Missing Bo
In 1992, as my family was preparing for our Air Force directed move from Arkansas to Colorado Springs, my two sons decided that it was a perfect time for us to adopt a dog. It had been several years since we had owned one, and they thought that nothing would be better than to add to the family just before driving across the country. “He can keep us safe on the trip!” was one of their favorite attempts at a justification.
Since I really didn’t want to deal with a new dog on the trip, I promised the boys that as soon as we were settled in Colorado we could go to the local shelter and see what they had. This seemed to satisfy them, since they then spent the entire 3-day trip talking about what kind of dog they wanted,and what they wanted to name it. It worked so well that there was no complaining or whining “Are we there yet?” the whole trip.
Once we arrived, we quickly purchased a house and got settled in to our new life in the mountains. Life was so interesting at that point that I thought they had completely forgotten about the promise of the dog. They were getting accustomed to the neighborhood, meeting new friends, and figuring out their place in their new school.
Then the dreaded day arrived that I figured was eventually coming. I came home from work one Monday, and there they were with the local newspaper in their hand. Seems at that time they ran a “Pet of the Week” every Monday, and on that particular day they had this cute little black female mix named Bo, which the boys had decided was just perfect for our household. She was one year old, and good with children. Perfect, huh?
Thinking quickly, I told them that between their school and my work we wouldn’t have time to go to the shelter until Saturday. I promised them that if Bo was still there on Saturday she would sleep Saturday night at our house. A brilliant plan, don’t you think? There was no way that a “Pet of the Week” this cute would last a day, let alone an entire week.
So the boys took the page from that paper, and taped it to their bedroom wall. They put a bed together for her and set out the bowls that they were going to use for her food and water. They even convinced mom to buy a collar and leash during the week, because they were going to need it to bring Bo home on Saturday.
Well, Saturday came and there would be no delay. Once breakfast was finished, the boys were dressed and ready standing at the door. “We have to go get Bo!” So we piled into the van, and off we went.
When we got to the shelter, both boys immediately ran up to the desk, newspaper article in hand, asking if Bo was still there. “Well of course she is.”, the young receptionist replied,” She’s been here waiting for you all week.” Ahh, the best laid plans of mice and men.
So our new family member came home and our life quickly changed for the better. Bo proved her worth the very first morning when she woke me up at 4:30 AM by growling very low right into my ear as I lie sleeping. I didn’t know what was wrong, but obviously something was. I got out of bed and got to the living room just in time to see the milk delivery man walking back to his truck. She may have been new to the house, but she just instinctively knew to let me know something was up without a bunch of barking and craziness. Having owned many dogs in my life, this was a pleasant surprise.
She proved it again to me a short time later, when a friend of mine came to visit. He was a frequent guest, but hadn’t been there since we brought Bo home. When he walked in the door, my youngest son was lying on his stomach on the couch, watching television. My friend snuck up on Daryl, grabbed him by the belt, and lifted him off the couch. Daryl let out a loud scream, and my friend quickly learned that Bo was very protective of the kids. A little alcohol and several band aids later, my friend’s butt was on its way to healing, and as my grandmother used to say, Bo had earned her seat at the table.
Over the years Bo continued to maintain her spot in the family. She rarely barked, never chewed up the furniture, and basically just seemed happy to have a home. She traveled with us to Maryland, and then Virginia, as the military continued to move us around. With each new home, she quickly learned the boundaries of the yard, and never wandered beyond them. A fence was never a requirement. Maybe she was just afraid that if she left the yard, she might end up back in one of those places where we first found her.
Then in 2004, we received another set of orders from the Air Force, moving us back to Colorado. By that time Bo was 13 years old, and showing signs of age. Although she had never had any medical problems in the 12 years we had owned her, it was clear that time was catching up with her. Her hair was turning gray, and she didn’t even try to come upstairs anymore. We discussed not forcing another cross country trip on her, but the boys convinced me that it would be appropriate to take her back to Colorado and let her live her final days out where they had began. Who could argue with logic like that?
