearts forever. The first firepup.
Thank you so much for all you did for us, and all you do, egregious. When I think back to that day that memorial service that we held just shines the brightest. I don’t know what wild coincidence had you there that day. Kobe has impeccable timing.
May he rest in peace. He touched many lives including mine. I never met him but I felt like I knew him. His spirit will always be us. Peace Jane.
It’s appropriate that eg was the first one to post. When our Raven was fighting cancer way-back-when she was a great friend to have here at the Lake. We spent the last few days at the beach with Bohdi and Lil Bit and we must have talked about Raven and his life to 5 or 6 different people who we ran into just by virtue of having our dogs with us. They give us so much and hardly ask for anything. I”m glad you have taken this day to talk about the Kobe.
Speaking of things to be thankful for, how is Christy?
Thank-you for sharing this very moving story, Jane. Peace to Kobe and to his wonderful mom.
Hard read but writing it had to be infinitely harder. Thank you for sharing these intensely personal moments.
Check a message to you back at the Arlo thread.
Thank you for the lovely diary you wrote for Kobe.
He needed to have it on FDL so there would be a record. So people would remember.
The girls and I are eating a pizza to celebrate his life. Well, I am anyway. They just wanted the pizza.
Katie is the merry widdow. She’s kind of happy that she moved up in the pack.
It was an honour and we will always remember Kobe. His strength permeates the Lake.
I’m certain Katie is a sweetheart, give her an extra hug from me.
Oh Jane …
Kobe was a very special soul and I am forever grateful that I got to meet him. I keep remembering the time in CT with you and Kobe and the girls … coming in late from Lamont HQ and being greeted by his funny self … Matt playing ball with him in the yard while we laughed … getting to sleep in the poodle pile with Kobe the softest gentlist of companions. I also know that his wonderful goofy smart self was so clear because he had you for his mom. And I thank you for sharing him with me and with us … and also sharing the tears.
So today, I am most grateful for knowing you and knowing Kobe and all that I have learned from you both.
Thanks so much for sharing this. My best friend is Luke, my Husky mix. Each day he teaches me something about what it is to be alive.
Katie
http://static1.firedoglake.com/1/files/2009/11/Katie.jpg
she is a sweetie
What a love story.
What a mug!
What a wonderful story, Jane. Say hi to Kobe for all of us next time you sense his presence.
A great story Jane. Thanks for sharing it.
And a beauty as well.
I’m thankful for the time we got to spend in that Connecticut house. Remember how Matt Stoller was really nervous around the dogs and how they worked on him and made him un-afraid?
Katie would go in and sleep under his bed. She had a mad crush on him.
I should try and get that footage that they took for Blogwars.
Yeah, last thing I expected this evening was leaky eyes.
Happy Thanksgiving Mz. Hamsher, and bless you and Kobe for all you’ve brought to us.
That was some piece of writing.
She’s a real operator. Very smart. Not a little manipulative. That “please sir, may I have some more” look actually fools some into thinking that she is deprived.
Matt was so funny … of course 3 BIG poodles are pretty … intimidating ;->
It would be wonderful to see that footage again … that was a very special time.
Thank you for entrusting us with your story of Kobe, Jane. You and egregious are rare treasures who’ve given so much to many of us in this community.
In memory of my own companion Marley, who now drifts on the river current northward with my soulmate, my heart, my Mr. Sunshine. A day with undernotes of sadness, yet blessed by the memories and spirit we’ll always carry in our hearts.
From a friend of mine, these words to share from unknown source: What the heart has loved, it keeps; and all is well.
one day jane, I will tell you about my skippy dog too
but today, my words will fail
love you
Thank you for sharing this, Jane. It must have taken a lot to write this piece.
I like what Lisa D. said about animals as our familiars; it’s resonant. One of my best friends lost her beloved dog at the same time her spouse left her a couple of years ago. He also left behind his own dog when he walked out. Both of the dogs were totems; they represented something greater than themselves. Her own dog helped her deal with the loss of her marriage. She’d never really lost anything, and losing her beloved pet forced her to deal with the pain immediately, making the slow, dragged out separation and ugly divorce process seem easier by comparison. The second dog in her life passed in September this year, a bookend of sorts; she loved this dog, too, but saying goodbye was different and more of a period on the end of a sentence. Both of the dogs helped her through what will probably be the roughest part of her life by teaching her how to let go and say goodbye, and how to begin again.
It seems amazing from the outside that Kobe came when he did into your life — just months before the 2000 election. Did not know this before this post. But thinking about animals as totems, perhaps his job was to facilitate your transition to this path of political activism, and his job was well and done.
If that was his role, he did an incredible job and his rest is well earned. Sleep well, Firepup.
People ask me what I’m going to do with the ashes of my tigers. I simply tell them that they’ll be spread at sea with mine. We will never be separated.
Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” suddenly started playing in my head.
Worth repeating.
Thank you, Jane. I am sobbing as I read this.
I’ve worked in rescue for nearly 20 years, and have had dogs[and occasionally cats]for as long as I can remember, so I have had both a number of these times at the vet, and also endings of long, close canine relationships.
Also, our first child died suddenly at age 3, 25 years ago, and I recall the depth of the grief you describe here.
Thank you for all you do here, and thank you for sharing this piece of yourself.
Thanks for that, Jane; I just came back from Thanksgiving dinner & took my doberman out for a quick run on the dead end streets here, turned on the computer and read that, it really resonated.
