The day before Buster passed I was home for lunch and was doing my usual thing, carrying him down the stairs from the upstairs bedroom so he could go outside and do his thing. As I was walking down the stairs with him in my arms, I patted him on his side and said, "I don't know what I'm ever going to do without you, baby boy..."
And the next day he was gone.
Since that day I've been finding out just what I'd do without him, and I gotta tell ya that it's been a long, rough six weeks for both Gina and myself. The past two have been pretty good, but the first two were pure hell. It too me the better part of three weeks before I could talk about him and what happened without crying, and we won't even talk about the nights I cried myself to sleep. I know Gina was going through the same thing, feeling the same things I was, even though she wouldn't talk about it. That's just her way, to keep her feelings inside her and deal with it herself, but I knew she was hurting just as I was. We both loved Buster with all our hearts, and it broke both our hearts when he passed. We both knew it was inevitable and was a part of pet ownership, but we also knew that knowledge wouldn't make it any easier. And it didn't.
But a wise man once said that "all hurt heals," and this is no exception. Over the course of the past two or three weeks I've been thinking about all of the good times with Buster and all of the things he did that used to make me smile or laugh, and I've found myself thinking about those things more often that I found myself thinking about that last terrible, tragic morning. Buster brought a lot of joy and smiles into our lives, and he made us laugh more than I think we realized.
Even at 11 years old, Buster was still a puppy at heart. For no apparent reason he'd jump down off of the couch and roll around on the floor, paws in the air, snorting all the while, and then suddenly jump up to his feet and look around with those sightless eyes as if to say, "What just happened?" Then he'd jump back up on the couch and go back to sleep as if nothing happened.
He also made us laugh with how he knew our routine just by the sounds of the house and what we were saying, and with how quickly he'd trot up the stairs to get his treat when we were going out. We'd be downstairs in the living room, getting our stuff together and getting ready to leave, and as soon as he'd hear the anti-burglary arm on the sliding patio door come down he'd be off like a shot, and we'd hear "thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!" as he went trotting up the stairs! And that was if we heard him at all - there were plenty of times we'd look around and ask, "Where's Buster?" only to look up and see him at the top of the stairs, looking down as if to say, "Well, where's my treat? What's taking you so long?"
That dog was a character in more ways than one, and he left an indelible mark on both our hearts that will always be there.
Two weeks after he passed I went down to the local tattoo parlor and got a tattoo of him on my chest right over my heart; that way I can look at him every day for the rest of my life until I meet him at Rainbow Bridge. I talk to him all the time, especially at night when I walk over to where his urn and picture are and tell him goodnight. That's become a nightly ritual with me, one that I've only missed once since Gina brought him home, and I won't miss it again. Ever.
It's been a long six weeks without my baby boy, but both of us have adapted. We both know that the separation is just temporary in the physical sense, and that Buster is with us in spirit all the time no matter where we are. And I feel especially close to him now that his face is on my chest, and I take comfort in that.
I also knew within a few days of his passing that I needed to have a Boston Terrier in my life. Not to replace Buster, to be sure - no dog could ever replace him - but because I love the breed and just need one in my life. I also knew that it was going to be a long time before I was ready - or so I thought.
Last week Gina showed me a picture of a Boston Terrier puppy she'd located in Louisiana, and at first I thought this was going to be just another picture of yet another dog since hardly a day goes by that she doesn't show me a picture of another dog she "has to have!" And this was before Buster passed, too!
But this time it was different. This time, when I looked at the picture of the week-old male Boston Terrier puppy, something was different. This wasn't just another Boston - this one was different. I couldn't put my finger on just what it was and I still can't, but within moments I knew - I just knew.
This one, the one the breeder had named "Cage," was OURS. I knew it as soon as I looked at the picture, and it nearly took my breath away.
So in late August we'll be welcoming Cage into our house, and to be honest I don't know who's more excited about it, me or Gina. (Okay, she is, but not by much!) Both of us are ready for it, a lot sooner than we thought we would be, and we're both happy that Harley, our Puggle, will finally have another dog that she can go out into the back yard and play with. She always wanted to play with Buster but never could - first because he couldn't get overly-excited because of his cataract surgery and then because he was blind - and now that she'll finally have another dog to play with, we're both very happy about it.
I'm just happy and excited about having another Boston Terrier in my life. You see, there's been a hole there in my heart for the past six weeks, one that can never be filled, but one that will be quite a bit smaller once Cage gets here. There will always be a hole in my heart that was once occupied by Buster and no dog will ever be able to fill it, and I'm sure that my baby boy knows that. He knows how much I love and miss him, how much I wish I could have him back, and how much he touched my life. He also knows why I need another Boston in my life - because of him and the love he gave me. He's the reason, and he knows it.
As do I.
I also have a feeling that he's the one who sent Cage to me because he knew how much I needed another Boston. Call it silly, I don't care, but that's how I feel.
I love you, baby boy, and I miss you. Thank you for all the love you gave me, and for all the love I'm about to be given because of you.
IHC
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