Beau

Dad with the camera-shy Beau, Jan 2009

Beau is my mom's dog, and that's how he seems to be known.  Although I did help pick him out, I've never lived with him and can't call him *mine*.  Last year, when Dad could still walk and I would  bring Beau to visit, Dad would parade him around on the leash and tell everyone, "This is Beau.  He's my mom's dog," because that's what he heard me say.  When I talk to Mom's neighbors, they ask me, "How's your Mom?  How's Beau?"  They're a package deal. 


My childhood dog, Rusty, made it to the ripe old age of 16 before we had to put him down.  I was living in Chicago at the time, but came up to hold him at the end.  While is was sad for all of us, he suffered very little and led a happy, if slightly neurotic, life.  Mom made it four months before deciding she needed another dog- she missed the companionship, the greetings at the end of the day, and the discipline it took to get him out for walks.  We drove down to the Anti-Cruelty Society, where we had gotten Rusty years  before, and surveyed the dogs available for adoption.  What we found was a Goldilocks situation- some were too big, others were too small, some were too old, others were too young...but there was one, a 4 year-old golden retriever/cocker spaniel mix named Bear, who was Just Right.  However, it seemed another family thought so, too- Bear's kennel had an "Adoption Pending" sign on it, and we weren't allowed to take him out.  Disappointed, we walked around again, and Mom considered a few others, but I kept insisting that Bear was the right one for her.  When we got back to Bear again, the sign was gone- the other family had decided not to get him!  On the car ride home, Mom decided to change his name to Beau, and he's been her companion, ally, accomplice, and friend ever since. 



He really, really hates cameras!

Beau, however, was not four years old, like the shelter told us.  After a thorough exam and review of his files, the vet assured us that he was a fit and healthy eight year old.  Ideally, Mom had been looking for a younger dog that would be around for longer.  It was too late, though- he and Mom had already fully bonded.  Dad calls him a Momma's Boy, and I've never seen anything like it.  He follows her around from room to room, and stares pathetically out the back door when she goes out without him, which is rare.  He is welcomed on all her usual errands- the cleaners, hardware store, bread store- and everyone on Central Street seems to know him.  They give him treats at the bank and send me home with one if I go there without him.  I've tried to take him for a walk while she's home, but he's slipped out of the collar and trotted back to the house so many times I've all but given up.  I've dog-sat for him on two occasions while Mom was away, and he was just distraught.  They are regulars at the unofficial Doggie Park a few blocks away, and while Beau can't keep up with the puppies running around he does enjoy sniffing his friends Pablo the labrador and Ashley the male pug.

Now that he's almost 16, he's slowed down quite a bit.  He sleeps 21 hours a day, but for those other three he is full of life.  No matter how many times he goes in the backyard, there seems to constantly be something new to explore and there's always the possibility of finding a squirrel to chase or a bird to bark at.  Most days, Mom gets him out for at least one walk, which is great for both of them.  I'm thankful for the socialization and exercise it provides, and she has to test her finger mobility to attach the leash and pick up his droppings.  As a worried daughter, I do feel a sense of ease knowing he's there with her.  He's a constant in her life, and a source of unconditional love and companionship when so many other things in her future are scary and uncertain.  Last week there was a little panic- Beau had blood coming out of both ends- and Mom took him to the Animal 911 on Saturday night.  He turned out to be okay, but it shook both of us up quite a bit.  If ever there was a case for canine cloning, it's Beau.  In my perfect world, Beau would either live forever or Mom would be able to get an identical, younger version of him when he drifts off to doggie heaven.  Since that's not likely to happen, I'm going to have to accept that Mom will be *okay* without him.  It will be hard, and she will have to adjust and grieve.  And in the realm of things, he's *just a dog*, but anyone who has ever had a pet knows that's bullshit.  Beau is family.  I love him for being the best possible second dog we could have found.  He's been the perfect companion for the past seven years, and has helped Mom in ways I can't.  For that, too, I will always thank him.