Lives May Be Short, But Memories Last Forever

Just because my best friend couldn’t talk never once hurt our relationship. I often considered us to be brothers and we were rarely seen apart from one another. More than once he was the one who helped me through deep depression and anxiety. I could not possibly have asked for anything more than he gave me throughout our friendship.

He was diagnosed with a tumor and given a short life expectancy. I spent that night crying and thinking what my life would be like without him. He survived longer than the six month prediction, but the most painful day of my life occurred on the sunny day of May 27th 2016. My best friend lost his long battle with the tumor on his spleen and entered everlasting peace.

I struggle to write this with dry eyes as it was heartbreaking to see him slowly fade from this world. He went peacefully, but left a hole that only he could fill; a hole only filled with four white paws and a stubby tail that refused to stop wagging. He showed me unconditional love, a love that few humans are capable of showing. He loved me regardless of whether I had a job or was deemed to be successful by the world. He also possessed an excitement for life that will forever be missing. My best friend is Caspian, a cockapoo. I won’t say was, because death doesn’t stop him from living on through the memories of times spent together.

The beginning of our friendship started when we picked him up at eight weeks old on a snowy day in December. He was a little bundle of golden fur, splashes of white on his paws and chest and a face that melted many hearts. There is something incredibly sweet about getting a new puppy home for the first time. Everything is new and exciting for them. He was a quick learner, but his housebreaking was undoubtedly sped up by the cold snow in our back yard, wanting to get back inside to the warmth of our living room. Puppies have times where they become so tired that they can fall asleep anywhere soft and warm. One of my favorite early memories was of Caspian falling asleep on the back of my legs as I knelt in front of the computer.

As he got older, he grew larger, but that never stopped us from calling him “Puppy,” because that is what he was. He never lost his youthful enthusiasm for life.

Our family has a few quirky people in it and Caspian had quite a few quirks of his own. He had an unending appetite for people food. There were very few things he refused to eat. He loved lettuce, but only the crunchy kinds. If it was wilty, you might as well throw it out. He also hated carrots and I had fun trying to disguise them in dressing or hidden in a bit of bread. I might have fooled him once or twice, but he foiled my plans to get him to eat carrots hundreds of times. He also had a special way of gently using his paw to turn your face to his so he could give you one of his many kisses. We fondly called it “the paw of blessing.” He had a special mission to rid the world of all balloons. He would paw and bite at them until they popped. Then he would give you a look, as if you were expected to be proud, and would rapidly wag his tail. Everyone let Caspian kiss them on the face; everyone except my mom, who refused it without fail. Somehow he knew this and almost never attempted to give her kisses. I’d always try to hold him near my mom to see if I could get him to do it, but he wouldn’t and my mom and I would laugh about it.

My dad had a special bond with Caspian too. They shared some daily and weekly habits. Each morning before work, dad would save five of his wheat squares to share with Caspian at the end of breakfast. Dad always referred to him as “handsome,” even after he had growths near his eye and on his head, even after he lost his vision and had milky white cataracts. His handsomeness was a reflection of what he was on the inside. Saturday, without fail, would find my dad traveling to the local donut shop to purchase one cinnamon donut hole. I don’t know how Caspian knew, but Saturday he always had a little extra spring in his step. He would be waiting by the front door for dad to arrive home with his favorite treat. This was the same treat my dad and I put a candle in for his hundredth birthday (in dog years) celebration. Sundays were always popcorn days and as my dad would pop the popcorn, the first piece was always given to Caspian. As my dad sat on the recliner to watch TV, almost without fail you could find Caspian stretched out along his lap enjoying a little rest and a good back scratch.

Caspian was instrumental in getting through my multiple bouts with depression and anxiety. Anyone who has struggled with these issues realizes you often have no motivation to get out of bed or do much of anything. Each morning Caspian would jump up on my bed and encourage me to get up and start the day. One of the most dreaded questions for someone suffering depression is “How are you doing?” and “What have you been up to?” In honesty I felt like I was in hell and spent hours each day sleeping and just trying to make it through the day. You spend enough time thinking about you feelings and don’t wish to pour out these thoughts to others. Holding Caspian gave me the ability to be around new people and quickly divert attention to him, instead of focusing on me as I recovered. All I needed to do when I was feeling bad would be to pick him up and cuddle with him on the couch. It didn’t matter whether I was crying or just needed a friend who could communicate love without talking. A simple lick from a dog can often be more therapeutic than a long conversation. The phrase “Let sleeping dogs lie,” never applied to Caspian. Whether he was asleep, awake, or eating, I could pick him up with no complaints or growling. He was a friend I could always count on and he counted on me, too. Taking him on walks around the neighborhood was a big step in recovery. It gave me a reason to venture out of the house without feeling strange walking down the street alone. I do not know if I would still be here without this special puppy. You don’t have to be dyslexic to realize that rearranging the letters in “dog” creates God. It is my belief that Caspian was a Godsend, not only for me, but for anyone who received his unconditional love. Other dogs never excited him, but if he saw people he would wag his tail and wish to greet them with kisses or a toy. He saw no difference in race, gender, disability or any other characteristic humans use to discriminate between people. Humans could learn a lot by following this example.

