Two Years with Boone

At two years old, Boone is the baby of the family. At 110 pounds, and several inches taller than Bear, he is also our biggest baby. We could have never guessed the joy and laughter he would bring into our lives when I first saw his picture on a local rescue site.

While he is the baby, he has matured a lot in the past year especially. He now bounds up to people at the dog park happily, and accepts their attention and praise so easily—something that has been a struggle at times. He is still reluctant with other dogs, he gets skittish when excited pups run up to him to play. But every time we go, he is a little braver, a little more curious. I never tire watching the magic of rescue and love that work together to make a dog’s life so much better, every day.

Someone recently commented on a picture of Boone that I posted on Facebook: He is such a lucky boy. My immediate thought and response was, WE are the lucky ones. Boone is so loving, so sweet, just a perfect dog. I have never seen an animal so happy all the time. Boone is rarely without a smile, and he bounds through the house, absolutely grateful for every treat, every bit of attention, every time we come home from a trip to the grocery store, every snuggle with his brother Bear—just every single moment.

He also loves to watch television. Bear at times has watched a particular commercial, or might see something that caught his attention for a few seconds at most. In comparison, Boone is a couch potato. He especially loves anything animated—and if there are dogs on TV, whether in a commercial or on a show, he freezes and his attention is completely diverted to the screen. At times, he will cry out and run to the screen with such sweetness—wanting to play with the dog on the screen- that I have to get up and hug him right on the spot.

Boone’s only challenge is spacial awareness—as we like to call it. When Boone runs up to one of us, that usually means running into us. He tears through the house, taking a flying leap to land on our king sized bed, without any consideration that there are bodies under the blankets. He will flop down right on my chest and lick my face happily, while I laugh and groan with the weight of him at the same time. It is impossible to be upset with him, his smile is so constant.

Since he was a puppy, Boone has swatted at us with his paws, usually trying to grab on to us in one way or another. It is a way of showing affection for him, although his huge paws are a little more painful than his puppy paws were. Shea and Boone share the sweetest little ritual. Boone will sit in front of Shea, and Shea will say, I love you and hold out his arms. Boone will respond by sitting on his back legs and putting his paws in Shea’s arms. I like to think Boone is trying to hug us.

I often call Boone our “sunshine boy” because he is a burst of happiness every morning. He sleeps on the bed with us sometimes, but most of the time he sleeps on his doggie bed next to Shea’s side of the bed on the floor. Once a little bit of light comes through the window, I know that Boone’s head will pop up as he stands on his hind legs and starts swatting at Shea, covering him in kisses before he is fully awake. I am not a morning person in the least, but Boone’s happy morning greeting makes me smile every single day, and definitely starts my day on a good note.

He is also the most sensitive of all of our animals. When he dissects stuffed animals at lightning speed, and we hear him chewing on a squeaker he just removed, we rush to get it to keep him from choking or ingesting plastic pieces. Even though we talk sweetly to him while we take it, after returning from the trash can, Boone will inevitably be pouting, his ears back, and his head down. It only takes a few seconds to get him smiling again, but his feelings are easily hurt. I love that sweetness about him, though. There is a certain baby-ness about him in that respect that I hope he never loses.

Boone has learned so much from his big brother Bear, and it has been so good for both of them to have a sibling and a co-conspirator in backyard chases, and barking at squirrels on the roof. Whether he learned it from Bear, or just had a stubborn streak of his own, Boone can hold his ground at times to an exhausting level. His favorite stubborn moments are demanding to go outside (when he just came in five minutes ago). Although we may protest and get him to lay down for a few seconds, he is up, barking and stomping his front paws—and smiling—until we give in. He knows we will cave.

His other hilarious show of stubbornness involves coming in from outside (a little less hilarious at 2:00am). Both dogs will go outside and Bear comes back fairly quickly, barking to be let in immediately. The up and down of opening the back door to our fenced in back yard can be a little tiresome, so we try to get Boone in at the same time. He will stand or sit in the yard and stare at us as we call his name. But, if we say the word “treat”, he dashes in. He has us trained very well.

Bear and Boone have always been so sweet with each other. They have their moments of struggling to share toys and they worry if they are getting an equal number of treats (they are), but Boone has been good for Bear, and Bear has been so, so good for Boone.

