James Dean Meets Tommy Boy

He was a Rebel Without A Cause and Black Sheep. 

Larger than life. 

A ham. 

A shit disturber. 

He barked a squirrels and cement bunnies. 

But he was smart enough to figure out how to get into his food bank. 

We got our beloved dog Parker when he was just 10 weeks old, we'd only been married four months. 

He was our first baby. Our roommate. 

But now his things are gone. Though it's hard to believe that he is. It's like he's nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I walk into a room and expect him to be there. When I open a bag of chips. When pick up my keys. When a doorbell rings - ours or one on TV. On the couches. On our bed. On his beds. Laying in the sun or over a heater vent. 

I keep hearing his collar jingle.

He's been an intrigul part of our lives for the last eight years. And thanks to his nonstop antics and mischief; a source of several arguments. But also reasons for trips to the beach and routine evening walks. We spent close to the cost of a basic IVF cycle on him during his very short life. Between emergency vet visits, medications, toys, food, surgery, doggy daycare, and various treats. 

A little over a week ago he ate part of one of Leah's burp clothes. We weren't sure initially if he had eaten it, we just found one torn to shreds. By Friday he couldn't keep anything down, and hadn't pooped for days. 

The vet told us surgery was the only option. And it would cost between $2,700 and $4,800 depending on how long the surgery lasted. And that wouldn't include the after care costs.

When he was five he had surgery on his knee. He'd torn a ligament that is equal to an ACL in people. And since that surgery he's never quite been the same. It aged him. And while personality wise he was still his wacky, monkey self, there was a distinct difference in his overall demeanor. 

We knew we couldn't afford the surgery, and we knew with the seriousness of the type of procedure it would require, that his recovery would be fairly brutal and he definitely wouldn't ever be the same again. 

And then we knew we couldn't save him.

And our hearts were breaking. 

And our happy little family would be back to three, again. 

We called him our roommate, and he was almost even like the third member in our marriage. Except he never took sides. If we were in different rooms, he would lay in the hallway...

We tried a Hail Mary session of intravenous liquids, and anti nausea medication in hopes that it would he get his bowels moving so that he could pass it. But it wasn't to be. 

Last Saturday night, just after 6pm we put our beautiful little monkey-dog down. They took us into a small room, with a soft blanket spread out on the floor. The vet opened a door on the other side of the room, and Parker came trotting in. The infusion had perked him up a little, but ultimately it was hopeless and at this point, they were just keeping him comfortable. He came in and greeted us as always. We started to cry, hard, as we began our goodbyes. He walked away for a second, and layed down in front of Leah's carseat. He put his head on her lap. As if to say a goodbye that she couldn't. And we cried harder. I left the room. I couldn't stay. I wanted to remember him trotting around, with at least a flicker of light in his eyes. 

And then he was gone.

I've never seen Brian so shaken in the entire 12 years I've known him. And that hurts me almost more than losing Parker. I know in time, we'll want to have a dog again. We'll always be dog people. 

But I feel like we will never love another one this deeply. 

I wasn't a dog person before we got him.

He was such a rascal. He barked incessantly. He would drink water until he puked if we didn't stop him. He was a ninja at stealing cubes of butter off of the kitchen counter. He's eaten countless foreign objects and stolen portions of our meals and snacks. 

Just to name a few: 

battery operated candles

a whole frozen chicken breast - still in the plastic

a pound of chocolate

a bicycle seat

a box of Cheezit's and two boxes of unpopped popcorn including the butter pouches - in one sitting

a beer can

a sponge

rocks

cat poop

wrapping paper

toilet paper

2 lbs of grapes

my $600 nightguard (for teeth grinding)

Which is why we weren't terribly worried when part of the burp cloth was missing. He'd eaten so many other ridiculous things that we just kind of thought he was bullet proof. 

But now he's gone, and we can't stop crying. Everything reminds me of him - which feels good and bad. I realize I probably sound like a lunatic, rambling on about a dog this way. 

But he was no ordinary dog. 

And I will miss him for the rest of my life.