Quite possibly the most honest, loving, well written memoriam for a dog I have ever read
Rebel was a good dog.
Oh, who am I kidding? Rebel was a shit-head. He was a terrible dog. He wasn’t like Lassie, or that border collie that knows the names of over 200 toys. He didn’t do any fancy tricks we could show to friends. But he was our dog, so we loved him, and welcomed him into our little family.
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About a week after we’d gotten the guy, my mother fell off a ladder and broke her pelvis. About a week later, my father died. A kind graduate student took care of Rebel while we were away for a week to grieve and be with family. When we came home, he seemed to really bond with us, and it was after that that he decided he was our dog, and that we were his humans.
We got Rebel a house, thinking he might like to stay out back during the daytime while we were at work. Because he could jump the fence around our yard, we drove a stake in and chained him up. When we got home, we found that he’d excavated a foot-deep moat at the limit of the chain, between his little dog house and our big comfy house. After that, we decided he should stay inside while we were at work. The moat filled up every time it rained, and for a while we contemplated getting a small footbridge to augment the unintentional water-feature he’d added to the property. We never did, and when we were ready to move three and a half years later, we spent several hours trying to level it out, since prospective buyers wouldn’t have the same appreciation for a mid-lawn moat that we had.
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We came home, more than once, to horrific messes caused by his eating frenzies. The 5 lb bag of flour was bad, since most of it ended up spread on the floor, rather than in his belly. The loaf of pumpkin bread, complete with aluminum foil, wasn’t much of a mess at the time, but after much processing in his digestive tract it generated several surprise gifts on the floor.
Of all Rebel’s illicit eating of forbidden things in the house, the 2 lb bag of chocolate chips was worst. Fortunately for him, he puked it all up. Unfortunately for me, he did so in about 20 different places in the house. The chips that had melted in his tummy, hardened into fudge-like globs covered with copious mucus after being barfed back up—on the carpet, on the hardwood, in the sheets, and, my favorite, in between the mattress and the footboard of the antique cherry bed.
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Rebel was at best an average dog. He didn’t have any noteworthy skills, and more often than not, he did bad things for love of food that made our lives a little harder.
But he was MY dog. MY dog in way that I never thought I’d experience. When I came home from work, he would bark with so much excitement! I translated his caterwauling thus: “Oh! MY! GOD! You’re here! Yea! You’re here! You’re really, and truly here! Oh, I missed you so much! I am SO glad to see you!”
And sometimes, when he was older, he’d wake up from a nap, and tell me the same thing, because I think he forgot that I was there when he went to sleep.
Whenever I left a room, he would follow. If I ran upstairs to get something, he’d come with. Even when he was old and it was harder. He never waited to see if I was coming back down before following. He was at my heels. He waited for me to get up in the morning before coming downstairs. (Sometimes when I was away for the night, he would stay upstairs, patiently waiting for me to get out of bed.) If I took a bath, or went to the bathroom, he’d wait outside. If I took too long, he’d poke his head in to see what was going on. If he went for a walk with another member of the family, or was let in from outside by somebody other than me, his first order of business was always finding out where I was. He was my buddy, and I think I was his.
But dogs can’t live forever. I wish they could. But they can’t.
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http://www.ngshefferly.com/2017/11/in-memoriam.html
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and the night before she died at home she kissed me under the mistletoe. I kept that mistletoe up until last year and I was very sick and my family came and cleaned up my home and threw the mistletoe away not knowing how important it was to me. I cried and cried. I have never experienced such sadness and loss in my life. My mom told me I shouldn't have dogs but I love them and I can't live without one. I have had them my whole life. When I die I am putting my money where my heart is and 75% of my assets are going to the San Diego Humane Society and the Morris Animal Refuge in Phila. I don't have kids, I have dogs and they are a lot better as far as I am concerned. And I was an elementary school teacher for over 15 years. I am going to die soon and that is fine with me, as long as it is right after my little one goes. I do not want to live without her. When the doctors told me the "bad" news they didn't understand that it was not that bad to me personally.
My goal is to live long enough to be able to take care of my little girl and to see the fucking moron, his family and the GOP go down in flames. Then I will die in absolute peace.
I have 100% empathy for you. I have been reading a lot of posts on DU about family dogs dying lately. Have you noticed that too? I already know how precious the little time left is. 
If you scroll down the comments on the YT page for this video you will see Paul Miller's comment. He was the delivery guy who Beau bit. It's a really nice comment, check it out. 
"You were a GOOD girl."
and she loved me unconditionally. 
You've been thru a lot.
It took us 7+ yrs to adopt another kid (to us, dogs are our kids - our son just has to share that status 
).
It's delicate balance between the deepest grief (and wanting to avoid it again) and a huge gaping hole in our lives. Four yrs ago, when a human tragedy struck and I couldn't recover from depression and daily bouts of sobbing which continued for 6+ months, I knew ONLY one thing would help: another DOG. And it did! Immediately, it did. I truly owe my sanity to the dogs in my life.
Hubs and I are in our 70s, so this one should be our last. But guess what! We're getting her a buddy right after Christmas! We'll face the deepest grief of their deaths when it comes but our daily lives are enriched beyond measure by our kids. I cannot live without one.
One thing I know is that you'd be the great mom to some homeless furbaby out there. Some day I hope you'll be ready.
They love us so, even though we don't deserve it.
This sounds so much like my precious Schatzie. We lost her to cancer last August one day before her 11th birthday. My poor husband sobbed like a baby for most of the day. We still miss her.