I say all the time that Boone is the biggest love on four legs. He is. He is also funny, sweet, emotional, and just pure joy. He makes us laugh on days when it seems impossible to smile. He and Bear both share nursing duties when I am fighting one of my frequent migraines. He is an absolute ham, and knows how to work his cute face to get just about anything he wants. He is another love of our lives, a furry, smart, endearing, adorable creature that has a huge part of our hearts.

As he snores next to us tonight after two days of celebrating two years with us, I am so thankful for chance, fate, coincidence—whatever it is that brought Boone into our lives. I am so thankful that we were a part of rescuing him, that we are the ones who get to love and spoil him.

Happy 2^nd birthday sweet Boone--we are the lucky ones.

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Six Years with Bear

I am terribly behind in writing this post. Months behind. I made excuses, and some were valid. We lost our cat Lucy near Christmastime, and the weeks after that were difficult. There were added stressors, and other things that seemed to get in the way. 

But, every year, I have looked so forward to writing this post and sharing my memories of sweet Bear. I realized finally that my hesitation is rooted a little bit in fear. Time is passing so fast. Bear is six. How can that be? For some reason, this year is hard. Passing the five year mark, he is less of a baby, and at times, I can see it. His once cast iron stomach, which was affected by absolutely nothing he ate—from lipstick to light bulbs—now gets queasy and upset from overdoing it with treats. His boundless energy, which I used to beg for a break from—is now a thing of the past. He has spurts of it—definitely—but prefers napping and sleeping in on lazy Sunday mornings. He’s had a few aches and pains, too, back strains that left him unable to jump on the bed for a few days (which had me sleeping with him on the floor) and a few hurt paws and leg strains that made him limp for a few days.

He is actually healthy and in great shape, the vet assures me, as I worriedly take him in for every little concern. He is just getting older. He is not even “old” at this point. It is just hard to watch the transition.

Bear is more than a dog, more than a companion. He is one of the loves of my life, and I say this without doubt or hesitation. A part of my heart will always be his. He found me (and I believe that in some cosmic way he did find me) at the very lowest point of my life. Even then, I didn’t realize that’s where I was. But he came to me then, and was the only heartbeat strong enough to pull me completely out of that pit I was in. There is a magical connection between us, I can’t fully explain it, and I don’t expect others to accept or comprehend it. I am so grateful to him, for loving me, and teaching me to love and laugh again.

This bond with us was unfortunately formed at a time when I was deeply depressed, and now Bear has a sixth sense with me of when I am drifting towards that abyss. There is a knowing look in his eyes that both comforts and scares me a bit. How can he know? How can he know when no one else does? He pulls a little closer to me in those moments and stares and at me long and lovingly. I am here—he seems to say. I feel it.

The best example of this is a recent moment in my life that I will never, as long as I live, ever forget. My husband was there to see it, and I am so thankful that someone else saw how special it was.

It was Saturday, December 13, 2014. My husband and I had just come home from letting our cat Lucy go, having her put to sleep, after a traumatic ordeal. Just minutes before we walked in the house, I had cradled my cat of 14 years in my arms for the last time and felt all the guilt of the world rush over me. The moment was bigger than that; I felt I had failed in one of the few things I could rely on knowing how to do—taking care of these fur babies. I came into the house and although Bear and Boone were doing their usual wiggly, happy, welcome dance, I couldn’t engage. 

I tried to make it to my bedroom in the back of the house, and couldn’t. I made it as far as the guest bedroom and collapsed on the bed, lying on my side facing the wall, sobbing in a way that I haven’t in years. Boone came in the room, utterly confused, jumped on the bed and back off. At first, Shea didn’t realize where I went and was looking for me. In the meantime, Bear came slowly into the room. He carefully got on the bed just as Shea entered the room and sat behind me on the bed. Bear crept slowly to me, and began licking the tears from my face. He then carefully laid down next to me and slid his two front paws under my head and neck, something he has never done before. Then, he put his head between my head and shoulders and pulled me close. Shea actually gasped. He said Bear had the most human expression, that he shut his eyes tight as he pulled me close. I sobbed into Bear’s chest for a good bit and held him, amazed at this act of comfort. I won’t ever forget that. I can’t do it justice with my words. But in moments of sadness, loss, and despair, Bear has found me, always.

