A Blog for Bronx: May 25, 2002 - May 18, 2009
I feel I owe Bronx a blog. I owe him a lot more than a blog, but at least a blog. I don't expect anyone to read this, but I want to have it here, I guess. I know I've been updating about him like crazy, and I'll try to make this the final one. It's hard though, I mean, there's nothing else I want to update about because this is all I think about. 1/4 of my family is gone.
If you haven't seen my status, or don't know, my boxer dog Bronx passed away on Monday.
First, the guilt. The guilt, the guilt. Bronx had been sick for a year, and every once in a while he'd get this "episodes" where he'd have a hard time breathing or his heart would be pounding or it would be barely beating. Every time, we thought "this is the one," but every time, he recovered. Then, about two weeks ago he went into heart failure, which is basically his "turn for the worse." Since then he's had a hard time breathing almost always. Still, we didn't want to put him down just yet because he was still playing, eating, running around the house. He felt sick, but he seemed happy. I couldn't put down a dog that was happy. (Mac had wanted to put him down Friday, but I was afraid maybe we'd be doing it just to satisfy us, because we were so ready to move on, so I refused and Mac agreed. We kept him and he had a good weekend chilling with us.) Plus, I really wanted him to die at home. I didn't want to have to make the decision to put him down, and I wanted Roxy to be able to smell him and know he was gone.
So Monday I had to go to UIC to do placement readings. It's like a job, but I really couldn't call in because you sign up for four dates and then you go - I'm sure I could have called in if I seriously needed to, but I didn't think I should call just because Bronx was having "an episode." I'd called in to my other jobs over the past year for "episodes" and every time Bronx was fine.
Monday morning Mac was gone already, it was around 10:30 that I had to leave, and I was running late. As I was getting ready to run out the door, Bronx did something odd - he lied down in front of the front door. Our place is all second floor except you go down half a flight to the front door, then another half flight to the garage door (the garage is the only part of our place on the first level). Now, the entryway by the front door is where he goes whenever he has an upset stomach or feels sick in general, so I kind of half knew that's probably where he'd go if he was going to die. He sort of wanted to wander down there during other "episodes" but if we were home we'd encourage him to stay upstairs. He was laying there, breathing so heavy. But again, I was late! So I went down there to pass by him (Roxy was running around and everything was chaotic), and I noticed some pee dribbles by him, so I ran him out very quick through the garage. He peed on a bush, then I coaxed him back inside. I basically left both dogs on the stairs. Before I left, I gave Bronx a pet on the head and told him to be okay. I said I'd be back in four hours or so.
He looked very worried. I should have known, dammit.
But if I had known, would I have stayed? I know now that if I knew how I'd FEEL now I would stay, but truthfully, every time Mac and I left the house lately, we'd tell the dog it was okay if he wanted to "go to the light" while we were gone. I think we just wanted him to go on his own (not being put down) so bad, I didn't even consider that I should be with him.
As I drove away, I looked, and saw him looking out the windows by the front door at me. He always did that, so it wasn't unusual, but again, I should have known. Something was telling me this was it. His little face in the window - it's killing me.
When I got done at school I had to pick up some of his medicine, but I had such a feeling then that he'd be dead I decided to go home first to make sure he was alive before I spent the money. I opened the door from the garage and called for the dogs. Only Roxy came downstairs. Still, I didn't know for sure then, because since Bronx got sick sometimes he slept so hard he wouldn't hear me, and I could take Roxy out and go upstairs and find him asleep, but alive, on the couch. So while I was taking Roxy out and prepared myself. I opened the door and Roxy ran up the stairs, and I was thinking about where I'd find him. I stepped inside the small, probably 3 x 3 foot space at the foot of the stairs, and tried to the shut the door. The door was stuck on something. I looked down.
The door was stuck on Bronx. That's how I found him, he was behind the door the whole time and I didn't know until I looked down and saw him rear, legs spread eagle, beneath me.
Fuck.
So right away I went into everything I'd prepared to do. I got a blanket to cover him. I called Mac. I called the vet. Mac was coming home and the vet gave me instructions on coming home.
Then I went down to cover him, and that's when I realized what an asshole I was.
I should have stayed!!!
