Man's Best Friend

It seems like only yesterday that I was 19 years old and the proud new co-owner of a random puppy that was given to my family by my aunt. My mom was against it from the start, but my sister and I talked and whined and pleaded our way into keeping him. She relented, and completely suckered in by the sweetness of the puppy, went out and bought a shit ton of things for him. So much for not wanting him. Not sure what to call him, we were settling on “Cocoa” because he was mostly Chocolate Lab, and the color of a Hershey’s candy bar. It wasn’t until later that night that my dad came up with the name of “Blue”, because the sweet little puppy’s eyes were a startling blue color. So Blue he became.

When we received him, he was only six weeks old, and a tiny little thing, with giant paws and the biggest ears I had ever seen on a dog. It was the first time in my life that I had ever had to be responsible for SOMETHING, and it was definitely trying in those first few weeks. Housebreaking a dog is not easy. Listening to the sad little sounds a puppy makes because he misses his mama and his brothers and sisters is heartbreaking. Knowing that I had to be firm with him, even when he was so darned cute, was taxing. Finally, we got over the harder bits of having a puppy, and began to enjoy him as a companion.

As everyone knows, Labradors are highly active outdoor dogs. Blue was the typical Lab. He wanted to walk, walk, walk, he wanted to swim (Labs are, after all, water dogs), wanted to jump over stuff, wanted to stalk ducks, and really wanted the neighborhood cats. He was always outside getting into things, and he always wanted to be with us. I remember the first time we left him at home by himself. He barked his fool head off, somehow got up on the counter in the kitchen, managed to pull down my mom’s curtains, then got stuck in the sink. At the time, it wasn’t really funny, but it is hilarious now. We were finally able to convince him that we did have to leave him at times, but we would always be back.

In 2002, when I started on my first weight loss journey, Blue became my faithful walking partner. We would spend literally HOURS in the artichoke fields of Castroville, walking down all the dirt paths and roads between the heavy crops. Sometimes we would go down to the little slough that ran through the fields, and he would beg me with his eyes to let him go swimming. I hated letting him get in there, knowing that the water was most likely polluted, but I would let him swim on occasion. We would typically pass an afternoon out there, just me and him. I would sit on the abandoned trestle train bridge, and watch him swim in the water below. When he got tired, he would climb up the little hill and indicate with a look that it was time to go home. We’d walk back home, I’d hose him down (which he hated…go figure), then he’d conk out somewhere. He was the reason I lost so much weight in such a short time, because he never let me give up those daily walks with him.

As life is not still and constantly evolving, I eventually got a job and had to give up my longer daily walks with Blue. Knowing that my dad was pretty injured from his job, I would get up as early as I could and walk Blue before I went to work. When I got home, I’d walk him again. On the weekends, I’d try to keep up our tradition of long walks. It slowed down as I finally developed a life and entered into a long term relationship. It slowed considerably more when I got pregnant. Still, I would try to walk him when I could, and as always, I spent a lot of time with him in the house or out in the backyard.

When I brought my son home from the hospital, Blue was slightly confused as to what this yowling, squalling, tiny little creature was. When I was sitting on the couch holding my son, Blue came over and gently sniffed the baby. I think he feared he might get yelled at for coming close to something that was so obviously delicate, but no one said a word, and he continued to sniff at him, then went to lie down on the floor. Later that night, I went off to take a shower and put the baby in his bassinet next to his daddy, who was working at the computer. When I came out of the bathroom, Blue was sitting up tall on the chair that my husband had vacated for a second, staring down at the little boy in the bassinet, guarding him with all his might.

The year and a half that we had left in California passed in what seems a blur now, but my son had the privilege of having a wonderful guard dog and friend in Blue. That dog tolerated more than his fair share of rough housing and playing, having food thrown at him (he didn’t really dislike that part), and any number of indignities inflicted upon him by my son. That’s not to say I let the boy treat Blue horribly, but little boys will be little boys, and you can’t always stop them before they pull the dog’s hair. Even with all that though, Blue never wavered in his devotion to the boy. He would even come and stare at me if I was busy doing something and the boy needed attention.

We left California in June of 2006. My heart broke, not only because I had to leave my family and friends behind, but because I had to leave Blue as well. It felt like I was leaving my baby, but as he was not just my dog, it wouldn’t have been right to insist that I have him with us on our journey to Chicago. So he stayed with my dad, who needed a friend and faithful companion to help get him through his long days of having to deal with the new disability.

When we came home for Christmas that year, I was pretty sure Blue had forgotten about us. Never. We were attacked by a giant ball of chocolate fur the second we walked in the door of my parent’s house. He hadn’t forgotten, he licked our faces in happiness, and he wouldn’t leave our sides for a minute. It was glorious to get on the floor and wrestle with him, to reach down from where I was sitting on the couch to pat his head, or to have him come and nudge my legs while I was in the recliner so he could sit in front of me and have me massage his back with my feet. It was wonderful to go walking with him again. I was sorry when we had to leave, but glad to know that Blue would always remember us.

We went back for a visit in June of 2007, and it was the same. My son and I went to California in May of 2008 and stayed a month. Blue was always nearby, and the bond between him and my son grew. The boy loved having a big dog to play with because our dog (a mini-pinscher/Chihuahua) doesn’t like to play a lot, though he does love to snuggle. Blue, however, was every little boy’s dream dog, and they were inseparable during our month there. I still remember quite happily one of the days of our stay there. My dad took me, my son, and Blue high up into the Santa Cruz mountains to enjoy the beauty of it. Somehow we got stuck on a very narrow, very unpaved, sheer-drop-to-the-right road. I was slightly wigged out, but Blue hung over the back of my seat and gave me a look like, “STFU. Dad knows what he is doing!” When we finally made it to Gilroy through the back roads, we stopped for lunch and I switched places with Blue so he could sit up front and enjoy forbidden hamburger from my dad. When we got back home, Blue collapsed in a contented heap. I think he was still dreaming of more hamburger.

