For the first time in years, Madison slept up on the bed last night. I didn’t call her up, she just jumped up after I turned off the lights . . completely out of the blue. She must have known something was up.
I was probably a little more affectionate towards her than I normally am. I suppose you tend to gravitate towards certain things when you lose other things.
The other things in this case is Bear. Bear was put to sleep yesterday morning.
Bear was one of my brothers dogs. One of three . . Bear, Dexter and Aspen.
Over six years ago, my brother lost his first dog, Roxy. A devastating loss, but there was another pup already running around the house. Another dog to fill the void. Another dog to punish with this left over love and affection.
That was Dexter. A yellow lab I originally jokingly named Jed [stemming from Jyd for JunkYard Dog]. Adorable, stocky and very sweet, but missing one of his upper middle teeth making him an absolute laugh riot to look at.
After Roxy passed, the search began for another dog.
During a holiday party, someone began telling Chris about two dogs that they needed to get rid of. They’d lived in Colorado but had recently moved to the Metroplex and were living in a small apartment with these two dogs and a one month old while they were waiting to find a permanent residence.
The dogs lasted a little while at the apartment, but obviously things didn’t work out. So, the dogs were currently spending time at a relatives house, but that welcome was being worn thin as well. He was days away from having to take them to the pound.
Chris didn’t want two more dogs . . one would be more than enough. Three dogs . . for all intents and purposes, is only realistic in a circus, or large farm scenario. Chris had neither.
At the same time, the thought of sending brother and sister chocolate labs to the pound was pretty much unthinkable. They’d set a date, and the gentleman picked up the dogs in anticipation of bringing them to Chris’s.
The visit was preceded by a phone call in which the current owner let Chris know that if he didn’t want them, he was going to have to take them to the pound after they left Chris’s house. This call had pretty much sealed the deal.
We sat around waiting for them to show up, joking about what these dogs might have to do for us to say . . . ‘yeaaahh, you know what, go ahead and have them put down’. I’m not sure what that would’ve taken, but luckily it didn’t happen.
Chris took in both dogs, like a good dog-loving person . . . and until 24 hours ago they all lived at his house two doors down.
Unfortunately over the past several months Bear had been having more and more trouble getting around. He was giant. All of Chris’s dogs were large, but Bear rounded out the top of the list at a salty 105lb.
While it must have been painful getting up and around, he never showed it. He always looked like he couldn’t be happier to be there . . and couldn’t be happier that you were there with him.
Once he did get up, he began gaining steam while barreling towards you. All that momentum would converge on the top of his head, and he would hit you wherever it was most convenient . . shin, gut, crotch, whatever.
Then he’d dig his head in as hard as he could until you would pet the fur off of it.
For true dog lovers, losing a dog is very painful.
Bear’s gone. And it hurts.
