Walter

Walter’s Story

In May of 2024 I was at CNY SPCA to adopt Ralphie, a big pit bull mix. Ralphie was in the front office, resting on a pillow waiting for me. Curled up against him was little Walter, looking content, nestled in beside his huge protector.

“I know you’re here for one dog,” the adoptions manager said, “How do you feel about two?”

Of course I said yes.

When we first met, I thought Walter, then 18 years old, was a hospice dog.  Malnourished and weak,  I thought for sure he’d only be with me for a few weeks. 

That was almost two years ago.

Walter was grumpy.  Salty.  A curmudgeon.  The Walter Matthau/Grumpy Old Man of Ben’s Place.   

 If another dog would get get in his space he’d protest with his distinctive half crow-caw, half rasp:   “RARRRRRR”.  Or if he wanted something: RARRRRR.  Or if you weren’t quick enough with his supper:  RAARRRRRRR. Or for no reason at all other than he just felt like it:  RARRRRR

Walter was grumpy, and yet, at the same time, so utterly adorable. 

He had the most hilarious walk.  Rapid little steps on stiff, unbending legs, the front end not always going in the same direction as the back end.  He was blind in one eye and when he looked at you he’d tilt his head and aim his one good eye towards you.  He always had such a serious expression on his face, except he didn’t have any teeth and often times his tongue would slip out the side of his mouth, making the contrast as funny as it was endearing. 

If you really pissed him off,  he’d gum you.  It didn’t hurt but it was startling AF to one minute be sitting beside him minding your own business, then the next have his soft wet gums snapping at your hand:  RARRRRR!!!! 

If you were sitting on the couch alone, or were at the breakfast bar, somehow he always knew.  You’d hear the little tick tick tick of his nails on the hardwood floor as he made his way towards you, then he’d peer around the ottoman, or up from the floor,  tilt his good eye towards you, and just stare.  If you didn’t figure it out soon enough:  RARRRRR, until you picked him up and held him on your lap.  Once there he’d settle down close his eyes and fall asleep, tiny little chest rising and falling, warm against your body.

In the late months of 2025, Walter began losing weight.  He still ate like a champ, but gradually, his ribs, his spine,  became more and more pronounced.  He developed congestive heart failure and would have coughing spells.  In early 2026 he slowed down, slept more, started skipping meals.  By February he had trouble keeping his balance, would fall and not be able to get back up.  He was so tired, so lethargic.  Then he stopped eating altogether and I knew it was time. I called the vet on a Friday.  She was going to come to the house Monday.

Walter died in his sleep on Saturday night.  I wanted to hold him as he left, wanted to thank him for all the times he made me laugh, for making every day with him a joy. I wanted to tell him to give all the Ben’s Place alumni hell when he saw them.  And I wanted him to know he was loved.  So very, very loved.   

I didn’t get the chance. I hope he knows all those things anyway. 

Go with Love, little Walter.  Go with Love.