Why didn't I stay with him? God, he was trying to tell me he was sick. And at first I just kept saying, but he was always having an episode, I didn't expect him to die this time. He always recovered. But the truth is, I realized today I think, that I knew he might die, and I may have left anyway. We were just so READY for him to die, I didn't think about being there. But when I saw him, by the garage door, like he was trying to FOLLOW ME I knew I should have stayed.
The way I found him, he had clearly not curled up to die. He was standing, and he fell. He landed, like I said, spread eagle, on a clothes hanger and two speaker stand poles (not comfortable). He had his face tiled towards the space under the stairs, which was filled with boxes, so I couldn't really see his face, and I decided not to look at his eyes or anything. I didn't think I'd be able to touch him, but I found I wanted to. I petted him. He was cold. He must have been dead a while.
I wondered if he must have watched me out the window, then walked right down to the garage door and collapsed. Or did he watch me for awhile? Was he scared? Did it hurt? Did he pass out or drown in his lung fluid painfully? Did he wish I'd been there? Was he waiting for me to come back? Was he trying to tell me this was it? It was clearly his worst episode, but I wasn't paying attention I was too much in a hurry. Mac thinks that if I'd been there he may not have died, because he would have tried to make it for us, like he always did (but he said this as a good thing, because we wanted him to die). Others are telling me stories about how there dogs went off alone to die, because animals want to be alone to die. And I think if I'd found Bronx in the back bedroom or something, then I'd known he DID want to be alone. But no. He was at the door. Where I left.
Did he go down there because it was a small space? It was like going off in the corner to die? And he was too sick to make it upstairs, so he went down? OR, was he trying to follow me? This I will never know, but I sure feel guilty. When I found him, I said out loud to him that I was sorry, that I should have stayed, that I hope he wasn't scared. I said this among other things.
So I talked to my mom and everything, then Mac got home. Mac rolled him into blankets, and we took him to the trunk. The new neighbors were out. Probably watching. It felt weird. I made sure Roxy smelled him multiple times, but she seemed really spazzed out. She was wagging her tail and jumping, but also whining. Just acting nuts. We all went to the vet, and Mac carried Bronx in. I followed with Roxy because they said I could bring her. It was awful, Mac was holding Bronx in the blankets and his stupid old head came flopping out, and so I had to see his dead face afterall, because Mac was DROPPING him in the hallway. It didn't really look like him. Or maybe it looked like he looked when he first woke up and had this sleepy, smooshy face. All his extra face skin bunched up. Not full of life. We put him in a back room, on a freezer that they'd put him in I suppose. We paid for cremation and ashes that we'll get in a week. I know that's sort of dumb, but I did it more for the fact that I didn't want to imagine him being thrown in a pile of dead dogs as medical waste, than for the fact I wanted the ashes. Now though, I can't wait for them. I want to bring him home for the final time, and I feel like even though they are only ashes, it will bring an end to this, like a funeral does for people.
Before we left the vet, we all went back again one last time. I covered his face again with the blankets, and I actually (through the blankets) hugged him. I could never have imagined that I'd do that to a dead body before this, but it was like, it's my Bronx. He's all cold and stiff but this is what's left of Bronx. His feet, I made Roxy smell them again before we left, they were freezing. But they were his little puppy feet. Mac had to drag me out of there. If not for Roxy getting all restless and excitable, I may never have left.
At home, things started to sink in. The guilt of leaving, and just being upset. Even though we'd been preparing for this for a year, ever since Bronx passed out in the kitchen and we ended up at the emergency vet. That night is when we found out he was going to die soon. We grieved that night because we thought he'd go then, but he didn't. He stuck it out for a year. Over the past year, we've been aware he could die two ways: his heart arrhythmia could cause sudden death any time, or if it did not, his heart would enlarge slowly until that caused heart failure. Once he went into heart failure we would have only a matter of weeks until the fluid in his lungs would get so bad we'd have to put him down or he'd die.
