As much as I hate to admit it my beloved dog is approaching the end of his life. He has been steadily losing weight for the last few months. I haven’t had adequate funds to take him to the vet’s, although my brother keeps insisting that it’s simply a matter of him aging and losing muscle tone. I’m afraid there may be a blockage or a tumor and that’s why he’s losing.
This dog has been my baby for almost 12 years. He represents one of the few times I stood up to Cousinfucker.
You may remember me recounting how for years I had wanted a Great Dane that I would name Beauregard, Beau for short. Well, I met Cousinfucker and he had always wanted a Boxer that he wanted to name Beauregard, Beau for short. Guess what we ended up getting? Yep, a Boxer named Sampson.
No, I kid. It’s Beauregard. Beau for short. Or Beau Beau. Beau Ray Mi. Bojangles. Bocephus. Bobacita. Beau-dee O-dee O. Bo-bee. My big hunky monkey. Big boy. Handsome.
I even made up a song for him. It’s sung to the tune of Green Acres:
Bocephus is the dog for me.
He’s a Boxer; he’s got ADD
Land spreading out so far and wide
Keep that poodle I want a Boxer by my side.
I got him as a gift for Cousinfucker because I’m a kind, considerate person. I listen to people and I know what they like and I try to get them things they would enjoy, not just random shit. So one year I got him a Boxer puppy for his birthday.
I drove the seven plus hours to his home state to get this dog for him because Tammy Faye knew someone whose son raised Boxers. He was selling them cheap due to a tragedy in his own family. He was born late July and we got him right before Halloween so he was right around 12 weeks old. He was just a gangly little thing and so bad!
He ate EVERYTHING! Shoes. Dolls. Guinea pigs. He would knock the kids down and pull them around the yard by the hoods of their coats. He would try to grab their shoes off of their feet and frequently succeeded. When that happened he would run around the yard like the proud victor in war, the shoe dangling from his mouth as he bolted away from the kids who had given chase. He even ate the back of one of the recliners, which I hurried and had reupholstered so CF wouldn’t know because he already wanted to get rid of him.
I took him to obedience training when he was still a puppy. I fed him. I let him out and cleaned up his messes when he would have them, which wasn’t often. I even slept with him, although in hindsight I’m not sure how that worked with both kids still sleeping with me. Hell, maybe I had 2 kids and 2 dogs in the bed with me. It wouldn’t surprise me.
So where did I stand up to him again? Oh yeah. We got him in October and by the following August we knew we were moving 1500 miles away. CF thought it made more sense to give him away before we moved. I thought it made more sense to give Cousinfucker away. I told him I was NOT leaving that dog behind. I loved that dog. I even paid outrageous money for a dog trainer to come to our house and go through obedience training once again. Plus that re-upholstered chair from above.
When I was officially banished to the couch I would sleep with my beloved Beau every night, resting my feet on him. He was a true pillow pet. Some days I would pull out the recliner and sleep sitting up with his head resting on my lap.
When we moved 2000 miles across the country a few years ago my daughter chose to ride in the backseat so that she could watch videos while we traveled. This meant my delicious little Bobacita got to ride up front with me. I put a pillow on the middle console and he wedged his big butt in the front seat and rode mainly with his head in my lap.
Whenever repairmen were at the house he was always by my side. He would rarely let them pet him, which I found strange. Then one day one of those men pointed out to me that he was staying by my side to protect me. He would sit on my feet and not move while they were there. He never growled or became aggressive. He just very calmly sat beside me, watching this intruder I had let into the house. When I mentioned that I wasn’t sure he would ever actually attack, the man assured me, “Oh, if someone were trying to hurt you that dog would attack.”
When Cousinfucker left me it was my dogs that joined me in bed. They all kept me company and loved me when Cousinfucker did not. I spent many a night on the couch as well, surrounded by dogs. If Beau was on the section of the couch that had the powered recliner I would lean it back for him so he had a little more room.
Rock Star once accused me of loving Beau more than I loved the kids. I’m pretty sure I pointed out to her that he does not talk back and he’s not always asking me for something. I’m also pretty sure she wasn’t amused.
I don’t want to have to make this appointment. I don’t want to have to face this. I love this dog. But I also know he’s getting old. He’s 11, a few months shy of 12, and for a Boxer that’s incredibly old. You will sometimes hear of them living to be 12, 13, 14, but on average they live about 8 years. I spoke to a vet who told me anytime they have a Boxer over the age of 8 they always take special note of that because they just don’t tend to live much beyond that. That’s especially fantastic news because my second Boxer is 8 right now, soon to be 9.
He’s gone from about 95 pounds to maybe 50 pounds. He has trouble climbing the stairs and getting up on the couch. I go ahead of him now so that I can catch him if he stumbles and prevent him from tumbling down the stairs. He’s had at least two seizures that I know of. He’s got diarrhea (sorry about that. TMI, I’m sure.)
He doesn’t seem miserable. I feed him his regular dog food and then give him some wet stuff to try to put weight back on him. He still wags his tail and is willing to try counter surfing if given the chance. He still tries to get into the trash if he smells something delicious.
This pet ownership thing is tough. I’m not ready to say goodbye but I don’t want him to live in misery if he is indeed miserable. And I know this isn’t Cousinfucker’s fault. It’s not like the dog is dying of a broken heart. But still, this is yet one more thing he’s left me to deal with all by myself.