To My Boy, Barney

May 9, 2014

To My Baby Boy, Barney,

You left this world yesterday and, oh how much better it was because you were in it. For twelve wonderful years you graced us with your goofy smile, that signature tip-of-the-head, and that eternally happy wag of your fluffy husky tail. On our walks, strangers were drawn to pet you and always exclaimed, “Wow! He’s so soft!”  You made even the grumpiest smile.
 
You suffered countless health issues in your little life, yet you were always joyous. When one of us would come home, we were greeted by your enthusiasm and a tennis ball as you raced to get into the yard and begged us to throw it – rain, sleet, heat, snow…”I wanna chase the ball, Mom.” Of course we would oblige with a giggle and a few words about a silly dog.
 
You were a well-traveled pup – you lived in Traverse City, Las Vegas, South Pasadena, Lake St. Louis and St. Pete, often visited Tennessee, and either flew over or drove through every state in-between.  We knew traveling was not your forte, but once we got to our destination, the adventure and new animals to chase made it all worth the hassle.  Watching your expression change and ears perk up as you experienced new smells and terrain, and met new doggie (and swan) friends, brought us the utmost delight.

As the minutes tick by, the after-death movie of our escapades plays on.  Snowshoeing in Traverse City – you would race around and race around and then sneak up on us from behind and walk on the backs of our snow-shoes until one of us would trip. I swear you would laugh, then run away into the snowy night and come back and do it again a few minutes later.

When you were three, we moved to Florida and you became a blissful beach dog. You would rip so fast on the soft, white sand that it would squeak under your paws as rooster-tails of sand flew up behind you. You’d run full-force into the gulf, run out, turn around with a huge grin to see if we were watching, then splash in again. We had as much fun watching you as you did frolicking.

When we road-tripped to Vegas and then to Palm Springs for a weekend, you were a brave boy chasing coyotes in the dessert. From that enjoyment came a sprained wrist, along with a cactus up the nose from chasing bunnies. You seemed so proud of yourself, you didn’t care if you were hurt!
I think the best days of your life were between ages five and eight. You still had endless energy – yep, I never thought the walk to the park for an hour of ball chasing would ever end. It was the highlight of every one of my days. We’d get to our shady, gorgeous, flower-and-tree-filled park at the end of a long work day, and off the leash would come. Away you’d run – almost fly, I think, as I’d throw your rubber Life is Good ball about a block. You would start to run after it, jump in the water fountain on the way, never really stopping as you drug half the water out of the fountain with you, racing to beat the ball. You’d grab it, run back, jump in the fountain again, lower yourself just enough to cool your belly, jump out and proceed to stand in front of me shaking off the water and dropping the ball for more. There were people who came to the park just to watch you. Your happiness was contagious and it was my therapy.

I’ll never forget the first time you had filet mignon. Thanks to your daddy, who could not believe how deprived you had been (hahaha), you tasted nirvana at age five. After that, you turned yourself inside-out whenever there was steak and salmon on the grill. Very quickly, they became your two favorite delicacies. Life would never be the same without at least one per week.

You were my rock and my shining star through the many trials of my young life, and many times, because of you, I didn’t give up when things got really bad. I had you to take care of, to walk, feed and love on. When I was laid up with my back surgery, you kept me company, never leaving my side, making sure I could get around the house. When your daddy died ten months ago, I knew you weren’t feeling well, but you hung in there to get me through the pain, made me laugh every day, got me to experience the pure peace of early morning walks and the wonder of star-filled, late night outings in the yard.

Flashes of you walking with your half-folded ears flopping and tail up, treeing squirrels and tasting baby possum (which was quickly spit out – definitely NOT steak), laying in your grassy yard with ears blowing in the breeze, frolicking and burying yourself in the snow as a pup and an elder, sleeping soundly like an angel on your bed or the couch, and sharing my morning coffee and pizzelle – all running through my thoughts today.

I’m so sorry you got cancer, but I am eternally grateful that we got a few great months of puppy antics and tons of laughter. I know you waited to make sure your momma was happy and loved, and that your new papa had a chance to bond with you. It was your way of going out like you wanted to be remembered.

The last several days, you were obviously hurting and miserable, yet on the very last day, you woke up perky, smiling, posing for photos like usual, eating like a champ, chasing squirrels on your short walk and wagging your tail, all the while, reassuring me you were going to be okay. You knew daddy was waiting to greet you in heaven with a filet, some salmon and a tennis ball.

Letting you go was the hardest decision of my life, but I promised you no suffering. It was my gift to you to go in peace, in your home, surrounded by your babies and those of us who love you deeply. I already miss your presence, your wonderful, clean smell (never did smell doggy), the familiar sound of your nails on the floor and let’s not forget, doggie-drinking, doing the Barney backstroke in your water bowl.

Since my age of thirty-two, it’s been the two of us, taking on the world, lifting each other up, playing off of each other’s emotions, feeling the same pain and happiness beyond explanation. You were more than just a dog – most people agree, you were a little boy with fur who loved unconditionally and wholly, and shared that love through your gentle spirit. I am so blessed to have walked through the last twelve years with you, my amazing Barney, my kindred spirit.