Family matters...

Ten years ago today, I bade farewell to my first canine companion, Bucky. He was a total sweetheart, an absolute angel – the mellowest, most chill dog imaginable. I adopted him when he was 2, but due to kidney failure, he didn't even live to be 10. Bucky's early death shattered me. He deserved a much longer life than fate granted him. I can hardly believe it's been a whole decade now since that terrible day I had to say good-bye. I'll always love you, Bucky. You – like Shadow after you – were the best dog in the whole wide world...

 

I still miss my Bucky, every minute of every day...

 

I finally got rid of Bucky's car today...



I know I shouldn't get sentimental about a mass of machinery that's been nothing but trouble for me for the past year, but that car was so associated in my mind with my dear-departed dog that I can't help but feel sad that it's gone out of my life now, too.

My "new" car is so nice, though, I'm unsure whether or not I'd allow a future dog to ride in it. If I could have afforded to maintain and insure two vehicles, I definitely would have kept the old Volvo as a "doggy" car, but that's completely out of the question given the precarious state of my finances...

 

My neighbor, local artist Allison Reed, recently painted this wonderful portrait of Bucky for me.



click image to enlarge

Isn't it amazing? I just burst into happy sobbing when I first saw it. I found the halo effect to be especially poignant. Bucky truly was my angel, both in life, and now beyond. This painting means so much to me! Until now, I had not one single physical image of Bucky that I could look at – only digital ones – so being able to see this portrait on my living room wall is tremendously comforting. Once again, I feel Bucky's presence here in a really tangible way, and for that, I am genuinely grateful. Thank you, Allison!

 

It's a bit too breezy today to fly my century-old, 45-star flag for Independence Day this year, so instead I have my 15-star/15-stripe "Star-Spangled Banner" replica on display.





Technically, I'm displaying it incorrectly, as when the Flag is hung out-of-doors and is visible from either side, the union (the part with the stars) should be pointed either in the direction of the rising sun, or towards the north, and the union is oriented southward here. Since most people seem to get irked seeing the Flag with the union positioned at right, though, I'm hoping to avoid some unwarranted flak this year. ;)



Also, here is a picture of the cat that adopted me within 48 hours of Bucky's death.





She used to visit with him and me when we'd go on walks by her house. Bucky was always glad to meet his only feline friend, and the white cat was very tolerant of his rather rude canine social greeting ritual. ;) And during the last two nights of Bucky's life, when he was visibly crippled, the cat displayed genuine concern, walking alongside Bucky halfway around the block from her home. It was almost as if she were asking him like, "What's wrong?" Anyway, after Bucky died, she started spending all of her time here, so I've been feeding her. Her real owners don't seem to mind, as they have a ton of other cats. Maybe they don't even know or care that she's not around much anymore. Whatever, I'm glad for the occasional company...

 

I wonder how many people ultimately die due to the death of a beloved pet. I suppose there's no way to know for certain, but I think there's a greater-than-zero chance I may end up being one of them.



It's two months today since Bucky died, and I'm still beset with soul-crushing grief and remorse. The events of his last days – and especially his last hour – still truly haunt me. On one hand I can count the number of days I have not sobbed to the point of exhaustion for the loss of my only companion in the world. Time is not healing this wound. If anything, it's festering, necrotizing. Slowly but surely, it's sapping my will to go on.

It goes beyond Bucky's death, though. Just in general, I feel like I have lived too long already. Everything that once inspired and motivated my existence is in the past. My family is gone, my otters are gone, my perfect pet is gone, and I'm completely alone and adrift now. I have no hopes nor dreams for the future anymore. In almost every way, I feel like I'm just waiting around to die. Having nothing of substance to look forward to, I yearn sometimes for death's early release. If I did it by my own hand, it wouldn't be a means of escape, though; more like self-inflicted punishment for a once-promising life thoroughly squandered and wasted.

This would change if I had someone/something to live for. Bucky gave me that. Another dog might change this, but there's no guarantee. Bucky was more like a son to me than a pet. If you lost your only son, would adopting or giving birth to another heal that wound in your soul? It might for some people, but I seriously question whether it would work for me.

I probably wouldn't actually kill myself, though. I may not have any companions in life, but I do have many friends, and I wouldn't want to subject them to the pain and grief my suicide would cause. If I died, I'd want to be remembered with fondness, not for anything negative. I do wish my life would end sooner rather than later, however. I really have nothing tangible left to live for.

And now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for today's cry. The tears I've shed already while writing this are not going to be nearly enough to satisfy this day's quota of grief...

 

I'm dog-sitting for a friend of a friend for a few days. I was surprised and honored to be asked, and without hesitation, I accepted. I've really missed having a dog around the house, and I thought this would be just the ticket to lift my spirits.

Unexpectedly, though, I'm finding that having these dogs here has made me miss Bucky more than ever, so it's not the healing experience I'd hoped it would be. That's discouraging. Clearly, it's not canine companionship per se that I'm missing, but the companionship of one dog in particular, and unfortunately, he's not ever coming back...

 

Received two sympathy cards yesterday re: my beloved Bucky...

This one was from my old college friend, Paul:




And this one was from the vet who put Bucky to sleep:




Both made me cry my eyes out, as you might guess. (In a good way, though.)

 

I miss my dog terribly. It's now been two weeks since Bucky was put to sleep, and not a day's gone by that I haven't cried my eyes out over losing him. He was the best dog in the whole wide world, and my world is a whole lot less worth living in now that he's not in it.

I'm still racked by guilt that I may have had Bucky put down too soon, though. In terms of his ability to walk, it absolutely was the right time – I have zero doubt about that. Considering the rate of his physical decline, in another day or two I'm certain he wouldn't have been able to walk at all anymore. (He couldn't even stand up to greet the vet when she arrived.)

On the other hand, I had told myself originally that I wasn't going to have Bucky put to sleep until it was clear to me that he wasn't enjoying life anymore. This is where my trouble lies, because I know that, even though he was very weak and getting weaker every day, Bucky still loved his little world and he did not want to leave it yet – or leave me.

The vet has since told me, though, that dogs in the last stage of kidney failure have at most one week left to live, and that, at the end, they are in a great deal of pain. And Bucky's last blood test at the clinic the Friday before confirmed that his kidneys had "given up," to use that vet's exact words.

So even though I know Bucky was still experiencing a degree of enjoyment in life, I have to accept the fact that he did have a terminal illness and was certain to die within a few days, anyway, and in retrospect, I really did not want him to have to endure any suffering. The decision to put him to sleep still rips me up inside, though. I know from how Bucky behaved during his last days that he did truly want me to help him, but the only way I could help him was to end his life in as peaceful and painless a manner as possible.

I'll tell you something, though. I'd much prefer it had been me that died rather than Bucky. In many ways, I feel like I've already lived too long. I've outlived almost everyone I've ever loved, and there's no one here with me at all anymore. To live and die alone seems now to be my destined fate.



Anyway, I thought I'd share some video clips of Bucky. I wish now that I'd taken many more movies of him. One of dozens of regrets I have now, looking back on our all-too-brief time together.

( 4 YouTube clips here. )

I miss you so much, Bucky! I just don't know what I'm going to do without you...