Louis was one of two pups left in the litter. French bulldogs throw large litters. I heard him before I saw him. Kathy and I drove downstate to the breeder to pick him up. I lifted him up from the cage and held him in my arms while Kathy talked to the breeder. I had reluctantly agreed to get another French bulldog. Louis won me over in no time. We named him after three people with the first name Louis. Louis Armstrong, Louis Jordan and Louis Gregory, a friend with whom I worked. Louis Gregory was one of the first people in this country to receive a heart transplant in 1974.
In his first months, Louis became very gangly and would greet me at the bottom of the stairs when I awoke in the morning. He would stand on his hind legs while licking my face as I sat on the bottom step of the stairs. Louis was quick on his feet and could run circles around me or most dogs. He was not big on retrieving like his predecessor Aldo, our first French bulldog. I regained my sense of smell and taste not long after we got Louis in 2015. I had been therapy for two years and my repression had caused my loss smell and taste. When I tell some people this they are more than a little mystified. So was I. About four years ago Louis started having seizures. The vet put him on medication and the seizures eventually stopped. Around the same time as Louis’ initial seizures began, I lost my sense of smell and taste due to an ear infection. Strange but true. Throughout it all Kathy, my lifetime partner, did all the heavy lifting for Louis. From taking Louis out in sub-zero weather during the night to keeping track of his many medications, a veritable spreadsheet of times and dosages, to taking him to the vets, she did the bulk of the work. So Louis was a mama’s boy. She never complained about it for her love and devotion were strong and true. A friend of mine who is not a dog or cat owner remarked to me once that “dogs get into your heart”. He is right down the line. They take a piece of it when they leave you. Louis’ inoperable brain tumor had affected his balance and his ability to stand and walk. The vet had told us some months ago that he would gradually not be able to walk or stand at all. It was painful to see him try to get around. Kathy texted me from the vet this morning. I had a feeling that the day had come to let him go. He was in no pain as far as we could tell. When the day arrives you are never ready to let go. It will take time. There will be reminders. There will be memories. Our hearts will partially mend.
French bulldogs now surpass Labrador retrievers as America's most popular breed according to Vanity Fair. This is great for celebrities and breeders but not so much for the breed itself. Money is ruining the breed and it is the dogs and their owners who are suffering. Aldo, our first French bulldog, was born with a diaphragmatic hernia, i.e. his intestines were up in his chest cavity. We took him to what was then Angell Memorial in Brookline MA for the operation. Angell was the first animal shelter in this country to become a hospital. The breeder was suspect. She also bred horses and another lucrative dog breed whose name eludes me at the moment. I did not have a good feeling about the woman and I mentioned this to Kathy. After I blogged about our experience a number of French bulldog owners in NYC took notice and commented that they had bought dogs from the same breeder. From blindness to all sorts of other horrible health problems showed up in their dogs. Someone from NYC tried to track her down in Saugerties NY but she had left town. Who knows where she went.