So every time we came home, every damn day, we thought it could be the day we'd find him gone. But no, he stuck it out, and then the heart failure came. Last week we noticed his gut was huge, turns out it was fluid in the abdomen. This meant we were at the failure stage. They drained the fluid and gave us a diarrhetic for the lung fluid, but it didn't work for long. By a few days, he was bloated again and breathing hard. He was still happy, though, like I said. I'm GLAD we didn't put him down, I just wish I would have been there when he died. I don't care how painful it would have been to watch. I hope he didn't feel I abandoned him. I hope he was not scared. I hope he was waiting for me to leave because he wanted to be alone. I hope Roxy was there for him, though she often ran from his attacks because they scared her. I hope her being around comforted him. At first I was appalled that he went splat on the floor from an obvious standing position, but Mac pointed out that this probably means it was quick. I hope it was. I don't like the body and the smooshy face and the cold feet being my last thoughts of him, but really they are not.
This picture that I have gets to me so much, I don't know why. Only about 2 days before he went I took a lot of stupid short videos on my camera of him. I thought I may need to see how he was breathing hard so that if we had to put him down and I regretted it, I could look back and see the struggle so I'd know it was the right thing. So I have a few videos of him breathing hard. But I also took this one 30 second video of him sitting by me, and at the end he looks back. This is a still shot of the video, which I think captures him so much more than a picture. Pictures do weird things to dog's eyes, and you can't see his soul coming through. But this screen shot, I think you can see it. This is how I remember him:
Roxy has been acting weird since we came home, but today I think she finally got sad. She's been mopey. I have Bronx's collar and his favorite football toy by me on a chair, and Roxy smells them. (Crap, I smell them.... they smell like stinky ol' Bronx, but now I want to smell stinky ol' Bronx.) We took Roxy for a walk today and she smelled two other dogs. I hope this helps her to not feel alone. Socialization. I was glad she got out and saw dogs. It seemed important. Now though, she is lying here looking so sad. And she whines. She just stands in the living room and whines. When there's a noise outside, she jumps up, more so than normal, and I wonder if she hopes it's Bronx, coming home.
Right now, what I am struggling with the most is knowing where he is. It's harder than when people die in that way. With people, you are comforted that they are in heaven and you will see them again, but with pets? I know some people think dogs have no souls, that they just go away when they die, to nothing. I am so terrified to think this is true. And the thing is, my religion pretty much says that's the way it is, though some protest it. Either way, the Bible really says nothing about it. So the first night, I spend all night looking up religious opinions on dog heaven. I found a lot of stuff, but no definitive answer. I don't know why this bothered me so much. I just felt - feel - like I HAVE to know. It's this desperate feeling that Bronx must live on. I don't know what it is about him, because I didn't feel this sort of thing with Amber (my childhood dog), and as awful as it is, I don't know that I'd feel this way with Roxy (I might). (I was/will be horribly sad and upset, of course, but with Amber I don't remember questioning her eternal life.) Bronx is different though. Others have told me he was special and it's true. He had SO MUCH personality, is was INSANE to most who met him, that way he talked to you, communicated, understood to much. He was so SMART. Also, he had so much LOVE. I am convinced there is no one on this planet that could love me as unconditionally and as much as Bronx loved Mac and I. He freaking loved us SO MUCH. So, when I think about him just being gone, it doesn't seem possible. It doesn't seem possible that that much intelligence and mostly that that much LOVE could just be gone. Bronx was a special dog.
So then I think about the other side - not the Bible verses and religion and all that, but about ghosts and psychics and spirits and that sort of thing. I mean, I sort of believe in ghosts, and I have read stories about people who have had a dog die, and then a few days later they hear tags jingle, or feel the dog jump on the bed or something. I investigated and found lots more. Does this kind of thing contradict my religion? This I don't know. It seems to make sense, that maybe a dog would come back just to say goodbye, or to let their owner know they were okay. I mainly just want to know he still exists, like I said. So I've been waiting around for a noise. Hoping, even. Today Roxy and I were in the loft, and we heard a noise on the tile by the front door below. We both jumped a mile. It sounded like the front door creaking, maybe? But not a creak. Maybe like wind settling the house, but it wasn't windy, and it was more concentrated. It was a small bang, bang on the floor. It wasn't exactly toenails though either. Still, I cautiously said, "Bronx?" outloud, and then I sort of laughed at myself and thought about what a lunatic Mac would call me. A few minutes later, there was a bang in the kitchen, not exactly like dog bowls, though, which Bronx would often bang around. This was more just a noise. It could have been dog bowls. But then dishwasher was running. So it was probably that.
