He looked up into A.’s eyes as he went.
After slow but steady improvement, Buster’s health took a quick and decisive turn for the worst Friday night. Belle, A., and I went down first thing Saturday morning and spent some time with him, loving on him, calling him all his many nicknames. Then we let him go.
It is the hardest thing I have ever done.
Buster. Silly Goose. Goose. Orange-headed Goose. Damn Goose. Buster Butt. Orange-headed Mutt. Damn Mutt. Super Mutt. Littlest Boy. Little Guy. My Baby.
I remember exactly when I fell in love with Buster. We were snuggling close, and I was petting the back of his neck. His hair changed from super soft orange to soft orange and black to course black and blond. I was studying the different colors and textures.
If anyone hurts a single hair on your body, I will kill them. The thought came to me clear as day and as genuine as a sunrise. I loved every single hair on that dog and every breath he took.
Buster was simply the sweetest dog. There is not other way to describe him, cliche as it may be. He was 100% love and innocence. He was the epitome of a good dog. He was perfect. Really. He trusted everyone. He was so loyal. My goodness, it warmed my heart to see how much he loved A. Buster would look me right in the eye and just love me. His big, beautiful, incredibly dark brown eyes, rimmed in black. I am so glad A. was his daddy. Anyone less tender and kind could have really hurt Buster.
Buster just wanted to be with the people. (Though kids? Not so much.) He always wanted pets and loves. He’d stick his nose under your arm or hand and nudge you for pets. His ears were the softest I’d ever felt. That was his favorite spot. If you rubbed his ear just right he’d lean in and moan. He was a champion snuggler. He’d curl up with us, right in our armpits. He’d have his nose one inch from my face and snuggle in for a long session of cuddles. He’d sleep on my feet. He always let out a big sigh when he was settled in for the night.I miss the weight of him so, so much.
We always teased him, saying he wasn’t very bright, but that is not actually true. He was a very quick learner. He figured out to tip over the auto-waterer thing when it was almost empty. He’d just take a paw and knock it over, matter-of-factly.
His favorite place in the house was a spot where the sun shined just right in front of the wood stove. He’d just lay there and cook himself, happy as can be.
When he was happy and content he would roll over on his back and squiggle and scratch, using of his hind legs to really get some momentum going. He’d stand back up and shake, then pant and grin at us.
I could go on and on. I loved everything about this dog.
I am not used to talking about him in the past tense.
I feel like I am still supposed to go to Fort Collins and pick him up. How is he just gone? Just like that? I watched him go. I knew the very instant he was gone. It literally took my breath away. I just don’t believe it. And, yet, I have cried for days straight. I cry at the slightest mention of him or when I look at the places he liked to nap. I look outside our window and can imagine him trotting around, just as I’d seen him do just days ago.
How is he just gone? I am so very, very sad.