He loved car rides, and hotels, and road trips. He loved other dogs
and other cats, big or small. He loved to lick my ice-cream bowl, and
to chase the white-water at the beach. He wasn't a swimmer, but he
could wade in the water on chest-level forever. There was never a
house he stayed at that he wouldn't try to take over the bed, and when
you walked in the house after being out, he would make sure he kissed
you right on the mouth. The cheek, the hand, the arm would not do --
it had to be the mouth. He loved his toys, and he loved children. He loved to wrestle with your arm, while he lay on his back, making sure to lick it any time it got close to his mouth. He
loved Deuce. And his favorite place to be was with me and Derek.
There was nothing that made him happier than us being all together.
It was sudden. Despite his age, and some minor health issues, we
weren't expecting it. I expected to spend the day at the vet, making
sure whatever was bothering him was fixed. Sadly, he died in the car
just blocks away from our house and blocks away from the vet. I think
he chose his time though -- he was with us both, and his best friend
Deuce was at home chewing on a big bone since he didn't get to come
with us. I think he also knew the vet could maybe help him a little
bit, for a little while, but we would have been faced with the
decision of whether to put him to sleep, and Butter knew better than
anyone I could not have done it.
Despite my panic and my screams -- "Derek, make him breath. He has to breath. He is not breathing. He is supposed to breath. MAKE him breath. Let me do CPR. He is supposed to breath. He is not supposed to die. Make him breath. He is supposed to stay with us. He has to breath...." -- it was peaceful. He was peaceful. There was the smallest sound, and I turned around, and saw him choke just a little. His eyes were open, but I could see that his soul was just barely there. And then it wasn't. He went peacefully. He was a gentle giant, and peaceful was his way with everything.
We had him for the latter 7 years of his long life, and I like to
believe they were by far better than the first 6 years without us.
Every single day we had him, he became more trusting, more open, more
comfortable, more loving. He never stopped learning how good life
really was, and he never stopped enjoying it. Just two weeks ago I
woke up after a few hours of sleep b/c I heard some rustling. It
turned out that Butter & Deuce were playing tug-a-war with a toy. It
was the first time ever -- ever -- that Butter played tug-a-war. He
used to have to hide the toys when we first got Deuce b/c Butter's
food aggression spilled over onto toys, and he didn't quite know how
to share. Eventually, he learned to share but if Deuce tried to play
tug-a-way, Butter would just let him have the toy. He was a little
scared of his old instincts coming back to him. Just two weeks ago,
he discovered that he could do it. I stayed up watching them play for
the next twenty minutes. Never had I felt more proud or more content.
Just two days ago, he was playing with his favorite stuffed animal bone, threatening to take it out on a walk with us. Just last night, he smiled while he asked (by wagging his tail and staring at us) to help him climb into bed. Just this morning I was laying down next to him, trying to get him to eat, petting his sore bones, telling him I loved him. When he got in the car, he was breathing. Two blocks later he wasn't.
My favorite pictures of him aren't on this computer, or any computer. Most are in my mind. The ones that are memorialized are framed, taken with our 35 mm camera. Him at my parents house the summer we got married, looking up at me with a smile on his face, thanking me with his eyes and his tongue for letting him spend the summer with us. With my parents, with their two dogs -- one of whom, Sneaker, he now gets to play with again without the constraints of arthritis or tumors or cancer or whatever they silently and bravely and courageously faced while alive, with no complaints. Another photo was taken two years later, of him in a hotel room in San Francisco, with a more content smile than I had ever before seen. Telling us how fun the road trip was, how happy he was to show Deuce the life of a city dog. How much he loved the heavenly Kimpton Group bed and hotel. It is so close up that you can see every detail of his face, all the expression that he carried. And from that same trip, there is a picture of him on the beach in Carmel, at sunset. He is laying facing me, the wave break to his back. Deuce close to him, but slightly behind him. He is happy, he is content. He knows his life is good. He wants to make ours even better. You see it all in that picture.
There was not a day we had him that he did not make my life happier, more complete, more rewarding. He was the highlight of every day - he was my pride and joy. He was the gentle giant that showed everyone around us what a little love can do, and how much it could change a life. He showed Derek and I that we knew how to love, and taught us that there is nothing more important than being together. I will never forget his determination to stay in one spot if we ever tried to split up and walk separate ways. "I will not move unless you are both together." Even when his backlegs had no muscle, his determination was still no match for us. But as long as we were together, walking next to each other, he would gladly walk miles and travel anywhere. His family gave him all he needed to be happy, to be content. I will carry that with me forever.
And I will miss him forever.