What I want to believe is that he stays with us for a lot longer than a moment. But I also like to think that he feels so much better now, and that he can run and run and run around like before he was sick, and he can play with other dogs and have fun. It's hard though to imagine him happy without us because he was so attached (separation anxiety), but I know wherever he is his anxiety is probably gone now. I want to believe he can check on us, but I don't believe people can, so now it seems because of this dog I'm changing all my opinions on everything.
I did read one thing that I liked very much. One website suggested that in the same way God brings us about in heaven, we could chose to bring an animal around. Basically, God created animals and then man, and he made it so man rules over animals. God's love saves us and beings us to heaven. So maybe we can do the same for our pets. Maybe Bronx isn't around now, but when I die I can conjure him up. This is what my mom believes. It's an okay theory, but I still like to think Bronx is around right now. Somewhere.
But moving on...
I don't want this post to be all about his death, I also want it to be about his life. Bronx was part of our family. We are "crazy dog people" as you can see from our wedding pictures. Right now, it is still hard for me to think about "the good times." Mac is at that point, but I am still in the crying phase. But, I do have something to post about his life, that I wrote on 1/23/09. For some reason, that night I think I was sitting around with him, and I was thinking about how he was going to die, and he was right there, and I was writing this:
Bronx,
You had more personality than any dog I’ve ever known, and more than most people, too. You were the good and the bad, of course.
As you crept into our hearts by refusing to sleep on the floor, and persisting in playing fetch, you tried our nerves as well by breaking out of crates and ripping into trash bags.
Bronx, you’ve destroyed 13 different window treatments and 3 different apartments. You’ve ripped through a doorframe, scratched up 4 doors, chewed through 3 different industrial strength metal crates, eaten bras, tipped over tables, and peed on houseplants.
You were only trying to follow us when we left, though. You were scared to be alone. And when the painters came to paint the trim, you were only trying to scare them away. You were protecting your family.
Bronx, you had separation anxiety, allergies to almost everything, a ripped eyelid problem, an issue with your pee-pee that is too gross to describe, and you smell… really bad.
Most of all, you are simply just the most anxious animal on the planet. But if you weren’t so smart, you wouldn’t be that way.
Bronx, you love to cuddle. You can’t even imagine being in the same room as someone without being pressed up against them. You crawl up onto the couch and wiggle behind your daddy when he leans forward. You walk up the middle of the bed and wedge yourself between us at night, or curl up between scissor-kicked legs.
You also barge into the bathroom if the door isn’t completely shut.
Bronx, you talk to us. Not only do you know more English language words than most three-year-olds, you have expressions. When you want water, you tip your water bowl. When you want food, you tip your food bowl. When you want a cookie, you sit in front of the cabinet. When you want outside, you pace around by the door. When you want outside bad enough, you pee on the floor.
You love your toys more than most dogs. You are so proud to prance around when you get a new one. Your favorite, and most reliable, though, is Hewbert. You love anything that squeaks, so much that you get all hyper and spastic when you hear it.
And Bronx, you loooooove your sister. You were so happy when we got her. Yes, she was a pain, and she always took your toys. (She never, though, took Hewbert.) You let her curl up to you, and sometimes have the best seat on the couch. Other times, you wedge yourself between daddy and her, even when there’s no room. We know Roxy is so glad to have had you in her life. She will never have another best friend like you.
You were the Best Dog in our wedding. We couldn’t have imagined it without you.
Bronx, when I first met you, you weren’t sure who I was. But, on the long drive from Atlanta to Chicago, right around Kentucky, you leaned across the console and put your head in my lap, and that’s when I knew I could be your mommy.
Whenever I cried, for any reason, and anytime, you came. If you were across the house, you would know. Or even if I was just sad. You always knew. You would stick your big wet face right in mine, and just wait for me to cry into your fur. Even when I was upset because you were sick, you wondered why I was crying.
You were so funny. You were the funniest dog that ever lived. No dog can ever or will ever be as funny as you.
Bronx, when you first go sick, we thought we would lose you that night. Then, we thought you would have only a month or so more. The vet said at the most six. But you stuck around. You poor heart though, eventually, gave out. You lived to be 32 in anxiety-years. You were just so concerned for everyone around you. You were selfless.
Bronx, we will never forget you. You were the best, worst, moving loving, funny, human-like animal on the planet. We will never, ever be able to replace you.
