Dear Bailey Bear,
It’s taken me well over a month to write this since you passed away from cancer on December 27, 2019…you were just a handful of days shy of your 13th birthday. And the only way that I’m able to write this at all is thinking about it as a touchstone for me to return to and keeping my memories of you fresh versus a final goodbye.
click for a slideshow
There are so many big and small memories that I’ll carry with me always and so many of these have shaped who I am:
· Getting you the day after we moved into our first house and having you and Cody eat your ‘indestructible’ toys in the 45-minute drive home.
· How you contracted giardia from drinking in dirty puddles in your previous life and how you were trained to only poop ON a bush (not next to, not under, but ON the bush)…and how you’d army crawl over our hedges and…ummmm…. Give them a primer of sorts.
· You were so independent at first. It wasn’t standoff-ish, but like you never had much human interaction and didn’t feel a need for it. Then over time, you warmed up…and even more when the kids were born…and even more when Cody passed. By the time you reached the end, you were such a part of our pack – both canine and human.
· I’m not sure that we ever found your time or exhaustion limit when it came to playing fetch with a tennis ball. You’d play for hours and rarely let anyone beat you to the ball. You always, always brought it straight back to the thrower and just stared at them for more. In fact, once you fractured your leg and kept playing…it was only after the ball was put away that anyone noticed the limp.
· And if we happened to lose a ball in the middle of the game by throwing it into a bush or over a fence, you would search & search for it. If we tried to throw a replacement ball, you’d ignore it. We’d have to quit and come back another time with another ball. You were very clear in that the game wasn’t to fetch any ball, it was to fetch that ball. Anything less was cheating.
· Of course, the time you and Cody ate the entire back seat of my jeep while Lisa left you in the car for a 45-minute meeting…while both of you were wearing the cones of shame. There was basically only wire and stuffing left. It ended up serving you well since I never replaced it and you got to ride in that whole back end for years.
· Once, we took you to Petco to get some free portraits taken (you were our first babies, remember) and they told us how handsome you were as we signed a waiver allowing them to use the image for promotional purposes…though we never thought they’d actually use it. So, I was shocked to walk in there one day and see your smiling muzzle over the words, “Bad dog? Come to Petco’s obedience classes”
· Now, I don’t need to write it as a memory since I will NEVER forget you eating the seven rocks from the dog run when I had to ensure, as disgustingly as it sounds, that you returned each and every one of the rocks to its rightful home.
· Going along with the theme of eating things: one time you ate a rope toy from Oma and you were having trouble getting all of it to pass so Lisa was there helping you and it was like a magician pulling out the infinite handkerchiefs from a pocket :P
· Grandma Ann used to call you and Cody horses because she thought you were so big.
· Based on all the eating of walls and whatnot, I nicknamed you the ‘red devils’ and it stuck until the end.
· I loved bringing you to the lake, to New Mexico, camping, and on the backpacking trips to Desolation Wilderness. I loved the car rides to and from those.
· One night, while Lisa was 36 weeks pregnant with E, you woke up and were whining and pacing. A very strange behavior for you. Lisa got up, put you out, let you back in and put you on your bed. She squatted down to give you a consoling pet when BAM! her water broke. I have NO doubt in my mind that you sensed your human baby brother was coming and wanted to make sure we did too.
· One of the things that I am SO thankful for is that there was not a minute that I was scared you’d harm the kids…no matter what they did to you. And, man, did they hang on you and yell near you and hug/wrestle you. Even the last year when you must not have felt good, I don’t believe you ever even made the smallest growl or tried to hide. They were your pack and you understood what their youth entailed.
· Now you were a little LESS understanding of the ACTUAL puppies in that last ~6 weeks you were alive. Though never mean, even if you preferred a little quiet time over puppy-sitting. I can’t blame you at all.
· I’m so thankful for you in getting us through the ‘terrible 2’s (and 3’s and 4’s). Frankly, I’m still not sure how I’m going to manage the kids’ teenage years without you. No matter how upset either kid was and no matter how much they wanted to be away from their parents, you would walk to them, lay down, and let them wrap themselves around you. And it worked. Almost every time. They would calm down and return to humanity.
· You fulfilled my needs for having a canine companion (aka a dog person). You and Cody changed Lisa into one…and you are going to be the dogs that my kids remember as their firsts. You shaped them into dog people. You showed them what it’s like to love unconditionally (better than Lisa or I could show). You taught them what it’s like to speak through non-verbal ways and how affection can cross so many boundaries. You allowed them to be responsible when you let them walk and feed you, and you showed great patience with them.
· And evidently you had a great fashion sense. Before school uniforms, it was such a process for J to finalize her clothes for the day. Daddy suggestions: No. Mommy suggestions: No. Brother suggestions: Stop it. Grandparent suggestions, if they were around: she didn’t know. If I presented Bailey with a choice of outfit A and outfit B, whichever he sniffed first was the winner and J happily put them on. It was similar to a duck picking a Super Bowl winner…and being right. Every time.
· A year ago, we started fighting your cancer. There were some harder days, though I know those were outshined by the camping trips, your 2 weeks at Lake Powell, meeting Penny and Dixie, and all the extra time we got to spend together (and outfits you selected).
Bailey, every morning when I took you on a walk and we finished with a good pet and me telling you that you were a ‘good dog’ and that I loved you, and then every evening when I said goodnight, I remembered the good dogs that came before you in my life: Mandy, Cody, Beau, and Belle. I did the same routine with all of them. I’ve never forgotten them. How could I? They made me who I am. They made my family who they are. And now, as I walk and say goodnight to Penny (or Dixie or Dante or a combo of those pups), I think of you in that list of amazing dogs and I’m reminded of how you shaped me and my family.
I love you. You’re such a good boy.
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