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I mentioned a couple of days ago in my blog that I was taking three of my dogs to the groomer. Well, while I was there, I saw a bunch of Boxer puppies. Boy did that bring back memories. I grew up with a female brindle colored boxer named Brinda, of course, for her color. Since I was an only child, she was my constant companion from the time we got her as a puppy when I was about 10 or 11 years old until I went off to college. Let me tell you a couple of stories about her.
One time when we went out and left her at home, she found a bar of lye soap and ate some of it. When we came home she started foaming and gagging and when we found out what she had just been into, we thought she was a goner. Rushed her to the Vet and he said he couldn’t do anything for her except keep her comfortable. We took her home and spoon fed her Knox Gelatin and water. She was unable to get up, but after a week or so of constant care, she showed signs of improvement. It took awhile, but she finally got as good as new. The Vet couldn’t believe it.
She loved to tag along when I would go skiing. She would chase you down the hill and usually catch you. If she caught you, she would jump on the ski in front of you and you would go head over heels. Then she would lick the snow off your face.
She was not allowed in our living room. There was couch along the wall just inside the door. Sometimes she would sneak in behind that couch. She did just that one time when we had company and they were sitting on that couch. I guess ole Brinda got bored so she started to chew on the electric cord to the lamp. The big old couch with the company sitting on it just flew forward almost upsetting and nearly throwing off the couple sitting on it. Guess Brinda bit through the wire just right. Surprise, Surprise.
She always knew when it was time for the school bus to drop me off and would be watching out my bedroom window. She wasn’t afraid of anything except thunder storms. I was away at college when I was told that Brinda had died. She passed away during a thunder storm. I have always felt so bad that I wasn’t with her to help her through that last storm.
We had an old dog names Rex when I was growing up. My step dad was his favorite human and when he died Rex sort of adopted me as his favorite human after grieving for months. I joined the Army and went to Viet Nam and my mom said that Rex was grieving again. She said one day about a couple of weeks after I was gone he just laid down in the back yard and died. Could have just been his time or maybe he grieved himself to death? I was real fond of that old dog!
ReplyDeleteDogs can get quite attached to a human. And the other way around. Grief is a powerfull thing and can kill animals and humans.
ReplyDeleteI use to see my dog, Brando at the back door where my kitchen is long after he was put down.
ReplyDeleteI rescued him from the bush and worked hard to maintain a ferrel dog but the day before he was put down, he bit me, and it wasn't a playful nip.
He knew he done wrong. He sulked and cried the rest of the day. My heart was broken. He was my best friend. I helped him, saved him from living in the bushland to defend himself. I helped train him. He listened to everything I said. He stuck by me through a lot.
His attack on me was unforgivable. I couldn't risk that happening to a neighbour, to my young nephew or niece. So I took him to the vet the next day. He was surprised to see me. All I did was show him the bandage on my hand and I said "I think you know what I'm here for mate"
He took the dog inside then came out to have a chat to me. I explained what happened, and he said despite feeling wrong to do, it was the right thing. The risk was always there, but I thought I could help Brando.
It's been years since I've had another dog. I wasn't ready to go through all the puppy things again. But my wife and I have started to talk about it. We've both had many dogs, all well. All raised in good households.
They truly are a mans best friend. Despite Brando turning on me, I still loved him 100%. Dogs never have bad days.
That was a hard thing to do, possibly one of the hardest you will ever have.
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