The Boo has left the building. Gone ahead he has, to join Jojo, Fuerte, Bandit, Tina and Ike.
We — OK, I — occasionally joked that Mister Boo was God’s gift to veterinary medicine, and there was always a bit of an edge to it, because medical care for anyone, man, woman or dog, dollars up on the hoof right quick.
But we dug down, and paid up, because that’s what you do for family.
It helped that Mister Boo was a tough little son of a bitch. You wanted to be in his corner. Abandonment, imprisonment, eye operations, bladder surgeries, patellar issues, senility, incontinence, renal dysfunction — they all knocked him down, but nothing could keep him on the canvas.
Or so it seemed.
The bum kidneys and liver were what finally rang the bell on him. They forced him to surrender his disco kibble some time ago, and he considered the prescribed renal diet a bad joke, so I cooked for him. The food was not what the doctor ordered, but it was what he liked, and we figured the auld fella was near the end of his days and entitled to eat as he pleased.
Thus I was Mister Boo’s chef. But he was never my dog.
Oh, I spent a ton of time with him, because I can do my little bit of business from home while Herself suffers from gainful employment. It was usually me who took him to his vet appointments because see previous sentence. And come mealtime I was That Man, the anonymous dude with the food.
But Herself was That Lady Who Gives Me Things. Liberation from prison; baths and walks; toys and treats; pills and potions; hugs and kisses.
In a word, love.
It was Herself who gave Mister Boo a home in the summer of 2011, when she volunteered at the Bibleburg shelter, and it was Herself who gave him peace this bleak February morning. It’s one of those chilly winter days he enjoyed so much, and I’m sad that he couldn’t be here to savor it.
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A sad day for you guys. I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Boo. Indeed he found a good life as a part of your family!
For us, we will be in your shoes when Mrs. Marbles time is up. She is a tough, old, cranky, skinny, finicky kitty. And we love her ever the more.
RIP Boo!!
Our best to Mrs. Marbles, Doug. Ike, a.k.a. Chairman Meow, was much the same. Her meow sounded like a rusty hinge. But what a grand kitty she was.
// … he considered the prescribed renal diet a bad joke … //
Found ourselves in that same predicament with the last four of our critters: follow doc’s orders so they’re miserable for a long time, or let them live a little, even if we know we’re taking days off their life. We erred on the side of extra cheeseburgers each time.
Boo gets 13/10 from this judge.
At some point you really have to say, “Sorry, doc, but he’d do it for me.” The Boo really enjoyed his final diet of lean ground beef, egg noodles, and green beans in an apple juice-chicken broth sauce with just a soupçon of honey and cream.
I’m very sorry for your loss, Patrick. He was a cute little guy. He was fortunate indeed to have found a loving forever home with you guys.
I lost my Snowy (avatar pic) three years ago to kidney disease and thyroid disease. She didn’t like her prescribed renal diet either. Like you, I fed her what she wanted.
These little creatures’ lives are too short and they take a piece of us with them when they go.
Debby, they do haul a bit of us away with them. Some days I’m amazed there’s any of me left. In particular we keened like banshees over Fuerte and Ike. Neither of those departures gave us much in the way of warning, the way Boo’s did.
I’m so sorry! Mister Boo was so adorable and sweet. Herself and You gave Mister Boo a second life, a wonderful life. He got a reprieve from premature, unwarranted euthanasia and gained a most loving, caring home. You let Boo enjoy the outdoors on his own terms. Boo entertained and found plenty in return. He was photo’d, video’d, written about and had an enthusiastic audience that stretched far beyond the DogHaus and Rancho Pendejo. I was thinking of him quite a bit since your post the other day. Thank you for giving him new life and chronicling it as well.
He had a fine day on Tuesday, Libby, running a short stretch of the usual morning walk. And like the wild Boos of yore he was well traveled, visiting Colorado, Texas and New Mexico, which is pretty much all anyone really needs to see, save Montana and County Clare.
Sorry for your loss Patrick. I know only too well what you’re going through. Mr Boo will be missed I’m sure.
It feels slightly indulgent to mourn a decrepit, one-eyed little weirdo with the shit monsoon raining down elsewhere these days, but mourn him we do, Ira. It’s amazing how many people you meet when a dog introduces you. The Boo led us into some fine conversations over the years.
There may be some higher being, whether deity or Vulcan, out there thinking that its far more justified to mourn a little weirdo rather than mourn a species that is constantly shooting itself in the foot, by its own volition.
Brought a few tears to my eyes, Patrick. You do a good job with a eulogy. Feel free to write mine if I fly the earthly coop before you do.