The last time I saw Blue was December of 2008, and it was a very unhappy time. We had gone back to California for my grandmother’s memorial, but when we walked in my parent’s door, no Blue greeted us. This was unusual for him. He finally came to us, weakly wagged his tail, then went and laid on the floor again. When my husband went to lie on the couch, Blue hobbled over and sat next to him so he could be petted. Something was very, very wrong. The next day, Blue looked worse and was just so listless. We argued for a bit amongst ourselves, but I finally said to hell with it, looked up an emergency vet, and my husband and I walked Blue out to our car and took him out to Monterey to be treated. They had no idea what was wrong with him, so the next day, we went to a place in Salinas. They were decidedly more competent, and recommended he be sent to stay at an animal hospital in Santa Cruz.

My parents took him up there, where the vets diagnosed him with something that I don’t recall. All I remember is the sheer worry that we were all feeling, not knowing what was going to happen. We went to visit him as much as the hospital would allow, and the first time I went to see him with my husband, I broke down and cried. He looked so weak and thin and tired. He laid on the floor with a sigh, and me, not giving a rip if the floor was clean or dirty, laid next to him and cried into his coat. I couldn’t lose him, I still considered him my baby. Then on Christmas Day, two days before we left to come back to Chicago, the animal hospital called. Blue was perking up, responding, he could come home the next day! The holiday brightened considerably, and the next day my parents picked him up. He was still sort of weak and shaky, and he was going to have to take a ton of medicine, but he looked better.

I think it was at this point during the crisis of Blue that I realized he wasn’t getting any younger. I had tried not to think about it, but it was staring me in the face. Though I no longer live in California, I loved this dog with all my heart and I certainly didn’t want to think of him no longer being active and eventually leaving us. I was heartened by the fact that last month, my parents informed me that Blue had a son! Blue had made a puppy after all these years with a terrier down the street! There was still life in him yet if he was back to his dirty little ways of trying to get busy with anything and everything, except this time he was actually successful. My parents adopted his son and named him Rocky. Blue wasn’t exactly thrilled with that turn of events, but I guess he tolerated him as best as he could. Then yesterday happened.

I received a text from my mom asking if I was on Facebook because she had to send me an important message. Thinking she might have gotten fired or that my sister was ill again, I waited impatiently for the message to come. It finally dinged up: “Blue is really bad. Dad is calling the vet right now. He thinks he had a stroke.” My heart dropped. A flurry of messages back and forth on Facebook with my mom finding out that he couldn‘t walk and he was just not all there, then a phone call to my sister. She confirmed what was going on and said that the vet was pretty sure he would have to be put to sleep. I couldn’t cry. I was stunned. We talked for two hours, mainly to keep our minds off of what was almost certainly inevitable. Towards the end of the call, I asked her to put the phone to Blue’s ear. I talked to him for a bit, telling him that I loved him and that I was sorry he was hurting. I then told him goodbye, because deep in my heart, I knew the news wouldn’t be good from the vet.

Late that afternoon, I started texting with my mom again, who was waiting for my dad at the vet’s office. We both knew it wasn’t going to be good. My dad got there, and the women in the office came out and carried Blue in. The veterinarian came in, examined Blue, and told my parents that, yes, it had been a stroke. There were treatments available, but none were 100% guaranteed to work and would most likely cause him more pain. My dad made the decision to let our friend and companion go in a humane manner, then left because he could not take it anymore. My mom, brave woman that she is, stayed with Blue to the last, texting me with updates: “They gave him a sedative and some other medication so he won’t feel anything.” “He’s on the floor, asleep and snoring like he does at home.” A picture of him sleeping like he normally does rips my heart out and finally makes me cry. “The vet is here now.” A few minutes later: “He’s gone.” I lost it at that point and just sat on the floor in my kitchen and cried. My sister called me a few minutes later, telling me that she was watching our dad and forcing him to eat because he was so twisted with pain from the loss. She tried to raise our spirits like she always does, but I could tell that it was hard for her.

My mom called when she got home from the vet after signing all the papers and everything. Her voice was raw with emotion. We didn’t really talk for long because there was nothing more to say after such a hellish day. I spent the rest of the night in a stupor again, hopped up on Xanax and Three Olives vodka, wishing like hell that I could have been in California to say goodbye to man’s best friend. I think my husband and I might have watched a movie before sleeping. I don’t remember.

I woke up this morning, made my son some breakfast, prodded my husband out of bed, then went into the bathroom to get dressed for the day. I cried again. I’m crying now. I likely will cry again tonight, tomorrow, and probably for several more days or weeks, knowing that I will never see Blue again in this life. It hurts so bad to know that when I go home this summer, I will not be able to pat his blockhead. I will not be able to take him for a walk. I will not be able to sit on the floor and have him burrow next to me. I will not have him on my old bed, spread all across it, so I can’t get in. I will not have that happy, excited, manic, joyous barking to greet me.

To many people, I know it will seem ridiculous that I’ve written a tremendous blog post about an animal. It isn’t ridiculous to me. Blue was my friend no matter what fool shit I did in my life. He never judged me, never made me feel like a horrible person, and he was always there for me. Try to find that loyalty in the heart of a human. I can almost guarantee that you won’t.

Blue

March 3, 1999-January 7, 2010