Bear has a really good life. He is spoiled by anyone’s measure. He wants for nothing. We tell him every day, over and over again, how much we love him. He has a big back yard to romp with his little brother. Boone idolizes him, and the two of them love to play and bark at all the threats that dare come too close to our house, real or imagined. The two of them are regular visitors to the local dog park and one of my great joys is looking across the park and seeing Bear’s huge smile as he takes it all in. He still does laps around the huge park in bouts of what we call “crazy dog”, which actually comforts me, letting me know that he still has some puppy energy in there somewhere. 

Bear and Shea have an incredibly close, special bond that was instantaneous when they met, and part of the reason I was able to open my heart to Shea, when I had thought true love was something for the rest of the world, not me.

Bear is an unapologetic bed hog, taking up most of the space in our king-size bed every night. He will playfully growl if I try to move him, and often kicks both of us in annoyance when we interrupt his comfortable sleeping positions. There are times when it would be easier to make him move to the floor, but Shea and I will share a glance, and although we don’t say anything, I know we are both thinking that he won’t always be here and he gets to sleep however he wants.

At his last vet visit, Bear, as usual, charmed everyone and the vet laughed as he himself was tricked into giving Bear another treat in exchange for cooperation during his exam. The vet let me know that Bear really could lose a few pounds, and that we needed to cut back on the treats. We try, but this face is hard to resist.

He makes us laugh, with his stubborn, funny attitude—his sneaky way of tricking his brother out of his bones and toys, and his human-sounding burps and farts, that still, after 6 years, make us belly laugh every time. He is unapologetic about those, too.

As I write this, Bear is lying next to me, snoring a little, snuggled up as close as he can get, with a paw on my knee. I have been having a rough couple of days, and today for some reason, has been tougher. He knows that. Somehow, he knows.

Thank you for a beautiful, love-filled, happy, hilarious, special, flying-by-too-fast six years my sweet boy. We love you. I love you. You are my sunshine.

All of my Bear posts, year by year:

Five Years with Bear

Four Years with Bear

Three Years with Bear

Two Years with Bear

Rescued

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Five Years with Bear

During some really hard times for me and my husband over the last few years, I have questioned a lot of my choices. The more I looked back over recent decisions, I started going back further and realizing there might have been a lot of things I could have done differently that would have impacted my future in a positive way. I always try not to have regrets and believe I am where I am for a reason, but in truth, I know there are times I could have made better choices—stayed at one job a little longer, or chosen to move one place instead of another, and boy, could I have made better romantic choices in the past when I was younger.

Many of the choices I questioned were those that were quickly made, under pressure, or without planning--usually during times of great emotion. I know a lot of my romantic choices were made during times like that, and even career choices, unfortunately, sometimes involved a combination of pressure and emotion that probably could have used some time and reflection.

But one decision that I made at one of the lowest moments in my life, and in an instant, without planning, and totally based on emotion, was adopting this sweet boy.

And never, not for one second, have I ever thought it was anything than one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life.

The year I adopted him, after a few months of healing, I wrote about how I had rescued him, but in turn how he had also rescued me. That was just the beginning. I knew then that he was opening my heart. In truth, he taught me to love again. That may sound far-reaching or dramatic, but anyone close to me knows that I was in a very dark place in my life and I had a long way to go before I could find my way back to the land of the living, and learning to love was a far off place I didn’t dream of ever really visiting again. 

What I didn’t know then, was that Bear would continue to teach me things, all the time, day after day.

One of the things I am always in awe of is how he constantly communicates with me, without speaking, now for five years. He has taught me that there are non-verbal ways to let people know you care that are so meaningful, powerful, and real. Bear’s eyes are very expressive. So many people have said he has very “human” eyes. When I am sick or upset, he never fails to check on me, or stay near me when I need him. But it is the way he looks at me, in a different way than his usual playful way, with concern in his deep brown-doggy-sweet eyes that darn near brings me to tears.

I have always known the power of laughter, and it was one of the things that made me fall in love with my husband. He can make me laugh, a truly desperate, grab-onto-something laugh like no one else. I love that. Bear has taught me about the joy in laughing every day. There have been times over the last three years when, honestly, my husband and I were struggling with so many things that for months, there seemed like there was nothing to talk about but bills and stress. Out of the blue, seeming to sense tension, Bear would do something silly or pose in a funny way and cock his head and have us laughing. It would shake us out of where we were for a moment and remind us that even in the middle of what seemed like everything caving in, we could still laugh. We held onto that for awhile. I remember that once we turned a curve financially, we were able to say, “You know what? We still laughed every single day.” And we knew we owed a lot of that to Bear.