Once we got back to Colorado, we settled in to a nice house on five acres and allowed Bo to just wander and enjoy the openness. She continued to age though, and there wasn’t much we could do about it. The vet examined her and told us there were a few things going on inside her, but that at her advance age there wasn’t much they could do beyond pain reduction. One day I pointed to Bo, and told my wife that we might want to consider putting her down since she was nearly blind, apparently deaf, and limped badly when she walked. My wife looked back at me, wearing my glasses and hearing aid, and said “Well I guess you’re just a knee injury away, huh?” Yeah, she had a point, so I didn’t pursue the issue.
A few months later, when the vet was over looking at the horses, I asked for his advice on Bo. He said that if it were his dog he would put her down. I then approached my wife with the idea. By then my wife had seen the inevitability of the situation and agreed that it was probably best to take care of things and end Bo’s pain. Her only stipulation was that she wasn’t going to be home when it happened. So I set up an appointment with the doc, and had him come over two nights later when Valerie was at a class.
If there’s one thing I believe, it is that I will always outlive my pets. While this is pretty much a certainty, it doesn’t make things any easier when they die. You get a pet, intending on having a home protector or something to keep you company, but it never works out that way. Pets simply have a way of becoming a family member. And the death of a family member is never a happy occasion. That being said, I also knew that what we were about to do was the best thing for everyone concerned; especially Bo.
So when the vet started getting ready, a thought crossed my mind. If I was so certain as to what we about to do, then I felt like I should be a bigger part of it than just an innocent bystander watching someone else do the dirty work. So I asked the vet if it would be ok if I pushed the plunger on the syringe and administered the final dose. He thought it was a strange request, but he seemed to understand, so he agreed. Once he had given her a shot to make her sleep, he put the tube in her forearm and set up the syringe. I then stepped in, gave her a kiss on the head, and finished things. It didn’t make me happy, but it did help me to feel more comfortable with what we had done.
My only regret is that we didn’t bury Bo on our property. Seems that the chemical the vet uses is so toxic that animals that are put down with it remain a danger to the other animals in the area. A coyote could dig her up and would quickly die from the chemical, even months or years later. But I do know that Bo will always be a loved member of the family. Her pictures still are on display, and her collar still hangs on the hook in the garage. I don’t believe we’ll ever get rid of them. We’ve moved on, and now we have two new dogs, but in our hearts there will always be only one Bo.
Since I really didn’t want to deal with a new dog on the trip, I promised the boys that as soon as we were settled in Colorado we could go to the local shelter and see what they had. This seemed to satisfy them, since they then spent the entire 3-day trip talking about what kind of dog they wanted,and what they wanted to name it. It worked so well that there was no complaining or whining “Are we there yet?” the whole trip.
Once we arrived, we quickly purchased a house and got settled in to our new life in the mountains. Life was so interesting at that point that I thought they had completely forgotten about the promise of the dog. They were getting accustomed to the neighborhood, meeting new friends, and figuring out their place in their new school.
Then the dreaded day arrived that I figured was eventually coming. I came home from work one Monday, and there they were with the local newspaper in their hand. Seems at that time they ran a “Pet of the Week” every Monday, and on that particular day they had this cute little black female mix named Bo, which the boys had decided was just perfect for our household. She was one year old, and good with children. Perfect, huh?
Thinking quickly, I told them that between their school and my work we wouldn’t have time to go to the shelter until Saturday. I promised them that if Bo was still there on Saturday she would sleep Saturday night at our house. A brilliant plan, don’t you think? There was no way that a “Pet of the Week” this cute would last a day, let alone an entire week.
So the boys took the page from that paper, and taped it to their bedroom wall. They put a bed together for her and set out the bowls that they were going to use for her food and water. They even convinced mom to buy a collar and leash during the week, because they were going to need it to bring Bo home on Saturday.
Well, Saturday came and there would be no delay. Once breakfast was finished, the boys were dressed and ready standing at the door. “We have to go get Bo!” So we piled into the van, and off we went.
When we got to the shelter, both boys immediately ran up to the desk, newspaper article in hand, asking if Bo was still there. “Well of course she is.”, the young receptionist replied,” She’s been here waiting for you all week.” Ahh, the best laid plans of mice and men.
