*As I used to share on my former blog regarding longer-form pieces, ‘This one can be reserved for the bathroom!’

It has taken me nearly two months to finish this piece. There are just so many facets of Fergus and our relationship. As I share with my clients, writing is so cathartic; this has been healing.

On Saturday morning, September 28th, at 10:16 am, my sweet, precious Fergus Dingwall died in my arms: no vet, no needles, just me and him, surrounded by family. Chris was next to me, and Gareth was sitting vigil close by. It was so profound. So sacred. Right before his agonal breathing set in, a monarch butterfly fluttered over us, and I lost it. Monarchs are spiritual beings to me, and I just looked up and said, ‘Hey, Dad.’

I knew this would be his last day on Earth. He had been in the ER Monday through Wednesday. He was diagnosed with Hepatic abscesses covering his liver as well as having anemia. It wasn’t looking good. Last October, he was diagnosed with bladder cancer and we were winning that battle. The chemo had nearly destroyed the tumor, but it had also eroded his immune system, hence so much infection at once.

He had barely been eating, and I had been carrying him outside to use the bathroom, hoping that it was just him recovering from the trauma of the ER. When he refused food on Friday night, I just lost it because I knew this was it. I don't know if I have ever experienced that kind of sadness and fear all at once. It was guttural. I was hitting my fists against my head and shaking and screaming and crying. I don’t have children. Fergus is the closest I have to a little boy, and he was dying.

Saturday at 6 am, his back legs gave out. I carried him downstairs to pee, and he just laid down and peed on himself. I knew today was the day. We had hospice coming on Monday to evaluate the situation, but they couldn’t come today. Luckily, I had our vet’s cell number, and I texted Dr. Kahuda, who said she would come at 11 am.

Fergus wanted to be outside, so I laid out a big blanket and pillows and put on our favorite East Forest Ram Dass album (We listened to ‘I am Loving Awareness’ every morning we would go to the dock at my parent’s old home on Lake Lanier), and just laid with him for hours. It was sad but beautiful. Chris arrived at about 9 am, and our little family was complete. As the minutes and hours passed, Fergus’ tongue began to stick out, his head began to shake, and he became increasingly idle. At one point, I slowly picked him up to rock him and whisper, ‘It’s time, my love; Daddy loves you.’ And once the monarch fluttered over us, he heaved, and that was it.

I have prayed that he would die in my arms since the day I brought him home in 2011. I never wanted needles. I prayed it wouldn’t happen when I was traveling. I am so thankful my wish manifested. I’ve never witnessed a natural death. I was there when I euthanized my cat, Mabel, in a NYC vet hospital. But this was natural, organic, peaceful, and powerful. Dr. K arrived at 11, lovingly shared the cremation information, and helped us wrap him in a blanket. I said my last goodbyes, carried him to her car, gently placed him in the front seat, and gave him one last kiss. It was over. But what a magical 14 years it has been.

The most heartbreaking, yet magical moment

Origin Story

In 2010, I had been in NYC for 11 years. While I was still deep in it as a journalist and editor and going out almost nightly, the pull for a more regulated life was calling. I had wanted a dog for ages and had wished for a Scottish Terrier. My grandmother grew up with one and was a huge fan of Franklin D Roosevelt, who had the most famous Scottie in the world, Fala. She told me about having dinner at the White House with FDR when she was younger. The food was so bad that she kept giving her dinner to Fala, who was patiently waiting under the table for it (more on her connection to FDR to come in a book I'm working on). I researched the breed; they were sturdy and strong but small and brave. Perfect for NYC living!

I spent nearly a year trying to find a rescue but had no such luck, so I begrudgingly found a breeder based in the Amish Country. I figured the Amish would be good with animals; they still use horses and carts! Later, I learned that the Amish don’t believe animals have souls and don’t treat them very well. Alas. Never again. I saw a little puppy named ‘Blaze’ on their site and put a hold on him for $80. Yes, I know; how do Amish have websites when they don’t use electricity? Before I took him home, I wanted to meet little Blaze, so I planned a day trip to Pennsylvania with my then-boyfriend, Soumanjoy, and one of my best girlfriends, Olivia. We met the Amish woman who ran the breeding ‘factory’ and asked if we could meet Fergus’ mama. She hesitated but then brought her out. She wouldn’t let her walk; she just held her, and when she saw us, she peed all over the woman. It was heartbreaking. Another reason I can’t go to breeders again. But little Blaze was precious! Curious and cozy and barely able to walk. He wasn’t entirely weaned from his mother, so I knew I had to return to pick him up in a month.

