Meet Butch…
Think you want to get a puppy after your child dies, as a place to put all of your love? Think again. Don’t get me wrong, I love this guy...now. But was I really ready for what he came with? NOPE.
As a little background, 4 months after Zoey died, my loyal sidekick, a yorkiepoo named Peanut, joined her in heaven at the ripe age of 15. Peanut was with me since he was a baby and I was a single university student. He was my longest relationship ever. Peanut met, and disapproved of, my now husband. He cuddled and comforted me during my miscarriages, and welcomed and loved each and every one of my babies, including Zoey. I strongly believe that, despite being very arthritic, Peanut did all he could to stay by my side after Zoey died. Until, despite all his might, he could no longer and I had to make the choice to send him off to join her.
Two months later, enter Butch. Butch joined us as a 9 week old Boston Terrier puppy, sleepy and sweet as pie. Oh this will be good, someone to put my focus into and he’ll bring new energy to our family. Well...he brought new energy alright. The energy of an 18 year old frat boy who has just moved out of his parents house and is meeting a keg for the first time.
Butch digs up the garden. He pulls out the landscaping lights and runs around the backyard with them. Butch has chewed up our wood California shutters. He decided to create his own doggie door by ripping our screening. He will corner my son and bite on his pants and pull them down until I find them, my kid bawling his eyes out. He also insists on eating his own poo if you don’t pick it up within seconds of it exiting his butt. Butch’s farts are so toxic, you’d think someone had diarrhea in the corner of the room. He’ll jump on your lap and squeak his toy AGAINST YOUR FACE. Honestly, his privilege shows. I’m tempted to show him the Sarah McLaughlin ASPCA commercials to show him how lucky he is.
The thing is, I didn’t have the energy. I was heavy in grief from the death of my child. I had the energy of a senior bulldog, not one of a pubescent terrier. It was just me alone for most of the day with the dog and it was too much. My frustration would come out in tears and yelling and I wanted nothing to do with a bouncy puppy that, in truth, just wanted to play and needed some training. He was being just that, a puppy.
Nine months later and, of course, I am very happy that Butch has joined our family. He is young, he’s a goof and he’s all ours. But would I recommend to someone, in the deepest pits of grief, to get a puppy? I wouldn’t. I would suggest to wait, to regain some of your energy, to heal a bit more so you can truly see a puppy for the joyful bundle he is, and not something sent from the pits of dog hell to torture you in your worst moments of life. Or I recommend walking into your closest shelter, asking which dog is the oldest, which has been there the longest, and provided you meet the criteria, you bring him home and love on him as he has never known. He’ll be so grateful for your love, he’ll just cuddle you and soak it all in. But I mean, everyone is different. If getting bulldozed by a Butch is exactly what you’re needing, then my only suggestion is to make sure you hide your shoes in the closet. And close the door...because he will have taught himself how to open it.
Love you all,
Pam…and Butch
