Your Pet Loss Stories

by Ian (Buddy) Lovestock
(San Antonio, Texas)

My boy Buster... I found him as a little ball of fur and scooped him up a day before animal control would round up the remaining group of strays flocking together for security.

Full of fleas - perhaps 4 weeks old. I cleaned him up, but he hated the apartment - tried to escape constantly... a real street dog. A little fighter!

I came home one day when he was about 6 months old & found him gnawing on expensive shoes, happily in my closet. A flash of anger, I grabbed him to shake - but the look of horror on his face - then he pooped. I laughed so hard. It was our bonding moment. After, he could do no wrong. We were the best of friends - I took him almost everywhere - he loved to ride in the car and run... man can that dog run.

His nose began to bleed - ever so slightly. The Vet suggested it was caused my stress. Constant sneezing - applications of Claritan for children. It continued and back to the Vet. New Vet said I should have an MRI done - found to be cancer - an aggressive malignant tumor. Buster is only 6 - half his life is being robbed from him from me. Another Vet said "dogs live for the day." Fine, but what about us who are left behind to grieve I wanted to ask, but only silently shook my head.

Happy, seemingly normal - Buster the greatest dog ever. That border collie mix loved everyone - even cats. Well, perhaps not cats. The bleeding got worse, other milky discharges (snot?) constantly. Coughing, choking sounds. The left side of his beautiful face began to protrude and foul odor of rotting flesh on his breath. I resisted. I knew he was in pain - I was too selfish to let him go.

Yesterday, Tuesday, July 24th 2012 at 5:20pm, Buster left me all alone... I held him so tight and the Vet pushed the death drug into his vein. At once his head fell heavy into my forearm... I held him so tight - in disbelief but everyone said it was the right thing to do. I am a 64 year old man, I grieve that little dog like he was my son. He was my son, my boy, Buster. I'll miss him so much.