Back in ’98 I had an old dog, lab mix, Pepe who, along with Spike, my young dobie girl, had done the road trip in the front seat of the rented Ryder truck when I moved from Austin to New York. He did fine, then about a year later I woke up one morning and he wasn’t in his bed (next to mine) — during the night he had gotten up, gone to the living room in the front of the apartment, lied down in front of a window & just died. I still think about his moving to the window.
Like your Katie, I Spike was only too happy to move up in the ranks, though initially she would go and lay on the spot where I buried him in the back. She was the dog with whom I had an extraordinary bond and her loss devastated me — though only a few weeks after she died one night I woke up to hear her very distinctive bark out the back window — no dream, I was wide awake. It only happened that one time, but I remember it so clearly.
Now I have to dry my eyes & go give my boy a hug. Thanks again for your story.
I remember a difficult time when Jane and the poodles drove to Oklahoma (about an hour and half drive from Eureka Springs). Then she started thinking she should drive further east and worried about taking the dogs with her. I was relatively new to the lake and feeling more than a bit shy (yes really). But I chimed in with an offer to take care of the dogs.. as I typed the words felt so small and gentle. I wanted this stranger to know how sincere I was but i thought to myself if it’s meant to be she will pick up on it and at least drive through ES and assess the situation.
It never happened and it didn’t take long to figure out why. Within days the photos of the cross country trip alone told us all we needed to know about Jane and family.
So thanks again Jane, Kobe Katie and Lucy… We can’t say it enough around here.
I was looking for a link to Steve Audio for the first Kobepallooza and saw this pic. Don’t think I’ve ever seen it before — that was the day I met Ezra Klein, Kevin Drum, RJ Eskow, Mark Kleiman and Arianna.
Seems like 80 years ago in blog years.
http://bp0.blogger.com/_g2G9XZSAzPY/RaChm8lXdBI/AAAAAAAAAQc/9r0dqxB_kpQ/s1600-h/JanePam.jpg
Hugs dear Jane.
Reminds me of the core principles of A Course in Miracles:
Nothing real can be threatened.
Nothing unreal exists.
Herein lies the peace of God.
Real love is never threatened and exists forever.
Jane, I’m so sorry to learn of Kobe’s passing. My heart goes out to you. I will never forget the week I had the privilege of staying with you, Kobe, Lucy and Katie in Connecticut, and I can picture Kobe tonight as clearly as if he was right here in the room. Your post is so beautiful and heartfelt, and he was very lucky to have you as his Mom. All my best, and thank you so much for sharing his story with us.
That was so sweet of you, ES. I remember.
We did push on to Connecticut. We found our wonderful CT farm house, where we lived with Siun and Matt Stoller, and where Selise and Catherine came to stay. I know Valley Girl was up there too but I can’t remember if she met Kobe or not.
We were so lucky to have so many wonderful people come and stay with us when I was in chemo. They just loved you, Jeri, and really appreciated everything you did for us.
The girls looked up from their pizza snack just now to ask if you were coming back, they said when you were there it was good eats.
thank you jane for sharing what you are thankful for with us. oregon beaches are special and kobe beach is the most special of all. tis one that token and i loved walking — not following in your footsteps — walking along side but at a different time.
we are a family here at firedoglake — we have our skwabbles and clashes as does any family. holidays are meant to be spent with family whether they are physically present or in pixels or memories.
we would not be the family that we are today if not for kobe and you. there are no words to convey how thankful i am to have been given the opportunity to be a small part of this.
happy thanksgiving jane. token sends a woof to the girls (and based on that twinkle in his eyes i believe he has forgotten he is an it).
Happy Anniversary as well as Thanksgiving, then. I’m sorry you lost such an awesome dog, and so handsome, too! What a lasting tribute to Kobe to have inspired a famous blog name.
Give your boy a big hug too.
I swear the girls still talk to him. Poodle magical realism.
Thank you Jane for this incredibly touching and moving account.
Suzanne and Token lived in the house after we left. The perfect dog beach…so glad you guys got to enjoy it too. And we are so thankful to have you in our lives.
Woof to Token.
For Jane, Kobe, & the girls. George on YouTube singing Here Comes the Sun.
(((Jane))) (((Kobe))) crying. thank you and Kobe, Jane.
Thank you Mauimom, you’re a saint. I could not do that. People who can do animal rescue are true bodhisattvas. Glenn and I always say that when we get old we’re going to do animal rights.
I know you have been through your own kitty loss recently too with Storm, Kirk. What a wondeful blessing that you got to spend a last night together.
And Nina Simone – Here Comes the Sun
Jane, as a long time reader of yours, and a long time dog person, I feel the loss. I’ve lost a dog a year in the past two. Both Rotties. Both the best of dogs.
This may help;
http://www.rainbowbridge.com/Poem.htm
All the best.
Mitch
Thank you Mitch, that is wonderful. Kobe is there. In his paradise, however, there are big mirrors.
Dear Jane:
Your sharing of your loss is very meaningful to me. I still miss my Moselle Dobergirl, and Gypsy MinPin. My SadieCat is upside down beside me right now.
I found the Lake soon after losing my Mom in 2001, and the family here helped me through the loss of my brilliant son (PhD Physics, MIT) in 2008. His young daughters are recovering very well, and they are my focus now.
I am so happy to see your face more often and hear you say intelligent things on respected programs. The strength you gained from Kobe is evident.
Thank you and Kobe and the girls and all the other pups for Firedoglake.
Karen
And he’s got my crew to play with.
