Losing Our Dog

There's something uniquely devastating about losing your family dog. I am lucky to have spent the last 8 months at home to get that time with Beau before having to say goodbye. But now that he's gone, the hole seems to magnify when realizing the little empty spots in our day-to-day life. 

I got Beau from our local dog pound for $5 in 2010. I was 19 years old, had just left college, really had no direction, but when I saw him, we bonded instantly. My first hurdle was convincing my mom and grandma to let me get him since I had moved back home. At first they didn't like that he was barking but they warmed up to the little guy fast because he had these soulful, kind eyes. ​

Would you believe me if I said Beau never spent a day alone? I kid you not, my grandma or Erik  was always home with him and if she wasn't, we brought him to my dads. When I worked at a local gym, sometimes I would bring him if he looked sad so he wouldn't have to spend 5 hours without me. When Chris and I moved out to Brookfield, we would drop Beau off at my mom's house for "doggy daycare" so that he wouldn't have to be alone. This was the most pampered, human dog alive. 

He had terrible teeth, something the veterinarian said was a result of his early year on the street. We don't have any clue where he came from or why he ended up in Ridgefield. He was well trained, hated people in ball hats, and hated water. To his last days, I couldn't get him to like the sprinkler, cool off in a pool, or go anywhere near water unless it was just to drink it. 

From 19 when I first got him to now, at 29, so many things have happened and Beau was there through it all. New jobs, three moves, pregnancy and two babies, countless roadtrips, a wedding,  a new kitty, several family losses (including my dad), and so much more. That dog never left my side and was always trekking along at my heels. To a fault, even!

I find myself missing him most in the little moments. This morning, I got the two kids out of bed and went downstairs, I usually unlock the front door and let Beau out. We obviously couldn't do so since he was gone and there was just a pause. A breathless moment where I felt beyond empty. The kids and I went outside and I held the front door...for what? Well, Beau was usually on my heels and rushing behind us. Today, he wasn't. 

I hold doors and pause for him. It's as if my body was so used to him being with me that I've become accustomed to his four paws behind me, beside me, and alongside us. Lincoln dropped an M&M and I rushed to pick it up, only to be reminded that there's no more dog. 

These small moments are just that, moments that are part of a 24 hour day. However when I think back on today and all the little times I realized Beau was gone or the moments I did something for him or noticed he wasn't beside us make up a large part of the day. He was ingrained in our lives for so long that it's almost like I don't know how to act without him. Who's supposed to eat my leftovers or clean up after the kid's eat in their highchairs? 

There's nothing to replace the little moments he molded into our days. There's no word that describes the hole that's left in his wake. To simply say we miss him is an understatement. He was our family. He was a protector and a confidant and a companion beyond belief. He was that once in a lifetime dog that worships the ground you walk on and loves so deeply when you need it most. Beau was our baby, our bestfriend.