Two years later, we still miss you Punkin

FROM KEITH GROLLER

People ask me all the time about your best story, your most-read story, what was the story you're most proud of, what was the toughest story to write.

Well, for me it's pretty simple. The answer to virtually all of those questions is that it's the tribute I wrote to honor our family dog, Punkin, just an hour or two after he died in 2009. Punkin died on Nov. 23rd, and my post reached The Morning Call's website the following morning.

No story or blog post comes close -- and I do mean close -- to generating the reaction that this tribute to Punkin did. So, to honor his memory and let him know we haven't forgotten him and still miss his dearly, here is the 2009 tribute to Punkin that I wrote.

November 24, 2009

Saying good-bye to a dear friend (Punkin 1997-2009)
Total People in Discussion: 96
Categories: Personal Stuff
Please indulge me tonight.

I have cried more tears tonight than I think I have in the last five, 10 years, combined.

I had braced myself for it. The last year or two I kept warning my wife "He's getting old. He's slowing down. We're not going to have him forever."

When I saw the movie "Marley and Me" last year, I cried all the way home from the theater because it was another reminder of what was coming one day for the Groller family.

"Toughen up, dammit!" I told myself. "You're going to have to be strong for the rest of the family when it happens."

And yet, despite feeling prepared, despite months of warning to all who cared about him and reminders to protect my heart when that moment came, my heart broke tonight. That moment that I knew was coming had finally arrived, much, much too soon.

I had to say good-bye to a dear, sweet friend tonight, a beloved member of the family -- my dog, Punkin.

Our precious chocolate lab died peacefully, his head on my lap, my hands stroking the back of his neck where I always had massaged him to give me as much comfort as him.

I don't expect everyone to understand. I expect a lot of cackles and snickers and snide comments from the people who read this blog. I don't care.

Unless you have a dog and have come to love him or her, you probably can't understand.

That's ok.



(Punkin, left, with my granddaughter, Lexie)

My colleague Bill White wrote one of the most beautiful things I've ever read in this or any newspaper when his dog died a few years ago. He summed it up perfectly, talking about the unconditional love a dog can give you.

I can't top his column, nor will I try. It was beautifully said. My head is spinning right now in my grief and I don't know if I can find it in our archives. If I knew I could, I'd re-print it here and say "read this" and then you'd know how I feel.

I remembered it touched my heart and made me drop the paper and hug Punkin tight the moment I was done reading it. So, I have to thank Bill again for that column because it gave me one more treasured moment with Punkin.

I'll gave the basic facts of Punkin's life.

He was born on Oct. 31, 1997 and we got him from a Lehighton-area family in early December of 1997.

Punkin Miller, a longtime family friend and my radio co-host at the time, made arrangements through one of his former ballplayers, Billy Polaha, and on a cold December morning we went to check a new litter of chocolate labs. My whole family at the time -- wife Margie, then 15-year-old son Chris and then 12-year-old daughter Emily -- had the pick of the litter if I remember. But we fell in love with a chunky one who seemed to arrive late to the party. "Chunky" and "Late" are two things that I've heard often in my life and right then and there, this particular dog was the one that seemed perfect for our family.

We named him Punkin because Punkin Miller had bought the dog for us and because he was born on Halloween.

And because we often had disagreements on our radio show, it was only natural for me to yell at a friend named Punkin.

But there really wasn't a lot of yelling with this Punkin through the years. He was trained easily and very seldom a problem.

He did -- like his master -- love food and there were a few Brass Rail cheesestakes and Domino's pizzas that vanished from the table when we dropped our guard and left the dining room table unattended.

In his 12 years with us, we had some major changes for Punkin to adjust to. The first huge surprise to come was a baby girl named Aimee in 2002 -- coming 17 years after Emily.

Some worried that Punkin would be jealous having to give up the attention to a newborn. No worries. No one was more protective of Aimee than Punkin.

When Emily stunned us by bringing home a cat to keep one day, we again thought this would be a major problem. Nah, Punkin wasn't even fazed even when the cat tried to torment him with a paw in the nose.

More recently, a granddaughter named Alexia Faith (Lexie) came into our lives and she'd crawl on the floor and go over to Punkin and poke him in the face. Again, never a reaction.


(Punkin, left, was the first face I'd see at the end of a long day)

This dog was a gentle giant. It was ironic that he was so big and had a loud bark which served as a deterrent for anyone trying to break in our house. The truth is that had a burglar gotten into the house, Punkin may have jumped up on him, but only to lick his face.

He was a great comfort to me and Margie as we saw Chris and Emily grow up and move out to be with significant others of their own and Punkin's daily affection and unconditional love got us through many other tough situations like the death of my grandmother (who also loved Punkin) in 2003, Emily's never-ending battle with Type 1 diabetes, even the "World is Coming to An End" scariness of the 9/11 attacks.

No matter how tough my day was at work, no matter how many nasty e-mails I received or complaint calls I got from people telling me my writing stunk or that I was the scum of the earth, Punkin was the first to greet me at the door, letting me know that I may not be the most popular sports writer in the Lehigh Valley, but I was No. 1 with him. And that's all I needed.

With tail and tongue waggin' he lifted my spirits no matter how tired or beaten up I felt mentally. Even when Margie was sleeping, and all I had to look at when I came through the door was a stack of bills to pay, Punkin made me feel better.

He had been struggling for months. Ironically he also contracted diabetes. The diabetes and age sent his health downhill faster than the largest roller coaster at Dorney Park. It happened so fast, I could barely catch my breath.

We tried to keep him going. But once we got one thing under control, something else would crop up.

The worst thing of all was seeing him struggle to walk and have to be carried in and out of the house to go to the bathroom.

He showed me one great sign of life last week. I had warmed up a Brass Rail cheesesteak and I walked past Punkin en route from the kitchen to the den. He was in a deep sleep, but son of a gun, he scrambled to his feet and followed me into the den and the couch. He never learned many tricks but how to "sit" was one of them. He sat right in front of me, begging for a bite of the cheesesteak. He was on a special diet and wasn't supposed to have fast food. But what the heck, I gave up one bite and let him gobble it up.

Now, I wish I had given him the whole thing and let him enjoy.

I wasn't ready to give him up tonight. He had been in and out of an emergency facility and at the Vet all day getting insulin treatments and even though we gathered as a family to send him off (Chris, Emily, Margie and Me -- the same foursome that made that trip to Lehighton in 1997), I was looking for a sign to keep fighting for him.

Had he raised his head one time and looked me in the eye and given me the same look he had always given me when he wanted a bite of a burger or steak or pizza, I would have changed course and tried some other type of treatment, no matter the cost, no matter the time or emotional strain.

But he was so sick that he could barely lift his head. It was a sign that it was time for him to go.

I don't know if he felt my kisses on his forehead or heard my words when I said, "I love you Punkin. You were the best dog a family could have ever had. I will never forget you and I will always keep you in my heart."

I desperately hope he heard those words because I've never said words that I meant more.

Punkin will be missed and I'm going to be looking for him instinctively every time I come through that front door for weeks, months, maybe years to come.

I can only hope anyone who bothers to read this will find something on this earth to give him or her the unconditional love that Punkin gave me and our family for the last 12 years, and in return, feel the joy of giving love to such a beautiful and kind-hearted creature.

I hope I will be able to write about sports again tomorrow. Today, they just don't seem that important.

(Sorry that your eyes look green in this photo buddy. You'll always have a piece of my heart. We'll never forget you).

http://blogs.mcall.com/groller/