RIP Bronx the Boxer. May you rest in doggie heaven with unlimited Hewberts, doggie friends, and love.
I miss him so much. Now when I cry, no one is sitting there, looking concerned like he always did. Perhaps that's what I miss the most.
If you haven't seen my status, or don't know, my boxer dog Bronx passed away on Monday.
First, the guilt. The guilt, the guilt. Bronx had been sick for a year, and every once in a while he'd get this "episodes" where he'd have a hard time breathing or his heart would be pounding or it would be barely beating. Every time, we thought "this is the one," but every time, he recovered. Then, about two weeks ago he went into heart failure, which is basically his "turn for the worse." Since then he's had a hard time breathing almost always. Still, we didn't want to put him down just yet because he was still playing, eating, running around the house. He felt sick, but he seemed happy. I couldn't put down a dog that was happy. (Mac had wanted to put him down Friday, but I was afraid maybe we'd be doing it just to satisfy us, because we were so ready to move on, so I refused and Mac agreed. We kept him and he had a good weekend chilling with us.) Plus, I really wanted him to die at home. I didn't want to have to make the decision to put him down, and I wanted Roxy to be able to smell him and know he was gone.
So Monday I had to go to UIC to do placement readings. It's like a job, but I really couldn't call in because you sign up for four dates and then you go - I'm sure I could have called in if I seriously needed to, but I didn't think I should call just because Bronx was having "an episode." I'd called in to my other jobs over the past year for "episodes" and every time Bronx was fine.
Monday morning Mac was gone already, it was around 10:30 that I had to leave, and I was running late. As I was getting ready to run out the door, Bronx did something odd - he lied down in front of the front door. Our place is all second floor except you go down half a flight to the front door, then another half flight to the garage door (the garage is the only part of our place on the first level). Now, the entryway by the front door is where he goes whenever he has an upset stomach or feels sick in general, so I kind of half knew that's probably where he'd go if he was going to die. He sort of wanted to wander down there during other "episodes" but if we were home we'd encourage him to stay upstairs. He was laying there, breathing so heavy. But again, I was late! So I went down there to pass by him (Roxy was running around and everything was chaotic), and I noticed some pee dribbles by him, so I ran him out very quick through the garage. He peed on a bush, then I coaxed him back inside. I basically left both dogs on the stairs. Before I left, I gave Bronx a pet on the head and told him to be okay. I said I'd be back in four hours or so.
He looked very worried. I should have known, dammit.
But if I had known, would I have stayed? I know now that if I knew how I'd FEEL now I would stay, but truthfully, every time Mac and I left the house lately, we'd tell the dog it was okay if he wanted to "go to the light" while we were gone. I think we just wanted him to go on his own (not being put down) so bad, I didn't even consider that I should be with him.
As I drove away, I looked, and saw him looking out the windows by the front door at me. He always did that, so it wasn't unusual, but again, I should have known. Something was telling me this was it. His little face in the window - it's killing me.
When I got done at school I had to pick up some of his medicine, but I had such a feeling then that he'd be dead I decided to go home first to make sure he was alive before I spent the money. I opened the door from the garage and called for the dogs. Only Roxy came downstairs. Still, I didn't know for sure then, because since Bronx got sick sometimes he slept so hard he wouldn't hear me, and I could take Roxy out and go upstairs and find him asleep, but alive, on the couch. So while I was taking Roxy out and prepared myself. I opened the door and Roxy ran up the stairs, and I was thinking about where I'd find him. I stepped inside the small, probably 3 x 3 foot space at the foot of the stairs, and tried to the shut the door. The door was stuck on something. I looked down.
The door was stuck on Bronx. That's how I found him, he was behind the door the whole time and I didn't know until I looked down and saw him rear, legs spread eagle, beneath me.
Fuck.
So right away I went into everything I'd prepared to do. I got a blanket to cover him. I called Mac. I called the vet. Mac was coming home and the vet gave me instructions on coming home.
Then I went down to cover him, and that's when I realized what an asshole I was.
I should have stayed!!!
Why didn't I stay with him? God, he was trying to tell me he was sick. And at first I just kept saying, but he was always having an episode, I didn't expect him to die this time. He always recovered. But the truth is, I realized today I think, that I knew he might die, and I may have left anyway. We were just so READY for him to die, I didn't think about being there. But when I saw him, by the garage door, like he was trying to FOLLOW ME I knew I should have stayed.