I knew once we were on our feet that I wanted to try and add another dog to our family, a sibling for Bear. But, I only wanted to do it if it was right, and if Bear was still happy and felt loved. I also wanted to do it so that Bear would stay active and have a playmate. This year we added a puppy, Boone, to our household. Once again, Bear taught me a lesson. I watched in awe as he shared his food and toys and loved his new little brother in a way that made me love Bear so much that I thought my heart would burst. This sweet dog had so much love to give that it seemed endless.

The most important lesson brings me to tears. Bear is teaching me the deep importance of small moments. Taking pictures of all the things that matter. Kissing his head 500 times a week, because I know I will always want to know I kissed it as many times as I possibly could. Rubbing his ears to get him to fall asleep next to me, because it magically makes his eyelids heavy as it has since he was 12 weeks old and first lying next to me in his new home. Going to bed each night knowing that we are giving a rescue dog that we love immeasurably the most beautiful life that a family could give a dog, because if all was right in the world, all rescue dogs would be this happy and celebrating their fifth adoption birthdays like this:

The lesson he teaches me is that life is so precious, and the years go by so fast. We are so lucky to have Bear. So lucky. If our luck continues, we will have him for many, many more years. He is healthy and strong, and handsome and happy. All we can do is appreciate the small moments and treasure our time with him. 

He is teaching us well.

Happy five years Bear.

~~

You can read my previous posts about Bear here:

Four Years with Bear

Three Years with Bear

Two Years with Bear

Rescued

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Four Years with Bear

I could have gone somewhere else that day. In the hours before I arrived, Bear could have been chosen and adopted by someone else. He had been in front of the pet store, along with a few other dogs from a local shelter, for hours that day. Who knows if he had been through the process in the weeks before.? I don’t know how anyone could have walked by and not scooped up that adorable 12-week-old fur ball.

Whatever you want to call it- coincidence, fate, destiny—whatever it was, four years ago today, Bear became mine and I became his.

I look back on many decisions and cross roads in my life with doubt and curiosity. What if I had taken this job instead of that one? What if I had made this choice and not the other? Some of those decisions haunt me, because I believe there might have been a better outcome if I had made a different one. I can’t ever know that, and I can’t truly regret the decision since I don’t know, but in quiet, private moments, I wonder.

The snap decision to make Bear mine is one I look back on with absolute certainty. It was the worst time for me to have brought a dog into my life- if you looked at the situation logically. It turned out to be the best timing for my life, my heart, and the very soul of me. It sounds melodramatic to say these things, to say and believe that a little furry being of 12 weeks could save someone, in every sense of the word. But he did. Only after I had signed the adoption papers did I find out that I saved Bear—really saved him. The day I adopted Bear was his last chance. He was due to be put down if he didn’t find a forever home that day.

It is hard to believe he has been with me four years. In that time frame, my life changed completely. Beautiful things happened, beginning with Bear. He was the first piece, then came all the steps that have led to today. The time has flown by. In the last six months or so, it has worried me—just the speed of it all—how fast time is going with him. How fast and how short of a time I know we will have with Bear in the scheme of things. It seems macabre and foolish to think and worry now. Bear is only four, we have many years left with him. But I truly cannot imagine my life, our lives, without our Bear. 

When my husband and I started dating in November of 2009. Bear hadn’t yet been with me a year. From the moment Shea came into my life, he and Bear were instantly in love with each other. The bond that Shea and Bear have sometimes takes my breath away.  There is such a fated connection between them, that I cannot help but believe that all of this was meant to be. Me, Shea, and Bear—all the moments, all the choices--all planned somehow. Bear has been such a huge part of our lives, there with us every moment, and any time away from him not the same for us. Not as rich, not as complete.