That day in March was so joyous -Getting Fergus out of that terrible breeding compound and taking him home with me. My friend Kate joined me on this sojourn. We stopped and ate Amish food and then headed to the kennel. We scooped him up and paid for him, and she drove most of the way home so I could just hold him and bond with him. The bonding continued over the next few months. I would wake up in the middle of the night to take him to my garden terrace to wiz. Then we would just lay on the couch as he nodded on my chest. Olivia and Fay threw him a ‘baby shower’ all my friends attended at my Harlem apartment, showering him with clothes, treats, and toys. It was such a joyous occasion, and it warmed my heart that my friends understood how much this sweet little puppy meant to me—my first puppy. Mine to raise from 8-weeks onwards.

How did I come upon naming him Fergus Dingwall? I asked a Scottish friend, Colin, for a list of good Scottish names he liked. Fergus stood out. Then I scanned the map of Scotland and found the most amusing town name (to me), Dingwall. Fergus Dingwall had a ring to it! One year later, Pixar would create a movie about King Fergus Dingwall called Brave.

So many jaded New Yorkers told me I was making a terrible mistake. For someone who covered nightlife, how would I care for a dog for years to come? I’ll never forget a call I had with my sister years ago. I called her after a reckless night out when I got blackout drunk and fell and chipped my tooth. She said to me, “You have nobody holding you accountable. You have no boyfriend, children, or pets to come home to care for. You can do anything you want anytime you want.” That resonated. Fergus would be a reason to come home. To not get blackout drunk, to not go home with some boy. He needed me. And boy, did I need him.

New York City

Our life in NYC fell into a much-needed routine for me with long walks every morning and evening, discovering dog parks around town, and taking him to many dinner parties and even Fashion Week. I wanted him to be comfortable around folks and noise and new places. It worked. His whole life, Fergus was in the middle of every party I had, strolling through the party wagging at new folks and eager for attention (just like Daddy!). Fergus is just what I needed. He slowed me down; I drank less and declined late-night events. I just wanted to be home with my sweet baby boy. We took many road trips to Atlanta to see my family. Oh, did he love Lake Lanier. As he got older, we got into one of my favorite morning routines when visiting my parents on the lake- as soon as we woke, he bolted for the door. I would pour a large cup of coffee, and we would walk down to the dock. There, we would sit for ages watching the fog lift, the geese fly by, and the fish jumping. Just the two of us, a boy and his dog. It was one of the few times Fergus would get super cuddly with me. He would bury his nose under my arm or walk around me as I sat on the dock, pressing his body into mine as if to say, “Thank you for this gift of time and nature, Dad.”

We once took him to Texas for a long weekend. He was hopped up on so much baby Benadryl that when we let him out of his carrier at my friend Price’s parent’s house, he just tumbled out and walked sideways for a bit. I felt terrible, but it was also the cutest thing I had witnessed. Once I bought the Charleston home, we often flew back and forth together. He always seemed nervous on flights, panting the whole time but never shaking. This was when you could have an emotional support pet, and the airlines didn’t pay too much attention. He often got his own seat and would sit next to me, coming and going to the city, sometimes gazing out the window at the clouds. I can only imagine what he was thinking.

Gareth Dingwall

Once we adopted Gareth in 2015, they both stayed put in Charleston when I would travel to NYC. I adopted Gareth because I felt like Fergus was bored. I worked from home and played with him often, but he would lie down and face the wall, seemingly out of boredom. I was so thankful to find the Scottish Terrier Rescue of the Southeast, based in Spartanburg. I heard about them through another Scottie owner in Charleston. When we picked up Gareth, he was the most frightened little pup. A former owner had abused him, and then he lived at Brother Wolf, a no-kill shelter in Asheville, for two years. His tail would never be fully erect. He usually had it between his legs or raised it halfway when he felt comfortable with us. After a few months, that tail was high and wagging often!

Transitioning from being a single child to having a brother was hard on Fergus. As I doted on Gareth, I would see Fergus slink to a corner and lay his head down. I'm sure our relationship grew from this. I learned to lavish Fergus equally, and he relished it. While Gareth would snuggle deep between my legs and Fergus would sulk, I would make a point to pick Fergus up and spoon with him. We both knew that was our snuggle position.