The way I found him, he had clearly not curled up to die. He was standing, and he fell. He landed, like I said, spread eagle, on a clothes hanger and two speaker stand poles (not comfortable). He had his face tiled towards the space under the stairs, which was filled with boxes, so I couldn't really see his face, and I decided not to look at his eyes or anything. I didn't think I'd be able to touch him, but I found I wanted to. I petted him. He was cold. He must have been dead a while.
I wondered if he must have watched me out the window, then walked right down to the garage door and collapsed. Or did he watch me for awhile? Was he scared? Did it hurt? Did he pass out or drown in his lung fluid painfully? Did he wish I'd been there? Was he waiting for me to come back? Was he trying to tell me this was it? It was clearly his worst episode, but I wasn't paying attention I was too much in a hurry. Mac thinks that if I'd been there he may not have died, because he would have tried to make it for us, like he always did (but he said this as a good thing, because we wanted him to die). Others are telling me stories about how there dogs went off alone to die, because animals want to be alone to die. And I think if I'd found Bronx in the back bedroom or something, then I'd known he DID want to be alone. But no. He was at the door. Where I left.
Did he go down there because it was a small space? It was like going off in the corner to die? And he was too sick to make it upstairs, so he went down? OR, was he trying to follow me? This I will never know, but I sure feel guilty. When I found him, I said out loud to him that I was sorry, that I should have stayed, that I hope he wasn't scared. I said this among other things.
So I talked to my mom and everything, then Mac got home. Mac rolled him into blankets, and we took him to the trunk. The new neighbors were out. Probably watching. It felt weird. I made sure Roxy smelled him multiple times, but she seemed really spazzed out. She was wagging her tail and jumping, but also whining. Just acting nuts. We all went to the vet, and Mac carried Bronx in. I followed with Roxy because they said I could bring her. It was awful, Mac was holding Bronx in the blankets and his stupid old head came flopping out, and so I had to see his dead face afterall, because Mac was DROPPING him in the hallway. It didn't really look like him. Or maybe it looked like he looked when he first woke up and had this sleepy, smooshy face. All his extra face skin bunched up. Not full of life. We put him in a back room, on a freezer that they'd put him in I suppose. We paid for cremation and ashes that we'll get in a week. I know that's sort of dumb, but I did it more for the fact that I didn't want to imagine him being thrown in a pile of dead dogs as medical waste, than for the fact I wanted the ashes. Now though, I can't wait for them. I want to bring him home for the final time, and I feel like even though they are only ashes, it will bring an end to this, like a funeral does for people.
Before we left the vet, we all went back again one last time. I covered his face again with the blankets, and I actually (through the blankets) hugged him. I could never have imagined that I'd do that to a dead body before this, but it was like, it's my Bronx. He's all cold and stiff but this is what's left of Bronx. His feet, I made Roxy smell them again before we left, they were freezing. But they were his little puppy feet. Mac had to drag me out of there. If not for Roxy getting all restless and excitable, I may never have left.
At home, things started to sink in. The guilt of leaving, and just being upset. Even though we'd been preparing for this for a year, ever since Bronx passed out in the kitchen and we ended up at the emergency vet. That night is when we found out he was going to die soon. We grieved that night because we thought he'd go then, but he didn't. He stuck it out for a year. Over the past year, we've been aware he could die two ways: his heart arrhythmia could cause sudden death any time, or if it did not, his heart would enlarge slowly until that caused heart failure. Once he went into heart failure we would have only a matter of weeks until the fluid in his lungs would get so bad we'd have to put him down or he'd die.
So every time we came home, every damn day, we thought it could be the day we'd find him gone. But no, he stuck it out, and then the heart failure came. Last week we noticed his gut was huge, turns out it was fluid in the abdomen. This meant we were at the failure stage. They drained the fluid and gave us a diarrhetic for the lung fluid, but it didn't work for long. By a few days, he was bloated again and breathing hard. He was still happy, though, like I said. I'm GLAD we didn't put him down, I just wish I would have been there when he died. I don't care how painful it would have been to watch. I hope he didn't feel I abandoned him. I hope he was not scared. I hope he was waiting for me to leave because he wanted to be alone. I hope Roxy was there for him, though she often ran from his attacks because they scared her. I hope her being around comforted him. At first I was appalled that he went splat on the floor from an obvious standing position, but Mac pointed out that this probably means it was quick. I hope it was. I don't like the body and the smooshy face and the cold feet being my last thoughts of him, but really they are not.