Thanks for sharing about Kobe Jane, if I knew how to send a picture of my firepup I would. He just walked downstairs here and got on my lap while I was reading your blog, I can’t finish it yet, but I will.
Ours’ is a 6yr old throwback Pom. He was abandoned, and we got approved to adopt him, he was 18months old then, an above average size, one the breeders usually can’t sell.
My shepard went to the Nam’ in 66, that’s a long story, I was in 6th grade. It’s amazing how Tyke became a part of my wife’, and me s’ family almost overnight. He’s one of the few dogs that got to visit this one special park where there’s a dune forest, and a blow out before you reach Lake Michigan. It’s too enviromentally dangerous now for dogs, but you never saw a happier Pom that thought he was a Spitz on a North Sea beach.
Thank you for all you do for us.
Jane, I’m so sorry for your loss and deeply saddened by it truly.
So wish you and Kobe could have done the same.
Though I’ve never met Kobe (or you!), from all you’ve written I’m sure he always knew you loved him, wherever he slept.
Peace to you, Mauimom and thank-you for the rescue work you do.
My daughter lost one of her dogs last spring and another within three months of it. They were very close. Very much the Where The Red Fern Grows type of story.
(((Piercearrow and family – furred and unfurred)))
Thank you Jane for such a beautiful story and sharing of your feelings (wiping tears away). There was, and is, a tremendous bond of love between you and Kobe. When we make our furry companions a special part of our lives and existence, they in return give back tenfold that love in making us a special part of their lives. And the feeling of loss, and of love, will remain until we meet them again. Bless you and Kobe.
Thank you, Karen. The poise is Kobe’s. He got all the stage presence.
I am sorry to hear of the loss of your son. And glad that your furry friends are there to comfort you.
This love letter is as sad and warm and fulfilling to read as it must have been difficult to write.
Nothing but good wishes for the family, Jane.
Wow, that is some pure and authentic writing, because the story is.
((((Jane!))))
Jane!!!
Kobe!!!
Not a dry eye in the place–and the message is clear–the true tragedy is if he had never been.
I don’t think I realized just how connected we were until he was gone. It’s not just the grief of the loss. It’s like a feeling of not being quite present because a part of yourself is in a place you can’t fathom.
I thought I was insulating myself against this by having more than one dog. Wrong.
Jane – thought just popped into my head.
Why not re-name the NewsDesk subdomain the “KobeWire” or Kobe something? Having that good dog’s spirit firing out the work of the blog would seem fitting to me.
(((pierceaero)))
I’ve found this thread very touching. Most of my loved ones have passed on. Holidays are not sad but mostly a time of reflection for me. So many cherished memories.
Nope it was waiting to come out. Kobe doesn’t want me to be stuck in grief.
Jane,
Thanks for sharing this with us. The special communion you shared with Kobe has spread throughout the Lake, and has become part of us all. I am teary-eyed with the wonder of it all.
As a boy, I was more of a dog person. In elementary school, I painted a picture of our dog “Jip” in watercolors that my mother saved for years, and which I still have somewhere.
As an adult, I became more of a cat person through the influence of my first wife. With her, we raised a black kitten that we called Squeaky to adulthood, and after our divorce, I got Squeaky, then 8 years old. He was a devoted member of my household for the next 12 years, always welcoming me home, and wailing (so I am told) whenever I left the house. When he was 20 years old, I “boarded” him with my vet when I made my annual Christmas visit to family in the Midwest, and am told that he died the day before I got back. I was devastated. This gives me a little understanding of what you went through, but not much, because I had no idea when I left him that I would never see him alive again.
Thank you for your compassion, and for your work at making FireDogLake the community it has become. That sense of community makes this place different than the other blogs I visit, and a more treasured place. Thank you for your loving spirit, and for being such a great Blog Mom.
Bob in HI–>AZ
Jane, I’m so sorry about Kobe. What a journey you two have taken.
You know, I think Kobe led you to make powerful changes for humanity in our world.
Powerful change for all of us. Peace to you Jane. Peace to Kobe.
I’ve been thinking of something like that, if not the news desk then something to honor him.
Someone suggested “Kobe’s Kommandos,” maybe for community organizers.
Blue Texan is your Late Night host, upstairs!
Late Night: Giving Thanks for Three Right-Wing Butterballs
I appreciate that so much Bob.
I remember Glenn telling me that animals (and people) have the impulse to be alone when they go. So maybe Squeaky wanted to enjoy his time with you and spare you the sadness.
How about “Kobe’s Kompanions.”
They do go away if they can when it’s time … I always knew when the old cats were ready because suddenly they were very serious about escaping the house …
I haven’t had a pupper since I was a kid but tigers know when their time has come and will seek a place to be alone.
Beautiful piece, Jane. Straight from your heart.
I remember being one of Kobe’s first Facebook friends when we all joined up from here a few years ago. One status update I recall is “Kobe is chasing squirrels.” I imagine he’s still doing a lot of that in heaven.
(((( Jane )))) (((( Kobe ))))
Thanks Kirk and ratfood.
Jane – it would be fitting to have Kobe visibly attached. Newcomers need to feel his presence too.
Karen
Now that you mention it, he probably is.
;)
You’ve made my face all wet Jane. “Kobe’s station wagon” — I bought a station wagon too so I would not have to leave Emma and Sarah at home. (Emma Willard & Sarah Bentham). They owned it nine years and have been gone for twenty-three but it’s yesterday again. What times we had. They do show you things you won’t know any other way.
Thanks so much for telling it all.
