I've been putting it off all week because writing it will make it more real, but I can't deny him his proper memorial any longer.
On Tuesday, July 1 my husband and I let go of our cherished and loved Brutus. His disease, degenerative mylopathy, had progressed to his shoulders. As such his breathing was far too labored and he could no longer pull himself to his food and water bowl. A bladder infection returned because he could no longer empty himself, even with our help. The description of his condition may lead you to believe he was in pain and suffering on a daily basis. On the contrary, he did not have pain, a sadistic twist to this disease because he was more likely to injure himself trying to do what he had always done. You could see looking into his eyes that he was otherwise happy, content with being wrapped up in my arms or just sitting next to me with his head on my knee. So the decision to release him of the prison his body had become was the hardest decision we ever had to make because it was inability not pain that haunted him. We did everything we could to elongate the quality of his life, including the purchase of a wheelchair. In the end, the disease won, as we knew it would, and I refused to allow him to struggle to breathe.
Brutus was an amazing friend. Right from puppy hood he wanted nothing more than to be with you and be touched. A hand, a foot, your head because you've turned him into a pillow, it didn't matter, just contact would make him content. He was well behaved, an ambassador for the bully breeds. I would encourage everyone, especially children who were afraid of dogs to come meet him because he was guaranteed to help lift their fears. He never met hands he didn't want to be petted by. He loved little hands most.
He was my shadow and prepared me well for using the bathroom with an audience as he never liked me to be out of sight. He was afraid of the dark, prompting several nightlights all over our tiny condo. He was a gentleman, minding his manners and keeping the sniffing to a minimum. He didn't give many kisses, but those he did give were loving and gentle. He was a rock under that soft warm fur. He was my rock. Whether argument with the husband or bad day at work or betrayal of a friend, it didn't matter he was there for me to cling to.
When my daughter was born he became a natural nurse and protector, just watching over her, just being near. Soon she was using him as a teething toy, then a climbing rock and then a stool. I am so grateful he was there for her first steps, having been the soft landing for so many failed attempts.
After Arizona died, my heart broken in two, Brutus mended me and kept me moving forward. But he never left my side. He was my balance.
Brutus was a good dog. My best friend, one of my daughter's first words, sorta. It's not fair what the universe dealt him as his ending, he was only 9 1/2, he had a heart that should have seen 15.
My dear friend, my cherished Brutus. My 'tan', my 'tanny manny'. I was able to hold him as he left me, for that I am grateful. I told him I loved him, that he was a good dog and a good friend. I thanked him. I told him to dream of running. I held on tightly, and he left me so gently.