So our new family member came home and our life quickly changed for the better. Bo proved her worth the very first morning when she woke me up at 4:30 AM by growling very low right into my ear as I lie sleeping. I didn’t know what was wrong, but obviously something was. I got out of bed and got to the living room just in time to see the milk delivery man walking back to his truck. She may have been new to the house, but she just instinctively knew to let me know something was up without a bunch of barking and craziness. Having owned many dogs in my life, this was a pleasant surprise.
She proved it again to me a short time later, when a friend of mine came to visit. He was a frequent guest, but hadn’t been there since we brought Bo home. When he walked in the door, my youngest son was lying on his stomach on the couch, watching television. My friend snuck up on Daryl, grabbed him by the belt, and lifted him off the couch. Daryl let out a loud scream, and my friend quickly learned that Bo was very protective of the kids. A little alcohol and several band aids later, my friend’s butt was on its way to healing, and as my grandmother used to say, Bo had earned her seat at the table.
Over the years Bo continued to maintain her spot in the family. She rarely barked, never chewed up the furniture, and basically just seemed happy to have a home. She traveled with us to Maryland, and then Virginia, as the military continued to move us around. With each new home, she quickly learned the boundaries of the yard, and never wandered beyond them. A fence was never a requirement. Maybe she was just afraid that if she left the yard, she might end up back in one of those places where we first found her.
Then in 2004, we received another set of orders from the Air Force, moving us back to Colorado. By that time Bo was 13 years old, and showing signs of age. Although she had never had any medical problems in the 12 years we had owned her, it was clear that time was catching up with her. Her hair was turning gray, and she didn’t even try to come upstairs anymore. We discussed not forcing another cross country trip on her, but the boys convinced me that it would be appropriate to take her back to Colorado and let her live her final days out where they had began. Who could argue with logic like that?
Once we got back to Colorado, we settled in to a nice house on five acres and allowed Bo to just wander and enjoy the openness. She continued to age though, and there wasn’t much we could do about it. The vet examined her and told us there were a few things going on inside her, but that at her advance age there wasn’t much they could do beyond pain reduction. One day I pointed to Bo, and told my wife that we might want to consider putting her down since she was nearly blind, apparently deaf, and limped badly when she walked. My wife looked back at me, wearing my glasses and hearing aid, and said “Well I guess you’re just a knee injury away, huh?” Yeah, she had a point, so I didn’t pursue the issue.
A few months later, when the vet was over looking at the horses, I asked for his advice on Bo. He said that if it were his dog he would put her down. I then approached my wife with the idea. By then my wife had seen the inevitability of the situation and agreed that it was probably best to take care of things and end Bo’s pain. Her only stipulation was that she wasn’t going to be home when it happened. So I set up an appointment with the doc, and had him come over two nights later when Valerie was at a class.
If there’s one thing I believe, it is that I will always outlive my pets. While this is pretty much a certainty, it doesn’t make things any easier when they die. You get a pet, intending on having a home protector or something to keep you company, but it never works out that way. Pets simply have a way of becoming a family member. And the death of a family member is never a happy occasion. That being said, I also knew that what we were about to do was the best thing for everyone concerned; especially Bo.
So when the vet started getting ready, a thought crossed my mind. If I was so certain as to what we about to do, then I felt like I should be a bigger part of it than just an innocent bystander watching someone else do the dirty work. So I asked the vet if it would be ok if I pushed the plunger on the syringe and administered the final dose. He thought it was a strange request, but he seemed to understand, so he agreed. Once he had given her a shot to make her sleep, he put the tube in her forearm and set up the syringe. I then stepped in, gave her a kiss on the head, and finished things. It didn’t make me happy, but it did help me to feel more comfortable with what we had done.
My only regret is that we didn’t bury Bo on our property. Seems that the chemical the vet uses is so toxic that animals that are put down with it remain a danger to the other animals in the area. A coyote could dig her up and would quickly die from the chemical, even months or years later. But I do know that Bo will always be a loved member of the family. Her pictures still are on display, and her collar still hangs on the hook in the garage. I don’t believe we’ll ever get rid of them. We’ve moved on, and now we have two new dogs, but in our hearts there will always be only one Bo.
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