How can a grown woman become so attached to a little animal? I grew up on a small farm on the west perimeter of town in Brigham City. We were hard-working, industrious people. My daddy purchased that land with the express idea of teaching his children the kind of work ethic he believed in.
Our dogs were family pets, but if they caused trouble with the farm animals, they were taken out and shot. That is the way of the farm. So when my oldest son Aaron was around the age of 8 and started begging for a dog, I REALLY fought him on it.
We had tried our hand at owning a dog once before when he was little. It was a Yellow Lab named Chopper. He was a nice dog, but he was big, and he shed, and we could not keep him fenced in. Our home was new, our yard was not yet finished, he barked if chained up, but I didn't like his hair in my house. Then I got pregnant with my 3rd child, Hailey, and for some reason I began to despise him. The sight of his hair or the smell of his body would set off my gag reflex and trigger the pregnant mommy vomit. He had to go. But by then My husband was too attached.
Fortunately, Lady Luck was smiling down on me. We went on vacation for a few days and left a neighbor to care for Chopper. He escaped, and though we searched high and low, he could not be found. We checked the pound regularly, scouted neighborhoods, posted signs, -all to no avail. We moved on. I had my baby.
Eight months after Chopper had disappeared, my husband left for work one morning, and 10 minutes later he returned. "Nettie!!!" he cried out, "Look who I found!!!" And there he is with that dog. I have to say I was less than enthusiastic. He had found the dog jogging with a man. Chopper was now Charlie (his real name had been Charlie Choplicker anyway so that was pretty amazing)and he ran with this man everyday. He was in prime condition. He was a happy dog. He slept on the man's bed.
Within a week I made my husband give him back. We just were not set up to care for a large dog, and anyone that was observant could tell that the dog was not as happy with us as he had been with the other family. My husband was NOT happy.
So it was with great trepidation that I embarked on this hunt for a new dog that would be more suitable for our family. It had to be a small house-dog, it could not shed, it could not be a yapper, it had to be kid-friendly. After much research we settled on a Shih-Tzu, and set out to find the one for us. It took a few weeks, but we did manage to find him.
We registered him with the AKC as 'Bilbo Bag In' and called him 'Bubby'. He was with us for more than 17 years. He raised my kids. He slept on the bottom of my bed. He was in every family photo we took for 17 years. If I cried, he cried with me. When Dave spent 8 years caring for his mom, Bubby was my companion. In the end, I knew his time was near, but letting go was SO hard! I wanted to be sure that he was no longer enjoying life -that I wasn't putting him down just because he was soiling my floors and 'inconvenient' for me.
Domesticated companion dogs have absolutely the most exemplary personalities when it comes to exhibiting unconditional love. I am so grateful for the 17 years of love that he gave me -no matter if I was grumpy and mean to him or not. In the end, I awoke one morning to find him on the floor in the throes of a death rattle. Dave and I bundled him up and took him to the vet where they anesthetized him as I held him in my arms and he kept his eyes open, staring at me -his momma, his best friend.
If you are not someone that has ever connected with a companion animal on that level, then this seems like silly drivel to you, but if you have ever been fortunate enough to have an animal love you the way my Bubby loved me, then you know. And every time Sarah McLachlan sings while the TV shows the pitiful pictures of abused animals I feel that lump rising up in my throat, and I know that Bubby left a mark on me that nothing can erase.
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