My Buddy Beau

Beau on my lap several years ago.

We've all ben through it, for anybody who takes a pet into their family must face the end of their life. We love our four-footed friends, and they give us so much pleasure and comfort, so losing them is always difficult.

As a young child, probably in the eight or nine-year-old range, I got acquainted with my first boxer.  We were in Cayucos vacationing, and I fell in love with the personality and looks of the breed.

Life happened, so girlfriend, military, marriage, children, and career all came before getting a boxer.  Then one fine day our middle son came to the house to show off his new dog, Mugs, a six-month-old male boxer.  He was spindly, a tan and white dog, and not particularly good looking.  In fact, he was just this side of ugly.

As is so often the case with our offspring, their plans change. He found he couldn't keep his dog and move to the city.  He left Mugs with some friends, and moved on with his life.

Within a couple of weeks, the family taking care of Mugs called me. "We have your son's dog, but we really aren't set up for such a big one. Would you like to take him to your ranch?"

When they brought Mugs out of their back yard, I nearly fell out of the pickup.  He'd grown up.  And had he ever grown up.  He was massive in the chest, with a huge head. He was absolutely beautiful. He climbed onto the passenger seat with no hesitation and seemed content to go with me.

The years sped by, and one afternoon when Mugs was about ten years old, I came home to find he had evidently had a heart attack.  After my tears, I buried him here on the ranch, where we'd enjoyed several good years together.

A few months later, we heard about Boxer Rescue in the Sunland area and Max came to live on our hilltop.  Again, several years passed as he approached the ten-year age,  This time, it was much sadder and more difficult, for we had to take Max to our vet to help us let go of him with love and kindness.

A few months after Max joined Mugs in the pasture, Sharon heard of registered boxers in Porterville, and we went to see them. A beautiful male came home with us, soon to become known as Beau.

Beau turned ten in September last year, so we recognized the inevitability.  During recent weeks his coat lost much of its luster, and his tired body lost a little of the condition that made him so handsome.

Thursday morning, I had been up since 4:00 AM, after having been to my Writers Group the night before. I was sitting in my big chair with my computer on my lap, editing my book.  Sharon came out from the bedroom, "Beau had a major seizure."

With heavy heart we watched him during the morning and when he had a second seizure in less than three hours, we knew it was time to let him go.  The final decision was not made without careful consideration, but we both agreed it was unfair to make him suffer like that.  Simply put, it was time.

Our vet, who grew up with our boys, has a practice in Porterville.  He came out to the pickup to kindly and gently attend to our pet.  We took Beau home and lovingly put him out in the meadow with Mugs, and Max.

Beau added a great deal of pleasure to our hilltop. He was my buddy, and he loved Sharon. She usually fed our dogs, and when it got near feeding time, he would come stand in front of her, roll his head side to side, and seemingly "talk" to her.  It was a funny sound, definitely not a bark, but a kind of yowl.  If she didn't move right away to start the feeding process, he'd reach out with his foot and paw her leg, talking all the time.

He enjoyed running behind me when I was out and about on the quad, or walking with me when I went to the barn to feed or down in the pasture to irrigate. He loved chasing the squirrels living on our hilltop, and once in a while even caught one.

This post is not meant to bum you out, or make you sad.  This is something we know, and must accept, when we bring pets into our lives.  There must be a finite end to the period of having them enrich our lives and we are obliged to be ready and willing to let them go with love and caring. As the stewards of our pets lives, we owe it to them to be there, tearful if necessary, letting them know we love them when the end must come.

Beau was a stubborn, Type A, male creature.  But then, so am I.  Maybe that's why we got along so well.

Beau - 2007-2018

This picture was taken on a beautiful spring morning when Beau was no more then two or three.  This is the way I want to remember him - running free, feeling  no pain, and standing among the flowers.