After a valiant three month fight against cancer, my beloved beagle buddy of over 16 years of age died sometime last Friday after I left for work. I've been consumed spending time with him over the past several months, where I am with him at the house when I am not required to be elsewhere. It's perhaps somewhat poetic that our last car ride together was to go bury him and that it was also my last ride in the Saturn, which I sold Saturday morning. Since then, of course, everything has changed. This morning I was thinking about how the last time I went through such a drastic lifestyle change was when I left my parents' house for the first time, where I lived for approximately the same number of years.
Sixteen years is an incredibly long time to do anything, and it's an abnormally long time for a dog. Back in February, we buried my parents' male beagle who wasn't even twelve yet, much to everyone's surprise. About a week after that, my beagle finally started to show signs of his age, besides of course the graying hair, and started his extended spiral downhill. However, even up to the final morning before we parted for the last time in this life, he was still active, alert, and attentive to me. Many people don't work the same place for sixteen years, and I don't know that many who drive a car that long. Last year, at Valentine's I wrote at length about my two loves, who were my "sure place" to which I could attach my life when disappointment, discouragement, and rejection veered their ugly heads. I could go jump in my car or snuggle with my beagle, and then whatever bothered me didn't even exist, at least for a few moments. Maybe it was a mistake to invest my heart, my time, my energy, and my trust in something that I knew could not biologically last as long as I was likely to, but two years ago or so, he looked at me one night when I felt low and lost as if to say, "I cannot be your friend for the rest of your life, but I will be your friend for the rest of mine" and he was. Nobody knew as much about my flaws, and nobody cared less. He lived an incredibly good life. His breeder intended to kill him. I wonder sometimes if he knew, if he knew that the only reason he had a life was because we bought him. It was only about 20 minutes before I left for work last Friday that he seemed to go downhill suddenly, and he was dead by 3PM that afternoon. He's been in my life so long that now that our time is over I don't know what to do with my time. My days literally began and ended with this dog- feeding him, walking him, spending time with him, even if only for a few minutes, and many days when I found him still alive I would smile and swing my arms wide open when I saw him like humans greet friends they haven't seen for years.
I loved this dog so very much. I realized in February just how little I wrote about him in my journal. I really don't have a lot of pictures of him when he was young, mostly because we didn't do anything special together, but I loved him. He had places in my house. He got food from my plate. I let him run around the house for about the last half of his life while I was home. My beagle was the last member of the only family God allowed me to have thus far. Since I got "custody" of him almost 12 years ago, I really haven't heard anything from my ex wife. I don't know what she's doing, and I don't care; she started a new family with another man. Also, I don't expect any of the other dogs we bred to still be alive. Some of them were not loved, and others were probably over bred, and I don't know if they kept any of them after I moved away. The last of the puppies I bred and knew went to my parents, but when Yoda died in February, i was shocked. i expected him to be the last. Now, all the beagles I knew and loved are dead, and since I never had any kids, he's the last family I had. Last fall when he fell ill, I went home a few nights per week when I didn't have lab until 730PM to eat and hang out with him before going BACK for class because I thought he'd die then. I don't know if I would do that for anyone else on the planet.
Everything has pros and cons, but I would trade the pros for me in exchange for the cons, and I won't trade the cons for him just so he could remain with me. I know that this is better for him. He was deaf and weak and hurt and alone most of the time. His body was failing, and I would not want him to keep living in that state. If he could be like he was in 2016 or even last November, that would be awesome, but that's not possible. My house is cleaner and smells better now, and I'll probably save some money, but I would gladly trade the dirt, the money and the stink for his love. Last night, for the first time I can remember in YEARS, I set up things in the house to let me know if someone breaks in, because he was no longer there. Not that a deaf old dog makes a great defender, but having him there somehow gave me comfort, and now I've got obstacles up so that I'll know if someone breaks in while I'm asleep. It was nice to have company when I was sad or bored, to have company on walks, and to share a meal and a laugh with someone I actually liked. I won't have flies and won't have to fill the water trays or buy dog food or wake up at 2AM when he's howling to give him a treat, but I also won't ever have him greet me at the door or play or hang out in the back yard. Of course, he isn't bleeding or uncomfortable or having trouble finding food he actually wants to eat. I shared Sunday dinner with him last Sunday- Chicken Paprika- and I think he enjoyed it because he ate an entire bowl. That was essentially his last full meal. So, I'm glad that his last meal was something he truly enjoyed.
As I pondered the loss this weekend, I reread some of my own posts like Letting Go and Lies About Grief because I needed to remind myself of what I think, believe, and feel when I go through heartbreak. I'm pretty adrift. He was my anchor in the storm. Of course, is there something I'm honestly supposed to do? Losing someone who is dear to you is one of the three most traumatic things that a human can experience, and trauma takes time to process. I think it's important to let myself grieve and to leave some time without feeling like I'm supposed to do something or be a certain way. Grief is individual, personal, and unique. I shared a house with this dog for 8.7 years, and I shared evenings and weekends with him for years. He was a huge part of my life, and now he's gone, and saying goodbye sucks. The worst part was that he was so far along when I found him that I had to bury him immediately. I could smell the Putrescine and cadaverase when I found him, and I handled him without gloves, but 130 minutes after I found him, he was completely buried, and even then I had to go shower because I could smell death on my clothes. I really didn't get to say goodbye. However, I sort of did. This is the last thing I said to him, even though he didn't hear it, and I take some solace in knowing what my last words to him were.
Thank you for everything, my very good boy. I'll see you soon.