Joel
Jane, good thoughts and blessings to you as you say goodbye to your friend.
Dear Jane,
What a beautiful tribute. They are all special but some are more special. I have had Airedales for 35 1/2 years and have very special memories. Pade was one of my very special ones as was Jake. Now I have added wire dachshunds but have not yet lost one even though there are two that are quite old. I find that the memories help. Jake has been gone 20 years and I still have tears on occasion as well as laughter remembering him.
Kobe has left a very special legacy. We are all grateful to him.
Thank you for this.
Wonderful sharing Jane. Thank you.
I can relate to so much of your story, as do all of us who are open to the vulnerability, joy, and connection you express with such tenderness.
It took me an hour to read this. I didn’t get two paragraphs in before I broke down sobbing.
We lost Jonesy the last day of summer this year, 18 months after she was diagnosed with lymphoma. She had 14 years to weave herself into our hearts – it’ll take more than death to separate us. But I miss her dopey dog grin, her insistent snout, her insistent presence and know our lives will never be the same.
One day I’ll sit down and write her story. I hope I do her half the justice you did Kobe.
A term in physics may explain this. It’s quantum entanglement.
When every fiber in our being is so tightly in sync with another, even our atoms dance together in the same rhythm. To sudden lose that syncopation physically hurts us at atomic level, as if we’ve lost connection with a part of our own body.
Peace to Jonesy and her family. Lovely dog and superb photos, BTW.
Thank you. Jonesy was always an excellent muse and a superb model.
{{{{Saint Jane}}}},{{{{Saint Kobe}}}}what pure joy and love they give everyday….soft eyes of our furry children…bless you for all you do
(((((Kobe)))))
evening ratty…how are you…the Baz is back…one eyed ,but still bounding off the bed…………for joy,im thankfull he is alive
14 yrs…exemplary parenting!
Fine thanks. So happy for both of you to hear Baz is back. Tell him Bob and I say, “Hi.”
(((( Jane )))) (((( Kobe )))) From Erdla, the horde, and me.
du
will do…sending hugs,and turkey skin snax…g…Baz does share……g
What can you say — pet people. It sounds like pure crazy for people who don’t get it, but somehow those of us who do always find each other intuitively.
First fundraiser I ever did here was for animals in Hurricaine Katrina. I think it turned into an unconscious organizing principle.
Oh thank you, Du. Good to see you again.
That would explain it.
Bob and I shared a steak earlier.
i cannot believe,im hungry again……dayum
And bless you too. We really appreciate all your support — it meant a lot.
(((((PW)))))
Kobe says “woof” from across the rainbow bridge.
Kobe was emotionally fearless. He inspires me always.
I’m very sorry for your loss. We lost our Brat in April to Lymphoma and I have yet to go a week without crying for him. Kobe, like Brat, knew we did our best.
Brat was a special boy…like Kobe. I did the Youtube the weekend after we lost him.
of all the furry kids here..5 cats,4 doggies one tortoise,1 horsie,Baz and Levi,are the only non grabbers when food is shared………….G…including me……..g
Hi OFG. It is so good to hear from you.
thank you,just went through a similar experience ill diary….they connect us to the real world,the pace of living beings that live in the moment
is it okay to send you a keepsake at the Va.addy?
Calvin!
What a lovely story, and how lucky you both were to find each other. The reunion will be a bright moment indeed.
Suggests an acronym to me: the Knowledge Of Being Emotional. Maybe it’s KOBEConnect for your subdomain?
I don’t know. Just working with the words in your post. They’re very powerful.
dannnnnnnnnnnng so is Baz…even when he was at the university on a gurney inpain,all the docs said he was a great patient…………Baz the Braveheart……..okay im mushy again …yup inspires is the word
You’ve created a pretty competitive environment. Baz and Levi must be Zen masters.
Jane, what a beautiful tribute to Kobe. And thank you for sharing with us. The only thing that matters is that you and Kobe love each other. I hope the loss gets easier for you.
My Moselle Dobergirl had a Station Wagon too. Never could get the Dobie smell out of it – we didn’t care.
Karen
gentle eaters
Levi is a 17 hand stud horse,who takes butterscotch candy out of the wrappers with his teeth,while i hold them…i shityounot……….i adore him
i was with 2 Dobies tonite at dinner…ADORABLE girlz
Thanks for wrapping Kobe around my heart too.
May his memory comfort you and his love and devotion give you strength for the rest of your days.
Live, Love on and Be well – it will make Kobe happy.
You’re blessed with a lovely family. I’m certain they all adore you as well.
thank you…they are all DIFFERENT,and LOVABLE
I think of that concept every time I read stories about elderly couples who die within a very short time of each other. Imagine the bond between atoms dancing together for 50 or more years…
My friend and I talked about entanglement a lot during the two years between the death of her beloved dog and her marriage, and the death of her ex’s dog. It was easier to visualize the grieving process as one of immediate and gradual disentanglement, although it never really makes the pain go away. Simply made it easier to understand what was happening and needed to happen as she had to prepare to help the second pet ease into the next world (along with her marriage).
wow, that’s cool.
Ah, Jane, so much love in that post. Thank you for sharing it and thank you for all the good you do.
Easy to Love
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izaZR89BJBo&feature=PlayList&p=6B534BB46627A0B6&index=0&playnext=1
I lost my Saint to cancer earlier this year and we went through that awful time of her being so sick and fading away. She was in and out of the vet hospital until her body gave out and we brought her home for a bittersweet last day together. She was goofy, too. And stoic. I miss her so.