As the boys grew older, my dread of their death would be a constant loop in my mind. Not to mention, when I would share their age with folks (they are six months apart), people would sigh, ‘Oh, they are getting up there, aren’t they!’. That never helped. When they were both 10, I wrote this post about living in a place of love or fear. This helped. I can’t constantly worry about them dying. Shifting my perspective to being fully present with their divine and silly energy helped me relax and feed the love and not the fear.

The Last Chapter

October 30th, 2023, I was walking the dogs and noticed Fergus peeing blood. I knew this wasn’t good. I immediately took him up the street to the vet, and they did some scans. They told me to take him to another vet for more scans and blood tests. The news was not good- His spleen had to be removed. He was a champ through the whole thing, but after it was removed, they found the mass on top of his bladder. He had bladder cancer. He went to chemo once a month, we changed their diets to something super healthy, Dr. Harvey (that I had to cook once a week), and we shifted to a new normal. To my delight, Fergus was a superstar. With every scan, the mass was shrinking, and because of the latest healthy diet (we also cut out all treats with sugar since sugar feeds cancer), Fergus was like a puppy again. He ran faster, jumped higher, and seemed more alert and happy. I am thankful to the doctors caring for him and Fergus’ resilience. It was one of the many things I learned from him.

Death

Eleven months later, he was gone. A piece of me torn away that I am not sure will ever heal. As I mentioned earlier- I have never felt grief like this. Not even for my dad. I have even researched dog mourning groups. I bought a book about the loss of a dog, and it was so poorly written that it was humorous. I would cry so hard I was scared I couldn’t stop or that I may injure myself somehow. I just had to look at photos of him to feel at peace constantly. Thank goodness that Gareth is keeping me in the routine and cuddling with me. He was mourning, too.

I was astonished at the amount of cards and flowers I received. I was embarrassed at how much I was grieving for a pet, but people clearly understood what he meant to me. This was hugely healing, and I will remember it going forward for others when they lose their companions.

I collected his ashes on the same day that I sold my house in Charleston. I was surprised by how unmoved I was- this box of ashes wasn’t my sweet boy. Like Dad, his energy is ever-present. I put them on the table with the condolence cards and draped his collar around it. I will spread them in my new garden.

What I miss about Fergus:

I miss his wet nose poking my leg at random times during the day just so that I knew he was there.
I miss his tail thumping on the couch when I would come home.
I miss his noisy yawns and loving little growls.
I miss him wading through the sheets to snuggle tightly next to my leg as Gareth snuggled between them.
I miss the peace I felt in his presence.

The teachings of Fergus:

How to be present. When he dropped the ball in front of me, I knew it was time to play, no matter what else was going on.
How to be patient. As a puppy, he chewed and barked, and as an adult, he would pull on a walk. Patience was so important and a quality I have often lacked.
Leaning into silly things. I don’t consider myself a silly person, but with Fergus, I would speak in the dumbest voices that excited him, and we often ended up lying on the floor and barking back at each other- this would make the worst day blissful. What silly joy.
Peace. Fergus had a zen quality to him that I could connect with. It was certainly part of him but also part of us and our connection.

Arthur Dingwall

Fergus died at such a poignant moment in my life as I was moving to Atlanta. I am so glad he visited the house I bought before he died. I feel his presence here, and I like to remember him exploring the property with me for the first time. While I could never replace him, I knew Gareth needed a companion, so I contacted the Scottish Terrier Rescue of the Southeast (where I adopted Gareth in 2015). Lisa happened to have a one-year-old rescue puppy named Arthur, and she was thrilled to offer him to me to adopt.

Arthur has been such a blessing in the five days we have had him. I haven’t had a puppy in 14 years, and he has rekindled long-forgotten memories of Fergus being floppy, silly, rowdy, and full of energy. I have no doubt Fergus had something to do with this adoption. Saturday morning, before we left to drive to Spartanburg, I had one of those hard, dirty, quivering cries about Fergus. Another big release, possibly guilt for finding joy in a new puppy? Or sadness, knowing they will never know each other.

Thank you for reading along. Hug your puppies tight. I miss you, Fergus. You are my forever number one.