Still Saying Goodbye, two years later
Dear Fozzy,
I knew today would be sad. It’s been two years since we said goodbye. I still think of you more often than I want to admit. You were the original bear and every time I use “bear†to call another dog I think of how it all started with you. I still have your photos at work and on my phone; around the house and in my heart. You were the best dog.
Still I find myself telling people what a wonderful dog you were and to us it was true; you were the best. You were not perfect though. I remember your dog bite incident. How you had to spend two weeks in rabies quarantine even though you’d had your shots and we had all the records. I remember rushing home every day to visit you and how desperately you looked at me. I tried not to cry seeing you in that horrible cage. You never cried. You were always so happy to see me. I remember Brian and me fighting all the time because he said you could never be around people again and you loved people so much. He said they would kill you if it happened again and I couldn’t bear the thought of that so soon after MacKenzie died. But you loved people so much and I thought you would be so unhappy. I cried that I couldn’t fix you. In the end you never cared and I never knew how much pain you were really in.
I remember all the vet visits. It pains me still to think of everything you went through but I wasn’t ready to let you go and I don’t think you were ready to let me go. The brown recluse bite you handled like a champ, and enjoyed the attention. The melanoma that should have killed you. Instead, you ate your bandage repeatedly and gave the vet and us great stories to tell about the extent we had to go to for you to not eat your bandage! Finally though, it was the osteosarcoma that took you. Who would have thought you could survive one cancer just to get another one. The strange part is I was always checking your lymph nodes, waiting for the return and I still didn’t catch it early enough. From what they say, there was no early enough.
So two years ago today we said goodbye. We fed you filet mignon for your last supper. You ate it so fast. Like there was no grapefruit sized tumor on your spleen. Nothing could stop you from eating. You never refused food. After dinner, we sat at the end of the driveway together and I took our photo in the setting sun. I’m sure you licked my cheek; you always did.