Thank you for sharing his story and pictures. Your Kobe is special. My heart goes out to you.
Thanks, Billie transitioned exactly two years before I entered the world.
Goodnight to pups (and other critters) past, present, and forever…
If I might interrupt to expand on your thoughts…
Atoms Dancing Together don’t really need to be physically near each other. They just need to be in the same “Idea Plain.” Take music for an example.
Where is a piece of music when it’s not being played? It’s still around somehow. It’s still real. It’s still emotional and viable, and capable of making others feel and think. Only for a time, it’s silent.
Awaken and activate an Idea, and POW! You really have something going on.
sweet dreams ratty…morpheus,and mebbe one more piece of stuffing are calling me…nite,nite
Yes. I have learned much courage from my furry companions.
A few years ago my Siamese Miss Louise developed breast cancer. After her first surgery, which was radical, she was so pale and barely moved for a couple of days. Then one morning she jumped up on the stair railing and declared “dammit I am going to live!” She never stopped moving for the year she lived as a cat should..
Since I got breast cancer I have thought of her courage. so often. It keeps me moving when I really don’t want to. And Sweet Alex and Claudette, who succeeded her, love me just as I am and nurture me only as pets can.
Ten years ago this past Halloween, we had to put my first cat down at age 15 due to cancer. We did the deed with her on my chest and it was peaceful. On the Day of the Dead, I took her from the fridge, put her in a pack with a brick, sage and catnip that had been sliced through with holes, and biked up to the Golden Gate Bridge before sunset. When I got there, the sun was setting on a picture perfect day, it was teeming with life, pelicans, seals and sea lions. I biked to mid span, between two service shacks, took the pack out, said a few words to the four directions, with west being the last, and cast her over the rail into the Pacific Ocean so that she could feed the fish that so nourished her and that nourish her successor cats.
The cycle continues.
Jane:
Most moving story I’ve read in a long time. Brought to life my own beloved doggie’s passing.
Thank you and blessings to you for what you do and who you are.
I’m a 57-year-old man crying with the tears dripping down my face. What a powerful testiment to friendship. I’m one of those who tried to convey a compelling story to give you hope during Kobe’s sickness. I mentioned my Molly in her “wheelchair” and Jane, you were so kind to thank me for writing. Molly died two weeks ago and today was my first holiday in sixteen years without her.
Thanks so much for sharing this with us; I’m very sorry for your loss. My wife was just asking about the origin of the name “firedoglake”, and now I can tell her.
just returned from Thanksgiving with long lost family members–and staying on the river in Portland, OR–and I am still in tears…a wonderful testimonial…Kobe was lucky to have you…missing my cats back in NH.
wishing you healing.
If you have a little time, check out why people feel so connected…
Three Time
LoserWinnerThe comments say something about the meaning you have brought to our lives…
That’s alot of meaning!
For a long time I had a black Lab named Lance. To keep a sense of his presence I still throw a stick for him out into the lake, and hold the passenger-side door open for him before I get into the car, and I wouldn’t ordinarily mention that to anyone… but why not? You mention a lot of things in your post that may not have ever appeared in print before but they seem familiar to me and may describe a common (meaning widely shared), though usually unspoken, experience, which is good to keep in mind.
You mentioned twice that Kobe was/is a bodhisattva, so of course he can choose to be reborn into this world again, in any form he thinks best, which is a practical reason to keep fixing it up for him, wherever he decides to be, so he doesn’t have to do all the work of helping others by himself.
Wow, what moving words, Jane.
I’ve baked 4 loaves of pumpkin bread this week. Funny how I think of your Kobe every time I bake the stuff. I never met him, but I still think about him. When you post a tribute like this, it’s not difficult to see why.
It’s been almost 10 months since our beloved B. left us. He died in my arms, and I can still feel his heart stop beating. The Mr. and I say every day how much we miss him. Another sweet and silly dog needed us and came to live with us, a couple of months later, but he doesn’t fill the terrible gap in our hearts. Jane, I wish I could say it gets easier. Sometimes I just gasp at the grief, and at how hard it is to go on without him, as if I’ve lost an organ I didn’t even know I had. Any time things slow down in my crazy life, I just collapse, missing my furry boy. It’s amazing how they sneak into our hearts: I still grieve for dogs I lost over 30 years ago. But some dogs are really special. I’ll never have another B., as you’ll never have another Kobe. Powerful memory, and about 1000 photographs, help, but they’re no substitute. I’m so glad Lucy is okay. Kobe gave us all a great deal, so we’re all grateful to him. We’ll miss him, too. Thanks for a portrait of an amazing dog. On this day we can give thanks to Kobe, as well.
Thank you for sharing this moving story about Kobe, whose life was full of love because you shared so much of yourself with him. This story explains so much about why Firedoglake has so much heart.
We will know our sentence for eternity when we cross over by the presence or absence of the dogs and cats we have known…don’t hurry, don’t rush…you’ll rest your head on him again.
Dear Kobe,
Thanks for sharing your Jane with us and giving her the inspiration to fight so hard for others. Our country needs her now.
Tears,
Loo Hoo.
Great post, Jane. It’s good to write about the things that matter.
i just read this post of your loss… god bless you and keep you.. sobbing as i continue to read – but kobe is truly in a better place! again god bless you and give you his peace… (((((hugs))))
Jane, I can’t stop crying. You have brought back to life every dog and cat I’ve loved and lost; the sweet memory of the time we spent together is so fresh I can almost touch and smell them.
