Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

As many of you are no doubt aware, we have dogs.  They are a constant source of joy, humor, and indelible stains.  We lost one early in the year.  Maggie was a sweet, fussy, little princess of a dog.  Though she was not all that doglike.  She was more of a cat that panted.  Cancer made her life agony so we helped her along.

Recently, Beckett left us.  We had had him for over eight years; he was, as all our dogs are, a rescue.  He came to us from American Brittany Rescue, age indeterminate, full of eagerness, ehrlichiosis, and hip dysplasia.  He had been found, along with a Golden Retriever buddy, living in an abandoned house, subsisting on charcoal they obtained from an overturned grill.  He joined our pack and immediately won our hearts.  It was apparent from the beginning that he was not the brightest of pups; indeed, he was incredibly, heartbreakingly simple.  His response to nearly any stimulus was a tilt of the head and a raise of the ears.  This, however, almost always failed to render a life-altering epiphany.  As such, he existed in a constant muddle of confusion.  This did not prevent him from being a wonderfully sweet, goofy boy.  He got around well enough; his only concession to his dysplasia was "hobbying", a process by which he ascended stairs by a rocking motion not unlike that of a hobby horse.  He loved chewing; indeed, he became well acquainted with our oldest daughter's stuffed animal collection very early on.  He was also possessed of a great degree of cunning, particularly when it came to obtaining foodstuffs.  Many was the evening when we would be called from the dinner table after securing our food in what we believed to be an impregnable position.  Quite often, though, Beck would greet us upon our return, wiggling for all he was worth and holding, say, a pork chop or loaf of bread in his mouth.  He was loving, and lovable, and had the most wonderful head for petting.   Seriously...somehow he was imbued with an extra layer of awesome between his scalp and skull.  I could pet that dog for days.

However, he had been going downhill for some time.  His hips made it harder and harder for him to stand up; he now had to be carried up and down stairs.  He seemed to lose track of his surroundings; he would stand in one spot and stare for long stretches of time.  He drooled a lot and this normally fastidious dog (indeed, who once escaped a latched kennel so he wouldn't poop therein.  Still have no idea how he did that...) began losing bladder control in the house.  Finally, he started whining and showing signs of real discomfort.  It was time for him to go.

The eldest had expressed a desire to be with him at the end, so the family packed up and headed to the vet.  They had a room ready for us with a soft blanket laid out on the floor.  We were allowed some time with him before the vet came in and gave him a sedative.  He laid down and closed his eyes.  His breathing became more regular, and he relaxed.  We gathered around him, petting him and telling him what a good boy he was.  After about ten minutes, the vet came in and administered he euthanizing injection, an overdose of phenobarbitol, I believe.  Within seconds, he was gone.  We said our final goodbyes and departed.

A few days later, I miss my friend.  It's hard to verbalize the void left behind.  Imagine, if you will, the best cookie you've ever tasted; say, a chocolate chip-M&M cookie full to the brim with chocolaty goodness.  Now, imagine you get to have as many of those as you want every day for eight years without getting fat.  That's the pleasure of having a dog like Beckett.  Why the cookie analogy?  Maybe because 'cookie' was one of the few words he understood; maybe because I really want a cookie; maybe for some other reason.  Regardless, an apt characterization of the impact he had on my life.

So now he's gone.  I am left with sweet memories of him and the firm knowledge that I will see him again someday.  Meantime, instead of stroking his soft skull, I am left stroking the furry wall and grieving.  I miss him so much...

Thank you for letting me get maudlin for a bit.  I promise that, with my next entry I'll go back to being snide and poking fun at things.