October 24, 2023 ~ Tuesday morning (the last few days of 70-80 degrees are upon us)
I set myself up for this. I know I do. I’ve done it before … and I’ll do it again. But, it never gets any easier.
Last Saturday, I said a very tearful goodbye to my sweet lab, Mr. B. Another trip to the Rainbow Bridge. This was my third time taking a special pup in under a year. And, no – it does not get any easier. Ever. I don’t know why I think it would or should … but it doesn’t.
Mr. B was my last lab adoptee. A big, 13.5-year-old, white-yellow lab, with a heart of gold, a permanent mischievous grin, and eyes that could melt your heart like a chocolate bar on a hot day. He was a goober. Plain and simple. He was not of the peanut variety – but just silly, funny, playful … just a goober.
His journey started some 13 years ago … we never had his early info … but he was (technically) in foster care from the time he was 18 months old. And, knowing him as I did as a 13-year-old adult, I can only surmise he was a monster as a youngster (probably why he was relinquished early on). A lovely couple took care of him for those ten years after his puppyhood – loving him like their own – not wanting to let him go/biding their time for the perfect family for this dog – not realizing they had already found it. He was their sweetheart for all those years until they could no longer take care of him – and then he became mine. Lucky me.
Mid-November, last year, my lovely lab, Annie, lost her battle with cancer. It was fast and ugly and unexpected … and I was heartbroken (once again). Knowing it took me nearly 18 months to find her after my last lab passed, I put in an application with lab rescue, thinking this could take some time, and a mere 4 days later Mr. B was climbing into my car for the trip to his new home.
That was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, last year. It all happened so fast! I got home with this 85 lb, huge, male dog and wondered … what did I just do?
But, it was all just perfectly fine the minute we walked in the back door – he sniffed Bea (my teeny chihuahua) a very chill “hey” … and we were on our way. I just had no idea our little lovefest would end not quite a year later.
B (as he came to be known) was pure delight. I think he made me laugh every day … all 333 days … that he was with me. I’ve never had a dog whose sole mission (or soul mission) was to bring joy to everyone and everything he came in contact with. He did just that.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, I had an Open House. I was a little worried – bringing so many people into the house, with a new dog. How would he do? Would he be overwhelmed? I needn’t have worried one single bit. With each arrival, B greeted them as if they were long-lost friends – going to his toy basket and giving out toys, one by one, to the guests. If no one was coming in – he’d toss his toys in the air like a performing juggler. He was the hit of the party. He gave new meaning to Party Animal!
And so our days went. And do I have any doggie regrets? Yeah – one. Aside from not having more time with him – something I had no control over – I never got him to a dog park to run freely. He was always on a leash when we were out walking (lesson learned one day when he got out of the back fence, in 7″ of snow, and ran around the neighborhood with 3 adults chasing him for 20 minutes – until (thankfully) he triggered an automatic door at the local pharmacy and walked in and we grabbed him!). He was a runner. I couldn’t take my chances with him off-leash except somewhere contained. We went to the local dog park twice – both times to leave before getting out of the car. I’m not a very trusting person and a lone guy with a pit bull just didn’t seem like a good idea. TWICE! But, we walked at Wash Park and around our neighborhood and he played and ran around in our yards with my daughter’s dog and visiting dogs. And, while not deep enough to swim in – he’d sit in creeks and pools. And, he was always so happy. But, as happens, time and life got away from us and I never got him back to a dog park. I would have loved to see him run free.
He was so playful. If I wasn’t throwing him a toy – he was tossing it up in the air himself. He was silly and cloddy and more than once would fall over a branch, toy, or something in the yard and look back at me with a look on his face that was like – Oops, did you see that?
I’d throw a toy to him – and he’d run and get it, toss it into the air, and look at me with that face that said, This is the best thing ever! And, then I’d do it again – and I’d get the same reaction. It was always like he’d never seen a toy before and this was, indeed, the best thing ever! We did that over and over and over again – until one of us was too tired. It was usually me!
His former owners and I kept in touch – sharing photos and stories of this goober that we shared and loved. I sent a photo showing that B had dug 3 holes in my back garden beds – photo evidence of the holes and dirt-black legs proving his feat and glee. I was sent back a photo of a hole that B dug years prior – one that rivaled any archaeological dig site! He must have been a beast in his heyday!
But by the time I got him, he was a gentle, old guy. He’d play like a 3-year-old with any visiting pup (for 20 minutes) and then go take a nap. But, he’d be raring to go again later. He was accepting and friendly to all humans and animals. On a few occasions, I found him taking toys out to the squirrels. Was he wanting them to play with him? I just had to laugh – toys encircling the tree on the patio – squirrels chattering away up high – and B waiting below, expectantly, with that silly, happy face hoping to bribe playmates.
And that’s how I’d like to remember him. He was a smiler. He found delight in anything and everything. He was always smiling. Well, until this last week.
About a month ago he had what we thought was a bout of vertigo. But the symptoms didn’t go away and some worsened … he listed, he was wobbly and unsteady, his head was cocked to the left. I thought his vision was impacted. We wondered if something else was going on – a brain tumor? Infection? One day on a walk he seemed to forget how to walk … the next he seemed to forget how to eat. But he was always sweet and loving, patient and playful. Another visit to the vet – and all seemed fine. But it wasn’t.
We took our last walk last Tuesday. He slept a lot that day, which I thought was really odd. He just didn’t have much left by the time we walked to the corner – so, we headed home. He looked tired. The next two days he didn’t eat (much)/stood out in the yard in odd places … by Friday night he couldn’t hold down water. I knew something was up – obviously – but what?
I wondered if he had eaten something he shouldn’t have? Was there a blockage? After lab work and xrays, after a trip to the vet Saturday morning, we had our answers. What we had questioned came to light – his number valuations were off the charts for everything possible, there were shadows, organ enlargements, and he was in various stages of organ failure. We had to say goodbye. So – thinking I’d come in to “fix” whatever was wrong, instead I found myself giving him a very unexpected final hug.
He was ready. I was not.
And, so it goes. And even with little Frankie here, the house is so empty. My heart is broken and if I could stop crying, my eyelids might stop hurting. I don’t think my heart will though.
A friend comforted me this week by saying – “Hello is easy – most goodbyes are not.” Too true. And, I set myself up for this heartache when I adopt the oldsters. But, it’s what is in my heart – even though I know it’ll get broken (time and time again) – I’ll do it again. I want to be part of that last chapter.
And, not yet being completely cried dry, I couldn’t sleep and was lying in bed last night counting the days I had him … after all, I am a numbers gal … and came up with 333 days. I thought there might be some significance to that number, so I looked it up. And while I’m not into numerology or angel numbers or those sorts of things – I am open to what might be.
Apparently, (the angel number) 333 means positivity, mental peace, and abundance in life. And, biblically … divine wholeness, completeness, and perfection. Sounds like B, right there! Why live another day if that is you in a nutshell? I kept reading. The ancient Greek philosopher, Pythagoras (remember him from math class?), considered the number 3 to be a near-perfect number. It depicts harmony, wisdom, and understanding. It was also the number of time – past, present, future; birth, life, death; beginning, middle, end. It is thought that people who encounter this number will grow in their relationships and in life. It is a sacred number in these realms. In numerology, it is a sign to embrace your creative abilities and express yourself authentically. So, I guess I’m doing that now … as he did.
Thank you, former owners, for allowing me to take care of B for the time I was given. He was complete joy for me. And thank you, B, for being such a silly, sweet, loving, goofball goober. I will always love you.
Run free, baby, run free.