I’m thankful to have been a part of this wonderful community for the last 4 years, to have a front row seat as you dragged this blogging thing forward and turned into a pioneer. We are very proud.
I’m also very thankful to be alive. I had a small stroke in August which has almost completely resolved itself. My grandma died of a stroke when she was younger than I, and I am so very grateful to have had this warning shot come so close yet do no lasting damage. I promise to do better at taking care of myself.
Tears here, too – brings back so much about the pups I’ve lost.
Great dog, great mom, great story. Thank you for remiding us of the things that matter, and thanks for everything you do.
Jane, this profound thanks-giving account demonstrates how alive you are. Truthfully, I can’t even pretend to your level of emotional maturity.
I can’t talk, or think, except in broad outlines, about the passing of one dog – it’s just stuffed down inside me as a contained raging inferno of something. That sweet-tempered dog (who was emotionally traumatized and scarred from abuse by a prior owner) also developed unexplained breathing problems as her primary symptom. At the almost-end, which I didn’t recognize as the almost-end, I knew she was very ill and I wanted to stay with her, but had duties caring for someone else’s unattended pets, and other complications that prevented my presence. Afterwards, I had to leave town for awhile, to try to ‘change the channel’ and escape the pain, and I think I’m still in avoidance mode, years later.
Thus your prayer that Kobe at least recover enough so that he could die at home, or in Oregon, really resonates with me. Which is why I did so hope, and in fact mistakenly thought, probably adding to your pain in the process by stating it, that you at least were able to be with Kobe when he died. The arbitrary cruelty of time limits on what turned out to be a deathbed vigil, was just what I’d hoped, and thought, you’d been able to avoid. That added an unnecessary layer of pain to the process, that I guess we define as “guilt,” as you put it, regardless of what the animal may have perceived. Nevertheless, in your telling of the chronology, it seems you really did get a chance to come in and see him while knowing he was failing, say goodbye, and yet keep pulling for him with positive vibes, somehow all at the same time. It was the next best thing, and perhaps even better, than actually being present at Kobe’s demise.
I remember the sudden health problem Kobe had in Oregon (one of the bloat episodes?), when you were away visiting family in Oklahoma and rushed home to be with him (the caretaker had thankfully spotted the problem early and thus helped save him). Based partly on that episode, I think, I had the impression that Kobe was older than he in fact was, not knowing that he had a history of delicate health. Probably because of that impression, and because of the obvious strength of your bond, sometime earlier this year – maybe springtime or so – basically out of the blue, I suddenly worried on your behalf that Kobe’s age might soon be getting to him, and that you would have a very difficult time as a result. To the extent that, when I happened to spot the title of your Seminal diary (the dog-recovery stories diary) that night, my heart sank, thinking of Kobe, before I’d even opened and read it.
Besides now feeling like a foolish borrower of trouble, I see practically the mirror image of my worry reflected in your account: You, living your emotional life to the fullest, open to every wonder, and thus fully exposed to every loss ["open to the vulnerability, joy, and connection you express with such tenderness" as TalkingStick put it beautifully], in admirable defiance of the worry, the fear, the dread – more so than ever now after having felt and processed the full, realized fury of such very-human worry, fear and dread.
I’ve long thought of you as fearless, but this account describes something more. Something holy.
Jane,
I’ve been lurking on your site ever since the media reform conference held in Minneapolis in June 2008, and although I often am quite moved by the pieces posted on this site, I’m just not much of a commenter.
This post, however, moved me to finally take the step of registering, because I wanted to tell you that this post was incredibly emotional, and I thank you for sharing. You write with so much passion about so many issues, but I have never seen a passion like this before.
I had tears rolling down my face at more than one point, because of the sadness I felt through this post, but also because it made me think of my own dog who died. Her name was Malley, and she was a hyper active, lovable golden lab. During my senior year of high school, I’d had one of the worst weeks of my life up to that point for various reasons, but on Saturday, I’d finally been redeemed by the news that I got into the honors program at my university. I went out to celebrate with friends, and when I got home, there was silence. My dad came down the stairs to tell me that Malley had been hit by a truck earlier that night, killed instantly. I mourned the loss of that dog for a long time, but now, I think of the happy times.
Thank you for making me think about Malley tonight, and thank you for all of the amazing work you do. I’ll try not to be so much of a lurker from now on.
Jane, I don’t know how you do it. I love you.
Thank you, Jane. As I sit here at my desk, I have a dying black standard poodle named Bonanza Jellybean lying at my feet. I actually brought her to the vet to be put down in early September, but the vet couldn’t do it because she’d bitten a friend who was trying to help her stand so she wouldn’t have to lie in her own poo. She’d been sick and unsteady all summer and we’d delayed her rabies vaccine so as not to stress her immune system.
Now her sunken eyes said clearly, “Make it stop. Please make it stop…”
This was on a Thursday, and we needed to wait until Monday for euthanasia. I figured she had nothing to lose, so I mega-dosed her with the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. By Monday I was able to cancel the appointment. She wasn’t cured, but she was no longer on death’s door.
Some three months later she is still here, but she and I both know the end of her 11-year life is near. In the past week she’s slowed down and lost interest in the yummy canned food I’d switched her to in September to coax her to eat. She’s since put on weight, but at just over 40 lbs, she’s literally half the dog she once was.
Tonight I will tell her about Kobe to let her know that she has wonderful new friends waiting to meet her on the other side whenever she’s ready. I will remind her that Kafka, her predecessor who met a Kafkaesque demise before his second birthday will also be there.
