Goodbye, My Sweet Boy. Jesse Brown, 1995 - 2010

In September of 1995, I went to the Multnomah County Animal Shelter, and came home with the adorable puppy in the above photo.  He was eight weeks old, and I named him Jesse.

At the time, I was in the midst of a crippling depression, the kind where you just don't get out of bed.  Jesse changed all that.  There would be no more laying around depressed, the little bundle of sweetness and light was in need of training and love.  He was also full of energy, and so I had to rise to up to the challenge.  I had never had a pet of my own (though there were other wonderful dogs in my family growing up), and Jesse and I learned together as we started our 15 year relationship.

And what a relationship.  Unlike any other I've ever had.  We went everywhere together, and I always looked forward to coming home to him.  Such a sweet little guy.  All that love.

About a year ago, I noticed a lump on his belly. The vet said it was a "fatty deposit", something that wasn't really going to harm him or anything.  He'd never had any real health problems before.  Over the last year, the lump got bigger and bigger, until it was bigger than his head.  Two weeks ago I noticed that it was starting to weep fluid.  I took him to the vet, and it was decided that he needed to have the thing removed.  He had blood work done to make sure that he could safely undergo the removal surgery.

The blood work revealed that Jesse also had a progressive kidney disease.  His vet said that, while he could go ahead and have the growth removed, the kidney problem was only going to get worse and he would probably only live another six months or so, and that those would probably be a rough six months for Jesse. 

Last night, my sweet boy, my companion and love for the last fifteen years was put to sleep.  I had a week to say goodbye.  I cooked him hamburgers and fed him each piece.  I lay by his side and sang to him, petted him, reminisced and told him how much I loved him.  My friend Caleb took us to the vet, and I held him on my lap on the way there, and he kissed me.

The vet administered a sedative, and then a lethal dose of anesthesia.  Jesse died while I held him in my arms. 

Lying on the soft white dog's bed where Jesse passed away, he looked like he was asleep.  His eyes were closed, he did not void his bowels or bladder upon death.  It was incredibly hard to walk out of that room and away from that sweet, furry, still form that I have love for nearly a third of my life.

I walked out of the door, and felt a weird sense of...relief.  Relief that the process was complete.  And feeling relief caused me to also feel a lot of guilt...it just didn't seem like the right feeling.  I expected to be a sobbing mess.

This morning, the grief has really kicked in, in very intense waves.  It's something I haven't experienced before.  It comes unbidden and sudden.  Knowing that I did the right and humane thing for my sweet little guy doesn't really make it much better.

 I miss him so much already.  I'm alone in an empty apartment.  There is soft, black fur still on the carpet.  I am hesitant to vacuum it up.  His blue collar hangs on a doorknob.

I am trying to resist being maudlin, but that is how I feel.  Empty and lonely.  I know it's all normal and natural, and the knowing really doesn't help.

What has helped is all the amazing support and kindness of my friends, so much compassion has come my way over the last several days. This is the last photo I took of Jesse. 

I love you, Jesse.  I always will.  I miss you, Bubba Dog.  Thank you for sharing your short, beautiful life and all your love with me. I won't ever forget you. Goodbye, my sweet, sweet boy.