Monk

Since a few people have been interested in Bo, sometimes known as Little Bear, I thought I should announce that we euthanized him last month, after just turning seventeen. Here are a couple of entries:

"One More Day"

"Good Boy, Bo"

He was definitely one of the best things of my life. I think we did alright.

It was a beautiful autumn morning - a bright sunny sky with the air still chilled from the night, and We’re still getting a lot of shade from the neighbors’ trees this early in the day. I had thought that it was a shame not to wait a few more weeks and let Bo eat up this beautiful, cool weather. Victor’s visit in a few days led me to accelerate matters, but I wasn’t complaining. I wanted to get this behind me. It was about as good a morning as you could want for your last morning in the world.

My dominant thought on this October morning as I carry Bo around in the yard, with that pure sunlight raining down through those leafy trees: Of Bo still only a couple of months old running around in the living room in the middle of the night, back in those old Bay Horse days. Funny, this was actually an early example of my going out of my way making a special nighttime round with him. At that time in my life, I only had to get up once during the night to piss, and I decided that, since the nights were long, it would be a good idea to stay up for twenty minutes or so and take Bo our of his papered box to exercise his wild, high energies and run around, already game for wrestling, as he liked to fight dirty and chomp on my hair - and that has obviously become one of the key memories that I would treasure and carry with me for the rest of my life. I didn’t know then that that was going to be the case, but I understand now that life is funny like that.

Lots of maudlin thoughts about how this would be the last night, and this the last meal, and this and that being the last. I liked Pop’s line best, which I overheard when he was preparing his morning coffee and muttered with a wet sniffle in his voice, “You can have as many treats as you want today.”

On the way to the vet in the truck, I have Bo wrapped in Moggy’s blanket of many colors, using it as a sort of huge diaper. About halfway there, Bo starts to bark and whine. We only go out like this when we go to the vet; so, he knows that it’s not fun. But it’s like he knows. Those dark, weak, wet baby eyes. His old heart still has some real life in it.

My dominant thought on the way back from the vet: My selfishness won out. As I shut my eyes tight and struggle to keep from bawling and falling.

Back in the house, standing at the closet, I flinch thinking that I should take Bo outside before I take off my shoes, which is the routine when returning from a trip. My body is going to have to forget these Bo-related reflexes.

___ ___ ___

Before the sun sets on this day, although I naturally feel the loss, and I feel bad for saying this, it feels like I had cut loose the ball and chain from my ankle. When Pop asks whether I think we did the right thing, I tell him that we waited too long, that we really dragged it out. We should have euthanized him in May, when Bo first lost the use of his hind legs and could no longer stand or walk on his own. We actually scheduled the appointment, but had a change of heart and decided to see how life would be this way. It was a hard summer. There was a lot of love.

Bo looks so peaceful lying down. I cannot fool myself into thinking that Bo wouldn't choose life if he could. But I cannot keep serving him at his every yelp, all day and all through the night, practically holding his doggy dick for him to keep him from pissing himself. I have given him an entire summer of this personal sacrifice so that he could continue to taste this earth's air and meat. This is just one of those situations when I wish mother were here; after a few strong hints and promptings, she might have taken the weight of this decision from my shoulders and carried it on her own - she was tough like that, unlike Pop and me.

___ ___ ___

Carrying Bo from outside, I see Pop walking down the hall and he softly says, "Eleven o'clock tomorrow."

"Okay."

Before laying Bo down on his blanket, I kiss him on the top of his head, "One more day, buddy."

I have not spent much time around dogs, so our new puppy is quite a learning experience. For example, I have learned to exist in a sleepless stupor that is neither living nor dead. My IQ has dropped about 60 points and I find myself forming strong opinions on topics I don't understand.

Puppies are essentially little factories that take in small pellets and convert the raw material into barking and poop.

-- Scott Adams Blog

Here's a message I can appreciate. In Bo's elderly decline, he has come full circle back to his puppyhood. Though, I actually find Bo to be more challenging now. When he was a puppy, we just kept him in a big box,and when he got a little bigger, we sealed him off in a well-papered bathroom until he was fairly well-trained, and he could eat on his own without having to be hand-fed. I cannot blame Bo for my IQ, though; it has always been thus.

Feeding Bo today, and he will only eat by hand these days, I fondly recall the old routine, in which he would eat beside me as I ate - another lifetime, almost like a dream. At least I am not bothered by him nudging me for some scraps, rubbing his wet nose against my thigh, nor do I have to ignore those big, round, moist eyes.