Little Texas

“You think those dogs will not be in heaven! I tell you they will be there long before any of us.”
 Robert Louis Stevenson

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I imagine every dog lover thinks his dog was/is the best.  I know Little Texas was, hands down – no questions asked, the best dog ever.  When I first laid eyes on the tangle of giant paws and floppy ears I was a goner.  His easy going spirit was evident from the start.  Baby Ruth wasn’t as impressed and pouted upstairs for a week. The kids however, were smitten.

He has been one of our constants as we have moved around.  No matter where home was, we all took comfort in having Texas and Baby Ruth there to beg for a treat, a walk or a head scratch.  Having my foot stepped on by the clumsy oaf provided a sense of stability.  I knew I was home.  Move to a new neighborhood and you could count on him to introduce you to the neighbors.

This morning the gray sky was a backdrop for a flood of Texas memories.  As we walked to the vet I thought about numerous Texas moments.  Greeting Baby Ruth with a bite on the nose.  Swimming laps in the creek and biting the splashes he made.  The time he almost died from eating flowers.  The time I wanted to kill him for eating my glasses.  The way he was afraid of bunny rabbits, but nothing else. Having to bribe him out of water.   The way he wagged his whole rear instead of his tail.  And his eyes – those beautiful chocolate spheres that looked into your soul and accepted you for better or worse.

His gentle eyes are now closed for good.  When I found out he had cancer I didn’t expect another year with him.  But even a year didn’t seem long enough.  I knew it was coming and pretended it wasn’t.  But today, I knew.  It was time.  I had to make the decision that he couldn’t.  I know it was the right decision even as I feel the guilt of it.  It would have been easier to not go, but I owed it to him to be there: to do the hard thing, to be present, to rub his head and watch those eyes as they closed for the last time.

Rest easy, Texas.  Run, swim, chase splashes and bark at the rabbits all you want.  You are free.

7 Comments

  1. Doc Arnett

    May 16, 2013 at 9:22 am

    I have held animals I loved as they died. I cried as they slumped into that long, deep sleep. I wept for my loss, even knowing that I had shown them a greater kindness. I would rather live with my sorrow and the comfort of knowing that I had granted them that release than to take one more day of keeping them in pain to spare myself that separation. Good on you for loving Texas more than yourself.

    Reply
    • IntimateTruth

      May 16, 2013 at 9:47 am

      Yes, Uncle Harold, I agree completely! I never wanted to prolong his pain. Thank you for your kind words.

      Reply
  2. Eric Snider

    May 16, 2013 at 12:00 pm

    I’m leaving work early today. We have an appointment at the vet. I have buried several pets that I loved, but never have I had to choose for them to die. I never thought it would be this difficult. Your words have helped. Thanks for sharing about your loss.

    Reply
    • IntimateTruth

      May 16, 2013 at 12:22 pm

      So sorry Eric. It’s not an easy decision, but I’m glad that you can find comfort in my words. Praying for you.

      Reply
  3. Carolyn

    May 16, 2013 at 8:55 pm

    I am standing hear crying, for you, the family, Baby Ruth and for Little Texas. I am so sorry and at the same time, so proud of you for your courage and strength.

    Reply
    • IntimateTruth

      May 16, 2013 at 9:20 pm

      Thanks T! We all cried a lot yesterday, but we are better today.

      Reply
  4. Kai (Kaimana) | Desperately Seeking Holly

    July 16, 2013 at 2:48 pm

    […] my family’s feelings into words would fail.  It is my hope that she is running around with Texas somewhere in the great beyond.  I will get back to blogging soon.  Thank you for all the well […]

    Reply

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