Originally published in the My True Self Insider newsletter.
On April 11, 2019, I lost my sweet Malcolm. He was between 15 and 16 years old. Even though it has been six months, I miss him dearly.
Kevin saw him at the Seattle Animal Shelter in June 2004 and called me to come look at him. I noticed two things first: his kennel had the name “Frisbee,” and he was a pit bull mix with one blue eye.
Even though he was cute, I told Kevin I didn’t know if he would be the right dog for us; I, like many, had been influenced by media and word-of-mouth reports of pit bull attacks. And as if to confirm this, a shelter volunteer approached us as we were looking at the dog and asked us if we’d ever had a pit bull before. When we said we had not, she went on to say we shouldn’t adopt him.
I told Kevin we should look at this yellow lab mix named Elssa who was a few kennels down. We took Elssa out to the play yard to see if there was a connection and there wasn’t—all Elssa wanted to do was go after other dogs. She had no interest in me or Kevin.
We went back into the shelter and looked at “Frisbee” again. A different shelter volunteer approached us and asked if we would like to take him outside. Kevin and I looked at each other and said yes.
This dog was clearly a puppy but was very well behaved. He did not go after other dogs on the way out to the play yard and when we got outside, he and Kevin were running around having a great time.
While Kevin and “Frisbee” were playing, I was asking the volunteer about the breed. She told me that she was a professional dog trainer and that pit bulls are wonderful dogs that have gotten a bad rap. She said that any dog needs to be trained, needs consistency, and to know you are the pack leader.
At the end of our conversation she asked, “So what do you think?” And I told her that we would take him.
After we signed the paperwork to get him neutered and vetted, we decided “Frisbee” was not the name for him. Kevin chose “Malcolm” after Malcolm X, indicating that Frisbee was his former slave name.
Throughout the more than 15 years we had Malcolm in our lives, I learned that my capacity to love was much greater than I could’ve ever thought. He was often called a gentle giant because he was sweet and affectionate to the smallest of dogs. When we lived in Houston, one of his best friends was a yorkie named Shaggy. Malcolm would lower his head and let Shaggy jump on his face and paw at him. This was the routine every time we walked past Shaggy’s house.
Malcolm would run, wrestle, and play with the bigger, more rambunctious dogs, leaving all of them out of breath and smiling ear to ear.
Malcolm was my best friend during the ups and downs of the 15 years we had with him. He was my companion, hopping in the car to run errands with me, consoling me when I was upset about something, and accompanying me on long drives across the country to relocate for my career. We have countless stories of Malcolm that are worthy of putting into a book. He was a unique personality: super-smart, empathetic, and with a memory that defied the wisdom of all dog experts.
When his health deteriorated during the last year of his life, I knew I had to prepare myself and that our time left was short. I cherished every minute I had with him, hugging and kissing him often, watching him through the rear-view mirror on drives to Pawki’s (our local pet store) and even-more-than-usual snuggling and spooning with him while laying on the floor watching television.
In early April 2019, it was obvious Malcolm was really suffering. He was having a series of GI problems we just couldn’t get resolved. He lost control of his bowel function, so I bought doggy diapers. One morning he hobbled down to our lower deck, crying and throwing up. We knew it was time.
We called the mobile vet, Dr. Teri. She and her partner Brian came over early morning on April 11, 2019.
We guided Malcolm to his bed in the living room. Our other dogs, Maya and Bree, were squeezed in next to him. I was on the floor and had Malcolm’s head in my hands, and we were looking straight into each other’s eyes.
Kevin was next to me, petting Malcolm on his neck and back. I kept telling Malcolm I loved him, and what a wonderful dog he was. I told him to look for me in the afterlife and that we will see each other again.
Dr. Teri administered the first shot that put him to sleep. As he drifted off, we were still looking in each other’s eyes. His eyelids were heavy for a minute or two and then his eyes closed completely. The second shot stopped his heart. I was the last thing he saw before he died.
The energy of Malcolm’s presence dissipated, and Kevin and I broke down, hugging each other tightly and then hugging our other dogs just as tightly. Bree knew what happened, but Maya was confused, perhaps in denial.
In the days that followed, I would cry and cry hard. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. I found it hard to breathe.
About a week later, I tried to resume my regular bicycle workouts. I got on the bike trainer and within 20 minutes, I started to break down in tears again and felt pains in my chest and extreme shortness of breath. It felt like someone put a plastic bag over my head and I was suffocating. I later learned of a condition called broken heart syndrome.
Broken heart syndrome, also known as Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, is a temporary and fully reversible condition involving a weakening of the left ventricle, the heart’s main pumping chamber. It’s usually the result of severe emotional (or physical) stress, such as the loss of a pet or loved one.
While it’s not fully understood, experts think that surging stress hormones (such as adrenaline) essentially “stun” the heart, triggering changes in heart muscle cells or coronary blood vessels (or both), and this prevents the left ventricle from contracting effectively.
While physicians may prescribe medication for this condition, the true antidote is to alleviate the stress that played a role in triggering the disorder. My remedy for alleviating the loss of my best friend is time and reminiscing on the countless stories of my sweet Malcolm.
I want to thank my client Patricia for inspiring me to write and share this with all of you. I was recently at her home for a personal training session and she graciously made lunch for us afterwards, during which we talked about the dogs we loved and lost. 💔
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