What is the best advice your mother gave you?

I Killed My Best Friend

            I killed my best friend. This happened almost twenty years ago and I am still haunted by it to this day.  I’m sure I will never forgive myself for causing this death.

            Boris was my dog and my best friend for nine years.  He was a mutt and he barked entirely too much but there has never been anyone or anything in my life that gave me as much love and devotion as he did.

The first time I saw him, I feel completely in love.  He was part Basset Hound and part collie.  The owner told me he thought he had a little Saint Bernard in him too.  He sure looked it.   He had this huge head for his little body.  He had short little legs and long white fur with a brown saddle that was lopsided.  When he was an adult his saddle looked like a silhouette of Mickey Mouse’s head.  My girls always referred to him as “the Mickey Mouse dog”.

            When I got home from work, he was there to welcome me.  He sat when I told him to and came to me whenever I requested.  He had the cutest method of letting me know when he was hungry or thirsty.  He brought his bowl to me or if it overturned, he would chase it around the kitchen making the loudest ruckus imaginable.  He let me know when the mail arrived or the newspaper came by, barking as if unknown assassins were attacking us.

            I always felt comfortable being at home by myself because Boris let me know if anyone was within walking distance of the house by barking.  He barked at anyone who came to visit us.  If he didn’t quit barking when I told him to, I never trusted that person.  His instincts were always correct.

            Boris loved it when I blew soap bubbles.  He would jump and bite them and jump back in wonder when they popped in his mouth.  I trained him to let me wipe his paws when he came in out of the rain, snow or mud.  I would just say, “puppy paws” to him and he would lift each paw for me to wipe with a towel before he entered the house.

            We bought our home and didn’t have furniture in it for three years.  Our living room was filled with Boris’ toys, dog bones and chews and his knotted socks with which we played tug of war.  We referred to our living room as “Borrie, Borrie Land”.

            A friend once threw a firecracker on the ground at a 4^th of July celebration and Boris sniffed it as it exploded.  Thereafter he was afraid of fireworks, guns and thunderstorms.  I have held him drooling and shaking with fright many times.  We finally got tranquilizers for him for the 4^th of July.

            He was seven years old when my husband and I had our first daughter.  He ignored her mostly and was obviously jealous of my attention to her.  He sat by my side as I nursed her and when she was big enough to be put into her “Johnny Jump Up” he would dodge past her and spin her around to her delight.

            My husband found this Basset Hound and brought him home.  We named his Taylor and he was Boris’ new friend.  We thought that having a buddy might be beneficial for Boris.  He finally took to the second dog, although I don’t think I ever did.  Two dogs inside the house just became too much for me.

            When our second daughter was born, Boris became more of a nuisance than a friend to me.  He would bark when they were napping and awaken them.  Having two little ones less than two years apart, I needed my rest as well during their naps.  I found I could not run to the door to let him back inside as quickly as the neighbors liked.  They complained about his barking.  I tried to appease everyone as best as I could.

            My girls were now getting around the house and were naturally curious about the dogs.  I caught Boris snapping at them on occasion.  I began to fear that he might bite one of them.

            Taylor was also a nuisance.  He taught Boris to drink from the toilet and I constantly had to clean up their messes.  He also taught Boris to eat the garbage.  They would tear into the bags or knock over the trash can while I was away or tied up with the girls.  I became weary of cleaning up their messes.  Two dogs and two children were getting to me.

            Money was tight in those days and we just managed to struggle by.  Two babies in diapers, baby food, groceries, laundry detergent and dog food for two dogs were taking most of our money.  I had to find a part time job and I had to set priorities and take care of things.

            We advertised and sold Taylor to a family and took care of one of our big problems.  Because Boris was an older dog we couldn’t find anyone who was interested in adopting him.  The pet shelter would take him but didn’t promise that he would be adopted because of his age.  He would be put to sleep in a month if he wasn’t adopted by then.

            Boris developed a sore on his rear end and after a while the bump swelled into a large growth that was beginning to bother him.  He would lick at it and rub his behind on the carpet at the most inopportune times.

            We could not afford the surgery to remove Boris’ growth and the vet explained to me that it could possibly be cancer and surgery might not save him.  I made a decision and we carried it through. I could not allow strangers at the pet shelter to put my Boris to sleep.  I knew I would have to do it myself.

            I held my dog as the vet injected the shot that would end his life.  I knew the instant that life left him.  He haunts my dreams to this day.

            After Boris’ death my mother gave me the best advice she has ever given me.  She said, “Just don’t think about it.”  She advised me to know I had made a decision, I had gone with it, it was over and I should get on with life.  That is how I got through the first year.  Boris finally left my constant thoughts.  The guilt has remained but whenever I think of him and am overcome with emotion, I just don’t think about it. Today, I thought about it.  I wrote about it and I think I feel much better about it. 

            I remember my dog daily.  I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t think of him.  I will never forgive myself for killing him.  If there is a Hell, I am positive I will be going there because I killed something that I loved dearly.  I am relieved that I have shared this story.