Cocobear Murderface and the journey to infinity

My wife and I decided to get a dog when my son turned about eight months old. We wanted him to have a buddy to grow up with. So we went down to a pet store, found a litter of puppies and adopted Cocobear Murderface (Yes, thats what we named him). He was a Pomeranian/Japanese spitz mix. He was a fluffy, adorable, sweet and derpy little dude, oh, and he had pretty brutal epilepsy.

His first grand mal seizure happened within a month of him being with us, and it was excruciating to watch. The Vet diagnosed him as epileptic and recommended putting him on medication, which we did, three pills twice a day. The vet said they could affect his liver and wasn't sure how long he would be with us. That was 8 years ago.

Cocobear never growled. He never snarled. He never really even barked. He would just walk up to you and snuggle his poof ball head onto your lap or under your hand. I'm not sure if it was the seizures or just his nature, but the dog didn't have a mean bone in him. Just love.

This made it even more painful to watch when he did have seizures. See, even with his intense pill regiment, he would still have at least two to four seizures a month. Every one almost, if not more intense than his first. It would take him a while to get back to his senses after every one. We'd have to bath him every time because he would lose control of his bowels, afterward we'd just hold him until he could recognize us again. After which he would go straight for his food and eat, come back, lay by our feet and sleep. At its worst, this could happen 2-3 times a day. I could never imagine the heartache and frustration a parent with a child who was afflicted by this would have to endure. It is a terrible disorder.

Over time we gained more fur babies. A kitten that must have been 2 days old that my wife found at her work and brought home. Then a rat terrier that a co-worker of my wife could no longer take care of, so she brought him home. As much as I love my wife I had to put my foot down and tell her to stop that shit, we had to many animals (Really, this was just me saying: "Babe... will you please stop bringing animals home?"), to which she obliged.

Then, about 3 months ago a lost little goofy dog ran into our driveway. He was about a year old, scared, shaking and adorable. When I went to pick him up, he didn't even run. He just lowered his head and curled into a ball. God knows how long he had been on the streets. My son named him "Ruffles" and we immediately began contacting the local vets offices, animal shelters and submitted a report with the humane society for lost animals. Nobody contacted us.

Over the months of housing him, something special happened. Ruffles would stay outside with Cocobear when we were not home. They got along well, both were very sweet and loving. It wasn't until about the second month that Ruffles was with us that I noticed that Cocobear hadn't had a seizure. This was amazing. Not in the 8 years that he had been with us had he gone this long without having a seizure. We decided to make Ruffles a part of our family forever.

Sunday, I took Ruffles to the humane society. There they had a program called "Finder First". This gave the finder of a stray animal first shot at adopting the animal that they brought in. The shelter would post the animal on the website for 48 hours, and then if no one claimed them as their pet, then the animal would be sterilized, given their shots, heart worm meds, micro-chipped and registered. We would make him a legal member of our family.

It was the day after I took Ruffles in that I saw it. Cocobear was getting anxious. He was pacing around the house, seemed disoriented, wouldn't eat, and VERY clingy. I knew what this meant. All the signs of an oncoming seizure. At first I thought it was just overdue, but then I saw him waiting by the screen door looking outside. He would stay there. It took me a little bit, but it became obvious. He missed Ruffles. He never sat by the door like that. Ever. Over the next few days, Cocobear kept coming to me and pawing at me, walking to the door, and pawing again. I was in awe of how much this dog missed his little buddy.

After 4 days and surprisingly no seizures, I received a call from the humane society that Ruffles was being offered to us for adoption. Ecstatic, immediately after work I got my son and went to the humane society to onboard our new "official" family member. Ruffles was understandably shook up when they brought him out (I mean they did just steal his nuts), but he recognized us and was very excited and loving by the time we got in the car. He knew he was going home, he knew he was going to see his buddy.

When we pulled up to the house he could barely contain himself. As I carried him and we approached the gate he was barely able to be held, he knew he was home. Expecting a overjoyed welcome from Cocobear when we got in the yard, I knew these damn dogs were going to be a handful for the next hour.

But, they weren't.

When I came into the yard, I saw him. He was in the standard seizure position on his side, legs out and covered in urine. I rushed my son and Ruffles into the house so I could take care of Cocobear until he gathered his wits about him and was able to play with his buddy. I went outside, expecting the usual. Wait for the ticks to subside, hold his head so he didn't bust out his teeth, and get some food ready for him to chow down. But there would be none of that. His stiff legs were too stiff. His little tongue normally sticking out of his mouth panting was motionless and dark purple, his eyes lifeless and glazed over. Cocobear Murderface was dead.

The best I could tell, it looked like he had a seizure. However, he seemed to have had it on the corner of the grass where the grass met our concrete porch. The blood on the side of his face indicated the during his convulsing he likely had bludgeoned his head on the corner of the concrete. There is no telling how long it took him to die, or if he was even aware when he did. But based on the onset of rigamortis, he had to have been dead for at least a few hours. I covered him with a towel and began deciphering the reality of the situation. I couldn't let my son see this. I couldn't let the other animals see it. Not having a yard large enough to bury him in, I called the humane society. They asked if I wanted him cremated. I did not, so they gave me the number for city and county. I called them and they directed me to put him in a bag or box and then put that next to the mailbox and they would retrieve him within the hour.

8 years of my life we cared for and loved this dog. He never was mean, or naughty or bad. He was the sweetest little dude. 8 years of love and I found myself grudgingly covering him, putting him into trash bags and placing him onto the curb for pick up. I've never felt so fucking shitty in my life.

So here I sit. Whiskey in one hand, paging through pictures in my phone and choking back tears. I've never been the sentimental type. On the contrary, I'm fairly abrasive. I lost my mother at 18, my father at 30, and numerous friends and brothers along the way, but this is tugging on the heart strings and has turned me into a damn mess. "You never know what you have until its gone". This rings so true. I realize for anyone that may be reading that this may seem over dramatic, but please take this away:
Take no moment for granted. Life is fragile and there is no telling when it will come to an end. Love those who love you as much, if not more than they do. And, for the love of god, when you are with someone, BE with them. Get off the phone, stop watching TV and give yourself to them. You never know what your last moment might entail or when it might be, so make every moment the best last one you could have.

Anyways.... I'm babbling, drunk and sad.
Here's a picture of Cocobear Murderface.
Most loving friend I've ever had.

-Spreck