I will tell her all of this once I stop crying. Our hearts go out to you, Jane.
I don’t know whether it’s appropriate to link to another dog’s memorial here, but James Howard Kunstler’s Memoriam to his dog Chloe is worth a read.
When I first stumbled on FDL, I misunderstood the name.
Frances Fitzgerald had written a book about VietNam and the US blunders there, called “Fire in the Lake“. It comes from a belief that from time to time, things become corrupted and that fire is cleansing. So that ‘Fire in the Lake‘ implies renewal. Kind of zen…
Given the amount of corruption, deceit, lies, and theft that I read about in the early posts I stumbled on, I assumed for quite awhile that ‘firedoglake‘ derived its name from this meaning of ‘renewal, regeneration’. So when I read that it originated from the pleasure of being with dogs by a fire in front of Lakers games, I marveled.
Glenn Greenwald seems as wise about pets as he is about politics, and more specifically, a politics of renewal.
I hope that Kobe would be okay with that.
Take care.
And keep knitting…
Thank you so much for sharing. It sounds like Kobe really was a special being. This post is a wonderful tribute to his memory – it really conveys something about his heart (and yours).
As I’m writing this – I see that in one of the most recent comments, your post prompted a lurker to register (so they could comment). The same thing is independently true for me. I began reading FDL on a regular basis a few months ago – in large part to see you have to say. Your voice is always sincere (at a time when many prefer ironic detachment), thoughtful, independent, and compassionate. It’s much appreciated.
Jane i-we are truelly moved. Our hearts are with you from Homer.
Came home tonight after Thanksgiving dinner with friends and found this.
Bless you, Jane. Just … bless you.
Mukei
This was so beautiful, I cried. And I am not the crying type. I read Firedoglake every day, but for some reason, I missed it when Kobe passed. I am so sorry for your loss, Jane. But, as your writing says, Kobe is still here, and still with you.
Just a quick note to say that I managed to speak to dad by ‘phone this morning. (He is fully recovered from his wounds and is now back in Irak setting up more orphanages – it’s going well and he sounded pleased with progress). He asked me to pass on this:
du
Beautiful Jane, just beautiful. I’m crying too much to write anything more.
God bless Kobe and Jane.
A heart wrenching story. Having lost several dogs and cats, one cat in particular was with me 18 years, I totally understand your grief.
Oh, Jane! I truly know what you went through and can be so very glad, like you, to have been blessed with our Lightening, a German Shepherd-Black Lab mix. He passed away 10 years ago and this is the first time that I have written or spoken of that terrible ordeal. Your sharing was perhaps the last therapy that I needed to write about “Little Light”
Lightening was my buddy. We bought him as a buddy for my son on his 10th birthday, because Lightening’s older sister had always viewed Jim as an interloper and mostly wanted us to take him back where we got him from so she could be an only child again. Lightening did indeed become my son’s buddy but, as those things go, he became mine as well. I think that as Jim advanced into his teenage years, Little Light transferred some of his affection to me.
I had developed diabetes at the age of 42 and was rapidly insulin dependent. I lost my medical certificate to fly as an airline pilot and sank into a deep depression. I couldn’t sleep so I would get up out of bed after several hours of fruitless attempts to go to sleep and go sit on the sofa. There I began to concoct ways of ending my life. Lightening, who slept with in my son’s room, would get up and come sit on the sofa with me. He would worm his way onto my lap and lick my arm.
When I darling wife recognized that something was terribly wrong, she got me to a psychologist who got me to a psychiatrist and between the two of them I began to claw my way back up out of that black, black hole I was in.
The psychologist told me that I needed to get some structure in my life and suggested starting by walking every day at the same time.
Lightening was thrilled with the idea of a daily walk and we laid out a 2 mile course in the park that backed up to the neighborhood we lived in. My wife would always call at Noon to check up on me and see how I was doing. Lightening quickly learned that when Mom called, it was time to go for our walk. He would go grab his leash down from the peg board and come charging up the stairs with it.
As I emerged from the grip of depression, I wanted to work, but my previous career of being an airline pilot was out the window. I was 42 years old with no marketable skills (political science and history are not real attractors for corporate human resources types. We decided that I should go back to law school and get my degree.
We moved back to South Carolina for law school as my wife had never been thrilled with living in Minnesota and USC was one of the schools that I was admitted at. Since it had been nearly 20 years I had to start over from year 1. Lightening was always there, even when I would take a dip back into depression or just worrying about the upcoming end of semester exams. And I was a sucker for throwing the ball for him.
We began to notice that lightening began to lack energy at first. We took him to the vet but they couldn’t find anything. Then he began to vomit a clear, yellow fluid, lost his appetite and we knew something was very wrong.
We took him back to the doctor and he informed us that he now could detect a an enlargement of his liver. We consented to X-rays and a biopsy. Our worst fears were confirmed. He had cancer and it had metastasized. His internal organs were all infected.
We took him home and I lay on the floor with him, holding him and telling him how much I loved my Little Light. His breathing was very labored and I knew that he was slipping away from me. I had cuddled up close to him and kept telling him not to be afraid. I felt him take a deep breath and exhale a deep sigh and something left him. I knew my Little Light was gone. That extended cry of pain was something that I had never felt before and I wasn’t sure that I could stop it. He had saved me from myself in my darkest time and now he was gone.
I will never forget him. We have his ashes, as we have all of our other ‘kids’ ashes and my wife and I have agreed that whichever of us goes first, that our ashes will be combined with all their ashes and cast over the ocean.
