we said goodbye

This is not a post I expected to ever write. I mean, I thought I would have to eventually, but today wasn't supposed to be the day. It was supposed to be way in the future, or maybe never, if technology got there fast enough. I was never supposed to have to say goodbye to my Rexi. 

Everyone loves my dog more than they love me, and I completely understand that.  I got Rex when I was in the fourth grade. His name was Hunter, and he was a 14 week old little thing with these massive paws we pulled out of a backyard full of trash. My dad paid $20 for him, and we went home. He had fleas, ringworm, and scabies, and that was just what we could see. In his brain was a whole set of other problems, things we never really fixed. He had never been socialized, and so was half feral. He bit, and I have evidence of it all over my body, scars that I never want to heal over.  But he was my golden-eyed wolf baby. He got bigger, and bigger, and grew beyond the expiration date the vets put on him. We took him to trainer after trainer, until I finally figured out that he'd do anything for cheerios, and trained him myself. He learned how to shake with the right paw, and how to fist bump, and he slept in my bed when he thought I wasn't watching. He competed in dog shows, and won even though he was terrible at it. He was beautiful, but hated photos, and knew that my phone had a camera in it. One time I made him be in a blog post with me and he ignored me for three days. He let my friends hug him but didn't like when I did it, so I had to be sneaky. I'm good at being sneaky, so I have lots of glorious photos and videos of my baby, and so do a lot of you. I would say sorry, but let's be honest, I'm not. He was prettier than me, and that deserved documentation. He could put his whole head on the dining room table and used that to his full advantage. He got skunked twice in the last year after eight years of never so much as stepping in dog poop. He protected me from everything from squirrels to weirdos in the park, and helped me be cool. His hair is all over my room and probably in my lungs. He smelled like sugar and clean dirt and he was my beautiful runt. I said goodbye before I left, and I think he did too. He let me kiss him, and hug him, and take twenty selfies past his usual limit of zero. 

So today, we are both at peace.

There are thousands of Rex's waiting to happen. If you're looking for a dog, please, please start at a rescue. It will take work, and it will be hard, but that dog will love you so much, and you will save its life. If I hadn't gotten Rex, and he had ended up in a shelter, his only saving grace would have been his looks. Big dogs aren't popular once they're adults, and thats not fair. They might not fit in a purse or a stroller, but they do look much more impressive in selfies.

x J

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  1. Justina my dear; I remember the day that Rex won the dog show! I think that you and your Mom came by the shop....LaunderDog. My heart feels for you and the physical absence of such a lovely boy. Over the past 20 years customers have shared with me their sad news of the passing of their beloved-four-legged. In their quest for freedom from the pain of a fresh loss, I ask them if they would rather be 'wired' to have all memories (of the pet) erased so as to avoid their pain. The answer is ALWAYS a resounding "no!". At that point I remind them they're sad because no new memories will be made. Under the laws of supply and demand, I point out that the memories they treasure have even greater value. And finally, each and every time that I think of a past pet, I tell myself that's a sign that they've come to visit me. "And we will selfie again!"

  2. Your dog sounds great, and I am sorry for your loss. I'm sure that he is at peace now.


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