Last Sunday morning (February 6, 2000) we lost Guthrie. His little heart just stopped beating
It was all so sudden with Guthrie that I still cannot believe that he is gone forever. Last Wednesday night I noticed that his heart was beating very fast and he had difficulties with breathing. I took him to the Emergency Hospital on Cleveland Avenue. From the x-rays doctor concluded that his heart valve was not working properly, which caused the accumulation of liquids in his lungs. But he still believed that by aggressive medication he could at least eliminate the liquids from his lungs. So, I left Guthrie in the hospital. They called me every day and it looked as Guthrie was recovering. I was supposed to pick him up on Sunday. But at 6 AM doctor called us with the sad news that Guthrie had a cardiac arrest and that he was no longer alive.
So, I am left alone. Perhaps time will heal to some extent the loss of
Guthrie and I may be able to think about him without tears coming to my eyes,
but the sadness will stay with me forever.
Date: Fri, 11 Feb 2000 18:38:10 +0100
From: "Ivan Bojanic" (email@example.com),
To: "Ranko Bojanic" (firstname.lastname@example.org),
"Mira Larick" (Mlarick@fa.adm.ohio-state.edu)
----- Original Message -----
From: Ivan Bojanic
To: scott lokey ; STEFAN FRAZIER ; Jelena Novikov ; kristan tucker ; alan tucker ; email@example.com ; Linda Richey ; Mirjana Radic ; matthew chico palmer ; Carrie Norton ; Anna and Brad McPhail ; Maria.Ryan@allenovery.com ; Mary Maltbie ; firstname.lastname@example.org ; KSL123@aol.com ; Jennifer_Tomaino@ACML.COM ; Otto Imkin ; Bill Holmes ; Joe Harvell ; chris hart ; Brian Guthrie ; jenny fryzel ; Elizabeth Downhower ; Chris Deneen ; Miles Cortez ; email@example.com ; Wile E. ; firstname.lastname@example.org ; James Pyburn ; Jon Howland
Sent: Friday, February 11, 2000 6:35 PM
for some people who found themselves in a certain place and at a certain time,
and maybe for those who didn't, it
seemed like you could usually count on a couple of constants: good friends; dumb
jobs; ubiquitous confusion;
malt liquor in a brown bag on the front stoop; microwaved gas station food after
last call; the elaborate monthly
scramble to synchronize rent and phone bill payments so as to keep from getting
simultaneously bouncing checks. for some, there were also the quiet meanderings
of a small and hairy black dog
with one white paw and dr. seuss-like floorbuffer feet.
the latter, you might remember, was guthrie, the little spaniel-dachsund who spent the bulk of his days living in san antonio and austin, chasing slobbery balls and plastic pigs, patiently begging for meat or meat-flavored products and, with epic stoicism, humoring the freaks, bad haircuts and chaos which were a constant part of his life. when i left the states for the balkans 4 years ago, guthrie retired to a life of routine comfort, ball and non-stop meat with my family in ohio, a well-deserved life which agreed with him greatly. and now, it is with unbelievable sadness that i write to you tonight with the news that guthrie passed away this past weekend.
guthrie, known universally as "the guth", "mr. guthrie", "old guth" or simply "the man", had perhaps the largest collection of plastic pig toys in the canine kingdom and an equally expansive catalogue of endearingly precise, yet internally logical, philosophies and neuroses. he would walk to the edge of the yard and no further, and was the only dog i know who was attacked by birds. there was his strange obsession with a grotesque vinyl dog toy shaped as the head of george bush, which he chewed and swallowed, lobotomy-style , from the top of the head down. we not only had to hide it from him to keep him from choking on bush-cranium, but also were obliged to refrain from using the name "george bush" in any context lest it unleash a wave of guthrie-angst: in political discussions, we always had to refer cryptically to "the ex-president". there were the ardently solicited tail-scratchings that evolved over time, curiously and much to guthrie's delight , into a form of vaguely sado-masochistic ritual spankings. few who have experienced a 40-minute comprehensive kneecap or between-the-toe licking from guthrie can forget either the fervor with which it was administered or the dexterity of the tongue that performed the deed.
in my most intoxicated and confused moments, guthrie's assertions invoked a strangely convincing and reassuring order of pig - ball - meat - car - scratch. his friends' worries were his own: telephoning in a frenzy for hours trying to hunt down the notes to a law school class for the next day's final, i' d look down to see guthrie's tongue flicking nervously, the man looking up worriedly in anticipation of another ugly all-nighter.
i have a tall stack of pictures of guth with me here, but what i notice tonight is this: as i look through a shoebox full of pictures from a long time ago, I notice, again and again, in corners of frames an out-of-focus nose or a tail or a hairy black paw. no matter what was going on, guthrie was always around.
so long, old buddy. i'll miss you.