My husband is definitely the love of my life. But Bear is the other love of my life. I call him the furry love of my life. The joy he has brought to my life, the comfort he has brought to me in times of pain and loss, is so hard for me to explain. When a person gives you comfort, you can share the words they said, you can explain their acts of selflessness. But how do you explain how an animal knows things he shouldn’t know? How his expression reveals so much? How he shows up at your side before you know you need him? He can’t tell you these things he knows, he just “is”. How can you explain how you have watched him pull your husband out of dark moments when nothing and no one else could? How do you explain that to someone else?

Other dog lovers know. If you are one, you are probably nodding now in recognition of those moments.

Bear has a good life. He is spoiled by anyone’s standards, and is loved beyond measure. He always has a full belly, although he would lead you to believe otherwise. He can be incredibly stubborn, imaginatively sneaky, and so unbelievably smart that it takes Shea and I a few moments to catch up and believe he has understood something we have said, or referred to. He can be frustrating, demanding, and incredibly naughty.  He is insanely jealous of the three cats that also live with us, and alternatively is extremely possessive of Shea and anyone, including me, who takes too much of his time or attention.

We truly treasure all those moments. We know we can’t have Bear forever, or nearly as long as we would like. Right now, he is healthy, happy, and sleeping nearby--probably dreaming of endless slices of cheese, or a romp at the dog park. He is the main reason we laugh every single day—true, deep, instantaneous belly laughs—every single day. We are so thankful for that.  So thankful for Bear.

We always celebrate this day, January 17, as his birthday. This was the day he became Bear, and we both started the next best chapters in our lives. Today Bear will get a special meal, some toys and treats, and a trip to the dog park and an unbelievable amount of hugs and kisses. Due to being spoiled, Bear might think this is a day like any other day. To me and to Shea, it is so much more. It’s Bear’s day, but we have truly received the most incredible gift: Four years with Bear.

To see the previous posts in this series, click below:

Three Years with Bear

Two Years with Bear

Rescued

*January 17th is Bear's official adoption day, but due to a bout of horrible migraines the last few days, the post was delayed. 

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Three Years with Bear: The Heartbeat of our House

Each year, I mark this day as Bear’s birthday. He was actually 12 weeks old when I adopted him, three years ago today. But today is the day he became mine, and I became his, and we changed each other's lives. So it seems fitting to celebrate today. His actual birth date is a little uncertain anyway.

One of the things that struck me about Bear the first time I saw him, was the incredible expression in his eyes. He was so calm, laying outside a Petco pet store where I was innocently going to buy a friend a gift for her new puppy. I had a moment unlike any other in my life. I saw Bear from across the parking lot and felt instantly, “that is my dog”. It was the wrong time for me to be adding another furry child to my household, I was out of work, struggling, depressed and overwhelmed. Not exactly the time to add a puppy to the mix.

But, oh, am I ever so thankful that I did. I have written before about how Bear rescued me. We rescued each other.

For years, I dreamed of having a dog, but my job required constant travel, and it was never realistic. I had this vision of the relationship I would have with a dog, partially from my friend’s relationships with their dogs. But, I never dreamed how much this boy would mean to me. I adore my three cats, but there is something so different about my relationship with Bear. I marvel constantly at how Bear communicates with us and us with him, when he can’t speak (although he tries), or communicate with us in “normal” ways. There is such a bond of love there, such an unfailing comfort, that I now can’t imagine my life without it.

From the minute Bear met Shea, who later became my husband, they were crazy about each other. I am so happy and thankful every day that the man I married is as tenderhearted as I am (sometimes even moreso) when it comes to our animals. He worries over Bear if he isn’t feeling well, pampers him at every turn, and gets more joy out of seeing Bear happy than he can contain. I adore this part of my husband, and cherish the relationship they have.

I wrote something a month or so ago and referred to Bear as the “heartbeat of our house”. It is so true. When we come home after a trip out of town and Bear is still at his doggie daycare, the house seems to have lost all of its energy and heart. Coming home without his excited, wiggly butt, over-the-top reaction just isn’t the same. We find ourselves missing him after only a short time away, and being as excited to come home to him as he is to see us.

During the last year, my husband and I had many things and people to be thankful for. We also had a tough year, as Shea struggled to find work in a horrible job market and sluggish economy. There were days that I didn’t feel I could console or comfort Shea, and it broke my heart. But, without fail, Bear could break through and make Shea smile or laugh, and escape stressful thoughts. Coming home after fruitless job interviews or frustrating days of searching could be instantly remedied by Bear’s enthusiastic happy dance at the top of the stairs each night. I witnessed how magical that unconditional love can be, and the power to heal and comfort that seemed boundless.

