Your Pet Loss Stories'Steve McQueen Rests In Peace...'
Last February, I was blessed with one of the best gifts I've ever received. My neighbors' dog wasn't spayed, and soon became pregnant. However it wasn't until she gave birth that we even had a clue. I was playing outside, when I heard noises coming from under my shed. It was in the winter, and that night we were expecting a couple inches of snow. Too scared to look under there myself, I took my mom's camera and snapped a picture. That's when I saw Sissy, and a whole litter of puppies.
We tried for days to get her to come out, but she refused to leave her puppies, and as a result, only 2 out of 5 made it. Eventually I finally cracked, and refused to let those puppies die. I took a golf club, scooped a puppy out, and Sissy soon followed. My sister grabbed the other, and we quickly took them to our house. Our neighbors refused to take the puppies, and just recently got their dog spayed after someone threatened to call animal control on them. So Sissy lived in our house for 8 weeks, and was pampered to insure that the puppies would be healthy.
When the puppies were about three weeks old, our parents said we could each keep one (adding to the three dogs we already had), and I chose the small brown one, whom I named Steve McQueen.
Over the next few months, we took care of them just as well as our other dogs, and the bond between me and Steve McQueen strengthened. He was my "baby boy", and I spoiled that dog rotten :)
All of our dogs are mainly outdoor dogs, coming in only for a few hours a day and during the night. Not because we don't enjoy their company, quite the opposite, that's just where they want to be. They'd lay out in the grass and just chill. I always thought it was the funniest thing when Steve McQueen did his scent rolling.
But one day in July of 2010, when he was just about six months old, my mom got a call from my sister asking if she would pick up my nephew. My mother reluctantly agreed, not because she didn't love her grand-baby, but because my sister only called if she wanted something, and it always made her mad.
I went outside with her, and started playing with my other dogs on the porch. She got into the car, started the engine, and wasn't aware that Steve McQueen was under the car, trying to find relief from the heat. She drove just a couple feet, and I heard a whimpering, and Steve McQueen jumped out from under the car, and ran to the bottom of the steps, where he collapsed.
I pet his ear for several minutes while he slowly let go (I suspect the tyre ruptured something internal, and so unfortunately his passing wasn't quick). My mother became hysterical, and collapsed as soon as she got into the house.
I picked his grave, and I also helped dig the hole he would be buried in. My mother was inconsolable for about two weeks. You would think that for me, just a 13-year old boy who was forced to watch his own dog die, it would be even worse. But I never cried. I came close several times, but I remained strong. Not to say that I didn't grieve, I did, I just didn't really need to cry. I knew that maybe now he could possibly have the freedom that we never provided him. He was our dog, and I know that he recognized our love, but sometimes it just might be better to let things roam free, with nothing but an eternal bliss (and most likely an eternal supply of Milk Bones and my mother's expensive shoes).
After Steve McQueen died, his sister, Lulu, started becoming lethargic, and I knew that she needed love, too. She soon became my Princess Lulu, and she's been my baby ever since. I consider her a blessing, because if it had not been for her, I don't know if I would've been able to move on in the manner that I did.