August 3rd, 2011
I sit on a bench in Arlington Park. The air is thick and warm, but a breeze allows us to breathe a little easier this summer evening.
I watch people and children walk and play as I eat a cup of frozen yogurt. Tonight, I don’t have the energy to care about calories. Ice cream always makes me feel better when I’m lost in the void.
I’ve been living on my own and going to college in Sarasota for almost exactly a year. In February, I almost died from a kidney stone that developed into septic shock. After two months in the hospital back home, I came back to Sarasota and went to another hospital for a group therapy evaluation because I was struggling with a lot. After an altercation, I was Baker Acted and forced into a co-ed adult psychiatric unit for three days*. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.
It has been a few months since then, but I’m not getting better. I reluctantly decide to move back home, even though I know returning to that environment will make me worse. At this point, I don’t see any reason to carry on further. I deliberate if this will be the evening I follow in the footsteps of my other family members.
Something warm and hairy crashes into my side with a thick thud.
“Ah shit! Sorry!” A man starts to run over, holding hands with a young girl.
I look down next to me and see a little brown and white dog. His tongue laps at the edges of my frozen yogurt cup and his nub of a tail wiggles so hard that his whole body vibrates.
He looks up at me with a goofy smile. Only one of his ears stands up. The other folds over in half.
I feel something warm.
“Oh my god! He’s peeing!”
The man and the young girl reach the bench. I notice he’s also holding a leash and a grocery bag with bowls and dog food.
“I am SO sorry!” The man pants, out of breath. “This little dog is obsessed with food!”
“He peed on me…” I frown at the man. I love animals, but not this much.
“I’m sorry… I’m not sure why he does that…it happens when he gets excited. He’s still a puppy…”
The little girl excitedly sits next to me and the dog on the bench. “Do you wanna take him home?” she pipes up.
“What?” I look at the man, curious.
“This is my daughter… We got this little guy a few months ago, but my wife is pregnant again and we can’t give him the care he needs. Hannah didn’t want to drop him off at the pound, so I promised her we’d come to the park and see if someone wanted to adopt him first.”
I look back at Hannah and the dog. They both smile at me.
“Oh…wow…I’m really sorry. I don’t know if I can…”
“He’s really good!” Hannah scoots closer, embracing the dog. “He likes snacks and snuggles!”
The dog squirms out of her arms and redirects his attention back to my yogurt cup.
“I’m not sure I can…I have a lot going on…”
“But look how much he likes you!” She rubs sweat off her face and smears it with dirt. “He barks and growls at people he doesn’t like!”
I stare at the little dog and feel myself getting suckered into his big brown eyes, tongue out panting, one ear up one ear down. He’s goofy looking but adorable.
“Does he have a name?” I ask Hannah.
“His name is Buster!” She smiles and pets him a little roughly.
I look from Hannah to the dad and back to Buster.
Something in me tells me I need him as much as he needs me.
“Okay…I’ll take him. I actually need a friend really bad right now.”
I took Buster back to my apartment and surprised Mother with the new friend I was bringing home. I wasn’t a huge fan of his name, but he already knew it. So, I started calling him Buster-Boo, and then Boo-Boo.
Boo-Boo was Father’s nickname for me.
I knew he had sent Buster to save me.
***
Buster has quite literally never left my side in the fifteen years we’ve been together. If he’s not immediately under my feet, he’s always just a couple of steps behind me. He’s traveled with me across the country, through multiple homes and relationships, through all of the ups and downs.
He was abused pretty badly before I got him. Not by the people who gave him to me, but the people they got him from. If we moved too suddenly, raised a magazine or a stack of mail, Boo-Boo would scream and run into the corner. He would growl and snap at any man he didn’t know (honestly can’t blame him for that though).
It took years for him to realize I would never allow him to be hurt again.
Eventually, he came out of his shell. Jack Russell mixes can’t hide their vibrant personalities forever. Once Buster realized he was safe, he became his true self.
Boo-Boo doesn’t just love his snacks. Food is his primary motivation in this world.
He has found his way into the spice pantry, the nooks and crannies of chairs and couches, sealed garbage bins, the hidden corners in the closet, the zippers of purses and jackets. His little nose sniffs out any hint of food. I still can’t leave my coffee cup unattended because within minutes, he’ll start slurping it up.
He’s stolen pizza straight out of children’s hands and climbed up on the table for many a cream cheese bagel. He has consumed chocolate, various seasonings, sugar free gum, chicken bones, and worse—all things that should have killed him. Most of my emergency vet visits were because Buster fucking ate something bad again.
He was kind of fat for a while because he was spoiled with snacks when we lived with my family. He knows he’s the best beggar and none of us can resist. I forced him on a diet when he turned twelve because I wanted him to live longer. And the vet said he was fat. It definitely helped, but his begging never ceased.
Now, old and half deaf/blind, Boo-Boo stubbornly stands at the table and moans like an almost-ghost for just a crumb or two, tapping his feet impatiently. At fifteen-and-a-half years old, I can’t help but give him a few scraps in his bowl once I’m done eating.
For a long time, Buster would lick me compulsively. He would try to clean my self-inflicted wounds and hid under the blanket every night while licking my legs over and over. It was kind of gross, but I think it was his way of trying to soothe me when I was living in constant stress and survival mode.
The licking has completely stopped in the past few years; right at the same time I’ve finally been in a calm and healing environment.
He actually doesn’t really love to snuggle, but he doesn’t want to be left alone either. Buster has always done things on his own terms. He wants to be laying close enough to touch but not feel suffocated. Only recently has he start letting me hug and snuggle him. I push his limits sometimes because I never know when I’m not going to feel him ever again.
***
It is not an exaggeration to say Buster saved my life. Every time I thought about a permanent end to my suffering in the last fifteen years, I’ve looked at him and the thought immediately dissolved. No one could ever care for him like I do. If I left, he would never understand where I went.
I am all he has ever had in this world. It would be cruel to leave him behind, sad and confused forever. He was meant to guide me through an incredibly dark period in my life. He still helps carry me through it every day. The least I could do was continue to live for him.
His face is now completely white where it used to be painted brown. His eyes are milky and sometimes he just wanders around the house confused. His back legs are weak and he loses balance unexpectedly. I have to lift him on and off the bed and couch because he’s too weak to jump. But when I pick him up, he still tries to leap a little. He’s incontinent and wears a diaper all the time, but every time I change it, he wags his little tail as a thank you. As hard as it is to watch him decline, it is an honor to care for him as he ages.
I think often about the day we will have to say goodbye. I know it is coming sooner rather than later. The anticipatory grief eviscerates me. On one hand, I feel so lucky that I’ve gotten so much time with him. Most dogs don’t live to be fifteen-and-a-half, let alone keep going strong. On the other, there will never be enough time. I will not be the same once he’s gone.
But sometimes I wonder if he has hung on for this long because he knows how much I still need him. He knows I’m still trying to find my way through the darkness. And even though he’s old and slow and limping, he’s still right next to me every step of the way.
He always will be.
And he certainly won’t leave me until he decides he’s ready.
*a story for another blog post
