Saying Goodbye to Our Little Pirate

Bobo (2006-2021)

Bobo came to live with us in 2014 while we were still in Denver. He belonged to Ben's mom, who—for reasons that have been well documented on this blog—reached the point where she was unable to care for him any longer.

The little guy was a bit stand-offish at first. I remember vividly the day I picked him up and drove him home. It was like, "Hi friend. I know who you are, but where are we going?" He and Sammy had played together before when we babysat, so it wasn't like he was a complete stranger to the house, but once he was with us permanently, I think Sammy tolerated him more than anything else—kind of like the reaction of an only child to a new baby appearing on the scene. And for the longest time I didn't think Bobo liked me much, but over the past couple years, he became my best buddy. Moreso than even Sammy, who has been at my feet a lot over the past couple months, I would look down and Bobo would always be there. Ben and I often joked that one or the other of us was going to trip over the little guy and kill both of us. He couldn't stand having me out of his sight, and whenever we'd leave the house, he would bark incessantly. (I swear he only discovered his voice about three years ago, because we'd spot him on camera staring intently into the hallway at the old house and barking at absolutely nothing. Or ghosts. It might have been ghosts.)

Back in December, when we were still living in the hotel after the fire, Bobo started waking up in the middle of the night with something that sounded like a horrible kennel cough.  We took him to the ER and he was diagnosed with advanced congestive heart failure. This was not a complete surprise because we'd been told at his last regular checkup he had a heart murmur, but it was still a body blow; we thought Bobo was going to outlive us all. He was put on medication, but the vet warned at best this was a stopgap measure. "It could be weeks, or months or a year or more."

We were all hoping for the latter, but we did get an extra six months with the munchkin. A little more than a week ago he became extremely lethargic, had trouble standing, began obvious sundowning, and started randomly coughing up water. A few days ago he started refusing all food (even his favorites), and we knew the time had come to say goodbye.

A dear friend who had recently gone through this with one of her pups told us of Angel Veterinary, who will come to your home and help your fuzzy companion on his journey surrounded by loving family and not in some clinical, stainless steel fluorescent room. My biggest fear after learning of Bobo's condition last year and the continuing lockdown that was going on everywhere was that when the time came we would not be able to be with him as he shuffled off his mortal coil (his usual vet was not allowing pet parents into the exam rooms at all).

Yesterday afternoon Angel arrived, and it was as my friend had described. Peaceful. Painless. It was a loving send-off.

That doesn't mean that Ben and I haven't cried our eyes out. I broke down a second time as we went to bed last night, and made arrangements to take today off as I knew I'd be useless working. I'm still fighting back tears.

While Angel said Sammy could be here with us, we decided to send him off to Camp Bow Wow for the day because he wouldn't have handled strangers in the house well. When we brought him home, he seemed oblivious to Bobo's absence until right before bed, then he seemed very confused. I think that over the past seven years he went from tolerating the little guy to actually caring for him, and not having him around is weighing heavily on him as well.