My Best Friend is Dying

BJ, my golden retriever dog, is just a few months shy of 16, and well over 100 in dog years. He is succumbing to the pain and frustration of aging. His list of medical issues is growing and what was once a mildly annoying collection of ailments is now life threatening.

BJ’s decline has been steady over the past six months, but it has accelerated during the past week. We haven’t see his tail wag in a few days, relieving himself requires significant help from his human care givers and, at the moment, we find ourselves getting excited when he simply has enough energy to pick up his head and look around. The family is debating whether we should focus our short-term efforts on maximizing his comfort in his final days, or helping achieve the ultimate sleep. We don’t expect to debate this decision much longer.

BJ has lived a good life. BJ was born in Oregon where he lived all of 5 weeks of his life before we met him in the parking lot of an East Bay Burger King. We waited as other future parents selected his siblings while we waited patiently trying not to reveal our preference.  BJ was different, but it would be many months later that we would realize just how different.

Eve and I both had dogs earlier in our lives but something was different about BJ. He needed constant attention and was downright neurotic if he was left outside or not treated as an equal member of the family. A year after welcoming him into our home we acquired a “sister” for our young boy, but that wasn’t what BJ wanted. Sure, it was nice to have another dog around the house, but BJ eschewed most of the normal dog behaviors in favor of his near-human endeavors. Forget ball chasing, BJ liked to ride in the car…always in the front seat demanding to pet while driving. There were many trips to Los Angeles where Eve sat in back to allow BJ his preferred front seat.

BJ had his share of wild adventures. There was the time we came home from work to find he had gone out for a stroll.  Panicked when we couldn’t find him in the backyard we saw a message on the answering machine. BJ was at a pizza joint in Mountain View (about 10 miles away)…no clue how he got there but no doubt they served good pizza.

BJ was given a big Hollywood break when he was about two. He was asked to star in a Skippy dog food commercial. He was well trained and worked well with the director, but BJ was picky and he wouldn’t eat Skippy brand food. “No problem,” said the director as he slid a big thick piece of bacon under the dog food to help entice BJ. BJ wanted the bacon for sure, but not if it meant having to eat the Skippy. He turned his head in disgust and his career promptly ended. Years later we would make the mistake of buying Skippy again, but he simply wouldn’t eat it (of course he ate every other brand).

BJ enjoyed swimming, hiking, kissing, cuddling, but most of all he liked to be pet. He suffered through knee surgery as a youngster and forgave me for running over him with the car on one ill-fated night that left him with a broken collar bone.

BJ was our first boy and to this day he is still our favorite boy. Yes, the other two human ones know that BJ is the favorite son. BJ never fights, never forgets his responsibility and never talks back. BJ is always well behaved, loving and the first one to the dinner table every night.

We’ll miss him terribly. While our two year old Amber will quickly fill in his spot on the bed, it won’t be the same without our first born. We will work hard to forget his pain and decline and remember him in his prime. He’s been a great companion and we are mourning this milestone in our lives.

Greg

May 20, 2005

BJ enjoyed a last weekend with the family. He got treats and non-stop attention we saw what appeared to be improvement in his personality although his body continued to weaken. We made paw prints in wet cement, had an appreciation ceremony where we told him how much we loved him. The boys gave him a final good-bye as they went off to school and I took BJ on his last trip to the vet. BJ died on May 23, 2005 while I held him in my arms. He was smiling. Now he is sleeping.

© Greg Harris, 2005