This picture that I have gets to me so much, I don't know why. Only about 2 days before he went I took a lot of stupid short videos on my camera of him. I thought I may need to see how he was breathing hard so that if we had to put him down and I regretted it, I could look back and see the struggle so I'd know it was the right thing. So I have a few videos of him breathing hard. But I also took this one 30 second video of him sitting by me, and at the end he looks back. This is a still shot of the video, which I think captures him so much more than a picture. Pictures do weird things to dog's eyes, and you can't see his soul coming through. But this screen shot, I think you can see it. This is how I remember him:
Roxy has been acting weird since we came home, but today I think she finally got sad. She's been mopey. I have Bronx's collar and his favorite football toy by me on a chair, and Roxy smells them. (Crap, I smell them.... they smell like stinky ol' Bronx, but now I want to smell stinky ol' Bronx.) We took Roxy for a walk today and she smelled two other dogs. I hope this helps her to not feel alone. Socialization. I was glad she got out and saw dogs. It seemed important. Now though, she is lying here looking so sad. And she whines. She just stands in the living room and whines. When there's a noise outside, she jumps up, more so than normal, and I wonder if she hopes it's Bronx, coming home.
Right now, what I am struggling with the most is knowing where he is. It's harder than when people die in that way. With people, you are comforted that they are in heaven and you will see them again, but with pets? I know some people think dogs have no souls, that they just go away when they die, to nothing. I am so terrified to think this is true. And the thing is, my religion pretty much says that's the way it is, though some protest it. Either way, the Bible really says nothing about it. So the first night, I spend all night looking up religious opinions on dog heaven. I found a lot of stuff, but no definitive answer. I don't know why this bothered me so much. I just felt - feel - like I HAVE to know. It's this desperate feeling that Bronx must live on. I don't know what it is about him, because I didn't feel this sort of thing with Amber (my childhood dog), and as awful as it is, I don't know that I'd feel this way with Roxy (I might). (I was/will be horribly sad and upset, of course, but with Amber I don't remember questioning her eternal life.) Bronx is different though. Others have told me he was special and it's true. He had SO MUCH personality, is was INSANE to most who met him, that way he talked to you, communicated, understood to much. He was so SMART. Also, he had so much LOVE. I am convinced there is no one on this planet that could love me as unconditionally and as much as Bronx loved Mac and I. He freaking loved us SO MUCH. So, when I think about him just being gone, it doesn't seem possible. It doesn't seem possible that that much intelligence and mostly that that much LOVE could just be gone. Bronx was a special dog.
So then I think about the other side - not the Bible verses and religion and all that, but about ghosts and psychics and spirits and that sort of thing. I mean, I sort of believe in ghosts, and I have read stories about people who have had a dog die, and then a few days later they hear tags jingle, or feel the dog jump on the bed or something. I investigated and found lots more. Does this kind of thing contradict my religion? This I don't know. It seems to make sense, that maybe a dog would come back just to say goodbye, or to let their owner know they were okay. I mainly just want to know he still exists, like I said. So I've been waiting around for a noise. Hoping, even. Today Roxy and I were in the loft, and we heard a noise on the tile by the front door below. We both jumped a mile. It sounded like the front door creaking, maybe? But not a creak. Maybe like wind settling the house, but it wasn't windy, and it was more concentrated. It was a small bang, bang on the floor. It wasn't exactly toenails though either. Still, I cautiously said, "Bronx?" outloud, and then I sort of laughed at myself and thought about what a lunatic Mac would call me. A few minutes later, there was a bang in the kitchen, not exactly like dog bowls, though, which Bronx would often bang around. This was more just a noise. It could have been dog bowls. But then dishwasher was running. So it was probably that.
What I want to believe is that he stays with us for a lot longer than a moment. But I also like to think that he feels so much better now, and that he can run and run and run around like before he was sick, and he can play with other dogs and have fun. It's hard though to imagine him happy without us because he was so attached (separation anxiety), but I know wherever he is his anxiety is probably gone now. I want to believe he can check on us, but I don't believe people can, so now it seems because of this dog I'm changing all my opinions on everything.