The calm puppy I saw that day three years ago, bounded to life after a few days in my home. I think Bear had been a bit depressed, too. He was at a shelter, biding his time, and (unbelievably) due to be put down. Then, on January 17, everything changed. For both of us.

So today, Bear will get a few extra slices of his beloved cheese, an extra treat or two, and his own special dinner. He will get to go to the beach and chase the seagulls and if he’s lucky, drag my unsuspecting husband into the surf when he senses Shea is not paying attention. He will get lots of hugs and kisses, and a special thank you from his mom for all the love and joy he has brought into my life… beginning three years ago today.

Read about the day I adopted Bear here.

Read last year’s entry, Two Years, here.

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I Rescued a Human Today

I am sure where this originated, but today I got this via Facebook through Petmate Pet Products. Very touching and very true. Last year, I wrote about being rescued by my dog Bear. It's true. We rescue them, but they also rescue us.

~~~~~~~

I rescued a human today.


Her eyes met mine as she walked down the corridor peering apprehensively into the kennels. I felt her need instantly and knew I had to help her. I wagged my tail, not too exuberantly, so she wouldn't be afraid.

As she stopped at my kennel I blocked her view from a little accident I had in the back of my cage. I didn't want her to know that I hadn't been walked today. Sometimes the shelter keepers get too busy and I didn't want her to think poorly of them.

As she read my kennel card I hoped that she wouldn't feel sad about my past. I only have the future to look forward to and want to make a difference in someone’s life.

She got down on her knees and made little kissy sounds at me. I shoved my shoulder and side of my head up against the bars to comfort her. Gentle fingertips caressed my neck; she was desperate for companionship.

A tear fell down her cheek and I raised my paw to assure her that all would be well. Soon my kennel door opened and her smile was so bright that I instantly jumped into her arms. I would promise to keep her safe. I would promise to always be by her side. I would promise to do everything I could to see that radiant smile and sparkle in her eyes. I was so fortunate that she came down my corridor. So many more are out there who haven't walked the corridors. So many more to be saved. At least I could save one.

I rescued a human today.

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Meet Bear

Did I go out on Saturday and PLAN to adopt a dog? No, I did not. Do I need more chaos in my life? No, I do not. Was Lilly secretly wishing I would bring another headache into her life? No, no, no, she was not.

But, meet Bear. I have wanted a dog for oh, forever, but I have gone to Petco and confidently passed by the oh-too-cute puppies with sad faces countless times. I could even stop and pet them and talk to them. (Several animal shelters and the Humane Society bring their animals to Petco on the weekends to hopefully get them adopted).

But, Saturday, I was on the way to meet my friend Cassandra, and stopped by Petco to buy HER dog a little present. And there, out front, was Bear. I swear that the moment I drove by and saw him, I just thought in my heart: that is MY dog.

This is bad timing; it probably couldn't be worse financially, or logistically, but I can't tell you what this little guy has done for me in just the past 24 hours.

I adore my cats, and the comfort they give me is so dear and special to me. Bear, however, is in constant "need" mode and makes me go outside and exercise, keeps me busy in a different way. Dogs love so openly and unconditionally, it is amazing to be on the receiving end of it. I don't think it's any secret that I have been fighting something more serious than the "blues" for a few months. This little furball has lifted my spirits in such a magical way. He is very laid back and calm, but loves to play. He is the most docile sweet puppy I have ever been around. That was what won me over Saturday. That and that one brown ear. ;0)

The cats are even warming to him. Baxter is already sharing the couch with us for naps, and Lilly has peeked downstairs from her sulking strike upstairs a few times. They will all be fine. I have made sure to give the kitties lots of love and their own time with me to reassure them.

After I had signed the paperwork for Bear's adoption and paid the fee, I was shopping around with him in the cart . One of the Petco employees came up and thanked me for adopting him. She went on to explain that Saturday was his last chance, he was due to be put down. It turns out that of the six dogs there that day, four were adopted and two didn't make it.

I have always known there is a sense of knowing and thankfulness in animals that are rescued, more than other animals, they seem to know that you "saved" them and are thankful.

Sometimes, it works both ways.

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