We also shared many times of hilarious laughter, like the time my mom caught him after he grabbed an entire bagel off the counter. He tried to gobble it down as my mom chased him around the house. I recorded it and was of very little help to my mom, but was shaking from laughter as I witnessed this scene unfold. We may have gotten Caspian too early, because his father never showed him the proper way to lift his leg to urinate. So like a female dog, he would always urinate with all four legs on the ground and a little bit of laughter from those who knew he was a male. He put up with being dressed in many costumes from Pippi Longstocking to Santa and never made a complaint. If you watched him long enough from the kitchen table as you ate, he would break into his repertoire of tricks, whether trying to shake, roll over, or play dead to receive a morsel from your plate. Food was one of his biggest motivators in life.

I’m glad he had such a resilient body as more than once he found and ate many Hershey Kisses. While we were afraid he might get quite sick, we couldn’t help but laugh at the many little colorful wrappers we found in our yard. I also have a vivid memory of him eating a large quantity of rock salt from a bag tore open. He compensated for the dehydration by drinking large quantities of water. That resulted in frequent trips to the bathroom that night.

As he got older Caspian lost most of his sight and hearing, but he never lost his affectionate demeanor. He never once bit or growled at any of my young nephews or niece. He tolerated lots of tiny hands pulling his hair as they learned to be gentle. Caspian was often followed by my little niece Lucy who loved to put pieces of his food on the floor. One time she got a little too ambitious and took two child sized handfuls and placed them on his back, but he never showed any signs of annoyance. He simply slowly walked away and let me collect all the food and place it back in his bowl.

But all good things eventually come to an end. He was diagnosed with a tumor on his spleen and his remaining days were predicted to be short. However he lived almost another two years from that day. The last days were painful, seeing his health slowly fade. When he stopped eating the food he used to love, we knew the end was near. May 26th 2016 was the day I witnessed his health take a turn for the worst. He was walking around the backyard and collapsed and couldn’t get up on his own. I realized his quality of life was too low to selfishly keep him any longer. I knew what needed to be done, but that didn’t stop me from picking up my precious friend, placing him on my chest and sobbing until nothing else came out. When my dad came home we made the decision to put him to sleep. He was no longer wagging his tail and showed no signs of joy in anything. I knew I had to go with my dad to the vet and I held him snugly in an embrace on the car ride there. I needed to be there for the one friend who was always there for me.

As we placed him on the veterinarian’s table and the final shot was administered, I scratched his head gently and told him it was ok and that he had been the best dog ever. The vet did a final check with a stethoscope and confirmed that he was now gone. He went as peacefully as possible and we took him back home to bury him under a special tree where our other previous dog was buried. Wrapped in his favorite blanket, I lowered him into the hole my dad dug and my mom dad and I gathered to say a prayer while many tears were shed. My dad said that he wasn’t sure if there was a heaven for dogs, but if there was, he certainly hoped Caspian would be there. He would be the little boisterous dog with small white paws and a stubby tail, looking for the people he loved so much.

While the most recent memories are of his slowly failing health, I will never forget the times we spent together and the joy he brought to everyone’s life he touched. It doesn’t make it any easier to see his empty bed in the kitchen or to return home expecting him to greet you affectionately. But I would much rather have spent the time loving him and having a heartache at his death, than to never have had him bless me with his presence.

While his body lays under our tree in the backyard, his memories live on joyously in my heart. And that is something that will never pass away. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion.

Thank you Caspian for being such a special part of my life and giving me such a concrete example of what unconditional love and friendship is.

I want to thank @stellabelle for giving me the kind advice she has. If you haven't seen any of her work, please take the time to do so. Some of the most incredible editing on steemit can be seen here. She makes pieces come to life. StellaBelle Shockin Story

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