Solomon was the first significant dog in my life. We have no pictures of him, probably because he was never stationary long enough to be caught on film. He was a Doberman Pinscher with clipped ears and tail, and he was mythological in personality. He was a puppy when I was still in diapers, and he used to grab the used cloth diapers away from my mother before she could clean them.
It was odd, looking back, for my Jewish father to be drawn to a pure bred, German dog. He came from a generation of Jewish people who refused to even buy a German car. But he liked the idea of a guard dog to protect his house, or his castle.
As Solomon got older, he was a very handsome dog, but not kid friendly. He was eighty pounds of muscle and he only did what he wanted to do. He didn’t like cuddles or playing catch. He certainly didn’t want to play dress up with me. He had a habit of escaping from the backyard and leading a parade of cars trying to catch him as he ran down the street.
One time, he ran away and took over someone’s lawn. He wouldn’t let the family into or out of their house for a whole day, until they were able to get to his name tag and call my parents to come get him. That’s probably when my parents called a trainer to help them manage him better. But the trainer said that my father’s aggressive response, jerking Solomon’s chain and yelling at him, and my mother’s very opposite submissive response, were the problem. And my parents knew they couldn’t change each other any more than they could change Solomon, so that was the last of the trainer.
When Solomon was four years old, and I was five, he was diagnosed with Parvo. I looked up the parvovirus online recently, and the symptoms didn’t sound good: bloody diarrhea, vomiting, anorexia, lethargy, fever, and severe weight loss. He stayed overnight at the vet and they sent him home with medication and an uncertain prognosis.
A few days later he was stretched out on our kitchen floor, listless. Our kitchen was very seventies, with orange and yellow wallpaper and a lot of light coming through the windows and the open back door. I sat on the floor with him. He was still alive but this vigorous, aggressive creature was wiped out by his disease. He was still and silent and he watched me solemnly as if he was finally seeing me. I don’t know what he was trying to communicate. Maybe he was asking me why he had to be so sick. Maybe he hoped I could make him better. Maybe he was just relieved to have someone with him while he died.
My mother covered him with a yellow knitted blanket, and stayed with us in the kitchen. I don’t remember if she was cleaning the kitchen or making dinner but it seemed like she was keeping busy because she was too sad to look at him. I sat there next to him and patted his head and looked into his eyes and I felt like we were together in this.
People underestimate what children can feel and understand, because children don’t have the words yet to tell you what they know. But I felt his grief and I stayed with him until he was gone, because that’s what I would have wanted him to do for me.
rachelmankowitz 
You’re so right out children, they don’t have the words for death but their perception of need and loss are very strong. How lovely you could be there for Solomon when he needed you.
It was an honor, really. Thank you.
We had next-door neighbors who suffered with a Renault instead of a dependable VW for the reasons you gave.
It took me a sec to get the reference. My mom says the guy from the mentalist drives a Renault. They never actually show it it the shop, but…
Actually, that’s a Citroën. It has a suspension that uses oil, when you turn the car on, it rises as the suspension activates. The Renault Dauphine was a French Yugo and competed unfavorably with the VW beetle.
Solomon surely felt your compassion and love as you stayed with him til the end.
What a sweet visual of a child’s love -unjudging and genuine.
Thank you. I do hope it made a difference to him.
I love your story of Solomon. It reminded me of the grief I felt at 8 yrs when my mother gave a dog we rescued from a lake away after he’d been with us all summer. He broke a rope and a chain on two different nights to return to us and each time, we took him back. People thought nothing of tying their dogs outside when I was a child back in the 3o’s and 40’s. Some people still do.
I love stories about dogs who find their way back to the people who love them. I don’t know how they do it, but it seems like magic to me. Thank you.
Wow! You were a special kid. I am sure he was glad that you stayed with him until the end.
Oh, thank you! I can still see his eyes staring back at me. It’s amazing how powerful these moments can be.
I agree.
What a beautiful memoir of a child’s love for their pet. I’m sure Soloman was really glad that you were with him.
Thank you!
I recently lost one of my dogs and I lied with her as she was dying, thinking that is what she would have wanted. It’s amazing that, as a child, you intuitively did that. Thanks for sharing
Thank you. I felt lucky that he let me stay with him, and didn’t push me away. It felt like he was being generous to me, rather than the other way around. So it stays with me.
So sad. But you were brave and good to stay.
Thank you!