I did read one thing that I liked very much. One website suggested that in the same way God brings us about in heaven, we could chose to bring an animal around. Basically, God created animals and then man, and he made it so man rules over animals. God's love saves us and beings us to heaven. So maybe we can do the same for our pets. Maybe Bronx isn't around now, but when I die I can conjure him up. This is what my mom believes. It's an okay theory, but I still like to think Bronx is around right now. Somewhere.
But moving on...
I don't want this post to be all about his death, I also want it to be about his life. Bronx was part of our family. We are "crazy dog people" as you can see from our wedding pictures. Right now, it is still hard for me to think about "the good times." Mac is at that point, but I am still in the crying phase. But, I do have something to post about his life, that I wrote on 1/23/09. For some reason, that night I think I was sitting around with him, and I was thinking about how he was going to die, and he was right there, and I was writing this:
Bronx,
You had more personality than any dog I’ve ever known, and more than most people, too. You were the good and the bad, of course.
As you crept into our hearts by refusing to sleep on the floor, and persisting in playing fetch, you tried our nerves as well by breaking out of crates and ripping into trash bags.
Bronx, you’ve destroyed 13 different window treatments and 3 different apartments. You’ve ripped through a doorframe, scratched up 4 doors, chewed through 3 different industrial strength metal crates, eaten bras, tipped over tables, and peed on houseplants.
You were only trying to follow us when we left, though. You were scared to be alone. And when the painters came to paint the trim, you were only trying to scare them away. You were protecting your family.
Bronx, you had separation anxiety, allergies to almost everything, a ripped eyelid problem, an issue with your pee-pee that is too gross to describe, and you smell… really bad.
Most of all, you are simply just the most anxious animal on the planet. But if you weren’t so smart, you wouldn’t be that way.
Bronx, you love to cuddle. You can’t even imagine being in the same room as someone without being pressed up against them. You crawl up onto the couch and wiggle behind your daddy when he leans forward. You walk up the middle of the bed and wedge yourself between us at night, or curl up between scissor-kicked legs.
You also barge into the bathroom if the door isn’t completely shut.
Bronx, you talk to us. Not only do you know more English language words than most three-year-olds, you have expressions. When you want water, you tip your water bowl. When you want food, you tip your food bowl. When you want a cookie, you sit in front of the cabinet. When you want outside, you pace around by the door. When you want outside bad enough, you pee on the floor.
You love your toys more than most dogs. You are so proud to prance around when you get a new one. Your favorite, and most reliable, though, is Hewbert. You love anything that squeaks, so much that you get all hyper and spastic when you hear it.
And Bronx, you loooooove your sister. You were so happy when we got her. Yes, she was a pain, and she always took your toys. (She never, though, took Hewbert.) You let her curl up to you, and sometimes have the best seat on the couch. Other times, you wedge yourself between daddy and her, even when there’s no room. We know Roxy is so glad to have had you in her life. She will never have another best friend like you.
You were the Best Dog in our wedding. We couldn’t have imagined it without you.
Bronx, when I first met you, you weren’t sure who I was. But, on the long drive from Atlanta to Chicago, right around Kentucky, you leaned across the console and put your head in my lap, and that’s when I knew I could be your mommy.
Whenever I cried, for any reason, and anytime, you came. If you were across the house, you would know. Or even if I was just sad. You always knew. You would stick your big wet face right in mine, and just wait for me to cry into your fur. Even when I was upset because you were sick, you wondered why I was crying.
You were so funny. You were the funniest dog that ever lived. No dog can ever or will ever be as funny as you.
Bronx, when you first go sick, we thought we would lose you that night. Then, we thought you would have only a month or so more. The vet said at the most six. But you stuck around. You poor heart though, eventually, gave out. You lived to be 32 in anxiety-years. You were just so concerned for everyone around you. You were selfless.
Bronx, we will never forget you. You were the best, worst, moving loving, funny, human-like animal on the planet. We will never, ever be able to replace you.
RIP Bronx the Boxer. May you rest in doggie heaven with unlimited Hewberts, doggie friends, and love.
I miss him so much. Now when I cry, no one is sitting there, looking concerned like he always did. Perhaps that's what I miss the most.