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Boss (my Boston terrier bulldog)
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Pets and Animals
Boss (my Boston Terrier Bulldog)
It's funny how we tend to take our friends for granted until it is too late to show appreciation. Today I am keenly aware of the loyalty and love that was so freely given to me without reservation, but now it is a few hours too late to acknowledge it. Yesterday at 5:23 p.m. I let his head lie on my arm while I held him as he took his last breath on earth. Our precious Boss is dead. I never knew how much I would miss him.
The day we brought Boss and his sister home, he named himself by his behavior. A fat little black and white ball of fury that would fit into my cupped hands, he ran back and forth in the rear window of the car yipping ferociously at everything passing our vehicle. Like all Boston terrier bulldogs, he was born with a flat nose and virtually no tail at all. Although most of his breed have ears that point straight up, unless they are showing a laid-back affection, Boss had a left ear that folded over toward his face, mirroring his cocky personality. He was indeed "the Boss" in his territory--our two acre yard.
Since he genetically had no tail to swish, he showed his excitement and zeal for life by wagging his whole backside at the approach of those he loved. Yesterday, when I went by the vet's office to see him, his paralyzed hindquarters couldn't move, but those huge soulful eyes followed my every motion, and as always, Boss understood what I told him. As I held his wrinkled old gray face in the crook of my arm and stroked his head, I softly crooned to him how much I loved him and how good he had been to me. I told him that he wouldn't hurt anymore, but I never thought of how badly it would hurt ME. With one injection my friend went to sleep.
As I drove home with Boss wrapped in an old sheet on the seat beside me, memories poured through my mind as swiftly as the tears coursed down my face. I could see a zillion images of our special friend as he made our lives fuller by his presence. There was the summer day he climbed a ladder unaided to get into a treehouse with his favorite boy, the morning he intervened in my behalf to ward off an attacking boxer twice his size (but not nearly as motivated as Boss), and the afternoon I looked out the front door in time to see him doing shoulder-high backflips in the yard because he could hear the school bus coming down the road with his playmate on board.
I thought of the day he ran between my son and a rattlesnake and took the venomous bite himself. His neck and muzzle stayed swollen and misshapen for over a month. I recalled the nine beagle puppies he adopted as his own and the frantic way he would knock them hither and yon to clear the driveway when I approached. Was it because I had admonished him earlier that they were his responsibility while I was away? I thought of the hundreds of times I had sat in our swing under the oaks listening to whippoorwills with Boss lying a few feet away keeping watch over me in the dark, his sighs of boredom loud and exaggerated.
I remembered the cat-hater who never thought twice about "mothering" a nearly drowned kitten Ben had retrieved from a burlap bag in the Chattahoochee River. Until the day three years later when Rambo disappeared, that same duo slept tangled together on the carport summer or winter. There was never another feline who crossed our property line without danger, but Boss' heart was big enough to make exceptions. We all know a few humans who could benefit from THAT lesson, don't we?
Isn't it awful that I can't even remember exactly how old he was? Was he twelve? thirteen? or fourteen years old? Did he know how much I loved him? Had he been in pain and uncomplaining before the paralysis set in? I hope HE understood how much we all cared, because it actually took me a little by surprise. I desperately want to believe that he took ill suddenly, but he was such an humble old love, that I really can't be sure. All that I am certain about today is that I don't ever want another pet for as long as I live. It simply hurts too much to say goodbye.
I'm sorry for your loss. I know how you feel. I live on a farm, and have lost many pets. They were each special in their own way.
Oh Jessica! That is so sad, and I know exacly how you feel. I had a small black cat--Princess--who was also sooo special. If you teased her too much, she would walk away. Then, just as though she changed her mind, she'd come back and take a swipe at you before running off. But at night, I'd be sitting in the recliner and she would come lay up on me, her paws on my chest. And, it was like she knew it was time for bed---she'd place her paw on the side of my face and look at me like, 'Come on then, let's go to bed". It was always around 11 pm when she'd do that. Or maybe she was just telling me to turn off the tv so she could sleep....who knows!
I had just found out I was pregnant and we also found out she was sick---that darn cat leukiemia. Oh I loved her so much and was so glad my hubby agreed to let me spend so much money to try and save her life. We knew it wouldn't cure, but only extend her time. One day (about 2 months later) we came home and she was in laboured breathing. I knew this was too much for her and we called the vet---time to let her go. Well, she knew too, I guess, cause we never made it out the house. She died there on my bed as I stroked her.
Unless you are a devoted pet lover, you'd never be able to understand how someone can grieve so over an animal. I cried for hours. I didn't want to bury her at the place we lived then, so I took her home to my mother's house and buried her there.....where all our other pets have been buried thru the years.
Funny, I can laugh now, but its a strange story, the trip back home. Ask me sometime. It might cheer you a bit.
Here is something else for you, perhaps you have seen it before or since your loss...
Rainbow Bridge
We're with ya, Jess.
Kim