Thank you, Jane for sharing.
JNH
The ‘Little Light’ name came from the fact that his older sister, a 25 lb. terrier mix, was able to bully this 105 lb. behemoth of a dog whenever she wanted. It was as if he always remembered when she was bigger than he was and never considered himself larger than her.
Wow. This must have been very hard to write. I had tears streaming down after the first few paragraphs…I can only imagine yours as you wrote.
I’m glad that you got to share your life with Kobe.
Merci Jane, merci Eg.
Speechless. The sharing of these heartfelt memories is a blessing, as was Kobe and as are you.
Thank you Jane for all you do. You’ve been a guiding light as well. And now that we know Kobe helped drive behind the scenes . . . well a thousand blessings for him too. Strange how animals can inspire, but I know it well, since I took the nym of my beloved cat after she passed away from kidney disease. I was big mui, she was little mui. And I was determined her spirit should live on.
Jane, I’m glad you could write that. Your love for Kobe gives such power to your words. Thank you. For everything.
Peace Jane,
you have honored your boy with this truly beautiful post Jane.
I had a very out of the ordinary experience the day after Kobe passed. so unusual I shared it with oldnslow who concurred it was unique in our decades together. seeing this post told me it was time to share – I will leave it in your Facebook box
I am so grateful for ever having crossed paths with you Jane. it has changed me on a fundamental level – this very moving chronicle of what you and Kobe created together serves to fill in and shade what my heart has always sensed.
An incredible tale of love and courage and strength. Thanks, Jane, for opening up to us about it. I am so thankful that I was brought on board FDL, and though I never knew Kobe, I can feel what you say, that he as a bodhisattva. It feels like he imparted that spirit through you, and through you to all of FDL, making us all a bit of a bodhisattva.
Kobe is now in all of us, though reserved for you is his special presence. Thanks for sharing your love for each other with us.
Jane,
While it doesn’t get easier for a very long time, maybe we can all find a little peace in the vision of Kobe and Satchmo together in that “better place”. I’m sure all the FDL dogs know each other on sight and Satch will be a great companion until we get there ourselves. Love and sorrow and long distance hugs from all the Boggs, canine and human.
Brenda
I write this through my tears. I went through a similar journey with my black poodle Hank, whose ashes sit on my bookshelf. He died six years ago this weekend. Today I have different set of poodles and their offspring – the most special one of which came in to nuzzle me as I read through this tribute.
Yours and Kobe’s creation – FDL – has been as constant a companion to me through the horrible Bush years as have my dogs. Thank you for being a beacon of light in the darkness.
Jane:
I’ve lost too many people over the last couple of years, both furry and human. Some of that is the sad but natural part of getting older. But still, we lose those who should really stay around longer, and that really hurts.
Those of us progressive bloggers fight against false differentials: ideas/polices etc., that are contrary to what most people really believe are in their own best interests. It’s really about common sense, and love. Love for our fellow human, and by extension, love for our fellow critters.
Kobe was such a special critter, and that rubbed off on all who knew him. I wish you the best always, and for Kobe, I wish warm muffins in puppy heaven.
Steve Anderson
Dear Jane,
I had no idea what a blog was but had heard of Huffpo. There in Arianna’s blogroll that name, FireDogLake caught my eye. I clicked away from Huffpo as I was curious about the dog. I was greeted by a Christy post at the start of AttyGate. Knew something was seriously wrong and found the answers that I needed from all of the beautiful minds writing the posts and commenting.
Thank you so much for sharing Kobe with us and the special bond that you shared. Thank you Kobe for leading me here to the Lake of Firepups.
Found it hard to comment about Kobe at first as my two best new friends were bringing me so much joy and you had just lost your friend. Their names are Truth and Justice. Hoping they’ll be a fraction of the Firepup that Kobe was.
Sorry, forgot the link.
btw, only discovered Glenn was an animal lover just yesterday when he posted pics of his four babies on FB – 3 of them street rescues – he truly defines mensch and I didn’t even think it was possible to admire him more
What am amazing journey. Thank you for sharing it, and for bringing out so many of us who never or rarely comment, but read here often.
Jane, May you feel Kobe’s presence inside you with every waking moment. They really never do leave us. And we never leave them. Together forever. That’s what I tell my almost 12 year old Zephyr every single day and night. And I know that my Winter who died at 15 is part of us, too. Together forever. Don’t be surprised to see pieces of your Kobe’s personality coming out in your girls. He’s part of them, too.
Much light and love to you all.
Thank you, Jane, for sharing your memories with us. FDL is such a special place, and Kobe was such a special presence…..I’m thankful that his overview continues. Peace and love.
Jane, I’m truly sorry, and share your sadness.
jane, i’m so sorry to know of kobe’s passing. but i’m grateful that kobe had you and you had him for your years together.
p.s. i did go through my CT pictures, looking for a picture of kobe for you. but i didn’t find any from your home. perhaps i felt it would have been too much of intrusion on your privacy and generosity to take pictures there (after all, i was a complete stranger and you had offered your home just to make it easier to come down to CT for your fdl meetup). or maybe i was too busy throwing the dog’s toy for them from your back deck to think of taking pictures. i remember how beautiful kobe was as he ran, how sneaky clever katie was in her attempts (often successful) to steal the toy, and how happy go lucky lucy was just to be running around with her family.
peace to kobe. and peace to jane and katie and lucy.
I am so sorry to hear about Kobe’s passing. Thank you for the article. It is haunting, sad, and inspiring.