Till we meet again my friend

My right hand aches. It’s a lasting reminder of you that I don’t begrudge. I see the scar on the top of my hand and the matching one on the palm. You bit straight through my friend. Even at the end you were so strong. I write this with half my mind. The other half occupied with a conference call. Maybe that is for the best. Maybe I will not be reduced to tears by the end of this.

For ten years you graced my life with your presence. You were one hundred and twenty pounds of muscle. Jaws that could crush a ham bone to powder. How you loved your bones. But, your heart was bigger than your size. Whatever you did, you always put one hundred percent of your heart into it.

Oh, but you were an uncouth, rough dog. You’d open your mouth and belch in my face when I’d pet you. Lie at my feet and fart when guests visited. You’d never forget to sniff any females regardless of if they had four legs or two. You’d look hurt when scolded for it. “Gee Dad, can’t a guy be friendly?”

Grace was never your middle name. You’d knock over flower pots and vases. Then your brow would furrow and your ears perk up. “What happened? Oh, sorry dad.” I could never scold you for that. I have two left feet myself.

You were so gentle where it mattered though. I remember when a friend brought her toddler and infant over. She was afraid of you. She was afraid for her children. “Rotties are dangerous dogs,” she said. I assured her you were different, and you were. We sat on the deck while her son played with you in the yard. When he wandered toward the gate you would block his path. He would bump into you and fall on his butt. Then work his tiny hands into your fur and pull himself up and lean against you. You would both laugh and you would lick his face. Then the baby started to cry. You ran up on the deck and sat right beside the carrier. Your brow furrowed in worry and you started to cry yourself. When they left she patted you said you were the best baby sitter she had ever seen. You wagged your stump tail and belched happily in her face.

Trooper my friend, what caused it? That day I came home from work and called and you were not there to greet me. I heard you stumbling around under the deck. I looked under it and called. You wheeled around and crashed into a post. You couldn’t find your way out. I ruined a dress shirt and pants that day. I got down and crawled under the deck to you and cradled you in my arms. Rolling over I held you against my chest and scooted out on my back with you on top of me. I can still feel your weight on me and smell your fur from that day. You legs were not steady when we got out. I waved my hands and tossed your ball. I got the flash light. It was no use. You were blind.

“Make him comfortable,” the vet said. Nothing they could do. How long did it take? Time blurs for me on this. The days have merged and I just remember the downward spiral. I remember working from home. Giving you beef broth with a turkey baster. Feeding you as much steak as you could eat with my fingers. Watching as your muscles and you wasted away before my eyes. I remember feeling so damn helpless and useless. After all you had done for me I felt I was failing you when I couldn’t stop the decline.
On the morning you could no longer get to your feet I knew the time was near. You would not eat or drink. It seemed to take all of your energy to lick my hand and wag your tail a little. I remember sitting in the sun, holding you and crying that morning. We both knew it was goodbye. I picked a nice spot in yard and dug a grave between sobs.

Later that afternoon your mind left you. I thought about ending your life for you, but I could not bring myself to pull the trigger. Please forgive me for not having the strength to end your suffering that day. You messed yourself. When I rolled you over to clean you, you snapped with the last of your strength and bit cleanly through my hand.

When my friend brought me back from the emergency room you were gone. Thank God for painkillers. It kept everything at a distance long enough to bury you with your toys. Poor Rusty, your wife, she sat shaking and would not move. When I hugged her we cried together. Another slow decline had just begun. Her broken heart would not mend and she joined you two months later.

Now your bodies rest in the shade with your toys. Flowers and ferns grow about you. There are butterflies there. You always liked butterflies and would follow them about the yard. It is a nice spot and you both always liked it. You have crossed the river my friends. Somewhere you two run and play. You dig holes for the pure joy of it. Save a belch for me until we meet again my friend.