Back in the December of 2016 we had to take Cash on that last journey with a little help from the vet. Like Boo, his kidneys and liver had failed and he got to the point where he could barely walk and was dazed from the blood poisoning. He was barely sentient. I had just gotten out of the sling from shoulder surgery but insisted on picking up the old guy, who weighed about 50 pounds, rather than have the vet tech lift him onto the table. Like Fuerte, Boo, and the rest, it was losing family.
Hand me the kleenex.
O, sending them off is a tough go, is it not? We carried The Boo off in his favorite blanket, laid down in a laundry basket. He was only about 16 pounds and a whole lot easier to fetch, if such a thing can be termed “easy.”
Taking Beau on the final ride was one of the hardest things we have ever done.
I am so sorry to see this. Mister Boo has been missed in the ole hood for quite some time.
My heart is with you all right now.
Thanks, T. He missed the old ‘hood, too, especially the chilly winters. Man, that dog loved him some snow. How are things with the “girls?”
“The more I know my Dog…the Less I like People” – Me
What was it George Carlin said about dogs? That it was the eyebrows that sucked you in? So expressive, those furry little faces.
So sorry when a member of the pack has to make the journey to the rainbow bridge. They aren’t just pets but a presence in the home.
For real, John. The Boo’s little nook in the kitchen looks like a vast wasteland now. It’s gonna be tough to fill.
So sad to hear the news of Boo’s passing. It’s really hard to lose our fury friends, I know 😦
Thanks, Miz F-W. How’s your fuzzy little mob these days?
Sorry about Mr Boo, Patrick. I also have an elderly dog, who can’t hear much or see much of anything, but she can still go for walks and beg for dog treats. I know it won’t be too long, but I try to enjoy every minute with her. Like Mr Boo, she had a tough few years, but has had 14 years of being spoiled. She nursed me back to health after my last bad crash. You did well with Mr Boo, and we are all better humans because of the dogs.
I remember you telling us of your dog, Stephen, and your determination to enjoy your time with her. I read an interesting post in James Ford’s Monkey Mind” blog last night. He recounted a tale familiar to Zen practitioners:
I would like to say something comforting, but I am speechless. It just hurts.
I’m sorry to read of The Boo’s passing. You helped him to a longer and happier life than he would have had otherwise.
Jon, that is exactly right. That’s what I had to remember when Beau had to leave. Boo couldn’t have done any better than Patrick and Herself, and I will not forget the “Chin Spin” in the kitchen or Patrick’s video of the Boo drifting the turns around Rancho Pendejo.
Thanks, gents. It’s tough to remember in the long slog of caring for an ailing family member that s/he was once a vibrant force, not a daily chore.
Looking back through The Boo’s pix reminded us of what a silly little nipper he used to be. If he required much of us at the end, he gave us much at the beginning.
I’m so sorry, Patrick. Mr. Boo was such a character, and such an admirable survivor. I remember a few years ago when you said “They’re all little tragedies”. So true, but what can you do but reciprocate the love? Milliecat and I got an extra year through nightly subcutaneous infusions of Ringers when her kidneys were failing; it became our daily bonding time, and now a warm memory.
You’ve done the Boo proud both with words and photos. Thanks for sharing him with us.
Well done with Milliecat, DB. We considered something similar with The Boo, but he was so impatient with handling after long years of veterinary attention that even our vet advised against it. Even getting a muzzle on him was like sticking your hand in a blender. Like his beloved Herself he was smallish but fierce.
Sorry to hear. It’s always hard, but he was well-loved
He was indeed. Even the maids at a Texas motel fawned over him, and you know how strict housekeeping can be about dogs.
I know that no words, eloquent or not, can ever fill the void, but know that most of us have felt your pain before. Condolences.
We’ve all been there, to be sure. Some of us more than once. As George Carlin noted, “It’s going to end badly.” Still, we keep signing up. The game is worth the candle.
Have had a few of my furry friends go and know the pain. Feels like I knew the Boo personally. Hope he finds happiness in the great beyond with all my little friends. R.I.P.
Thanks, Guy. In “Going Places,” one of the essays in “Just Before Dark,” poet, chef and novelist Jim Harrison once expressed his desire to reunite with all his absent critters.
So sorry to hear this sad news. I am sending condolences to you and Herself. Mr. Boo was well-loved… and a wonderful “straight man”.
Condolences to you and Herself, PO’G. The Boomeister certainly enriched your lives and, thru your revelations of his exploits and foibles, ours too! RIP, Mr. Boo.
Godspeed, Mr. Boo. You have truly earned a long and peaceful rest.
it’s always a sad day when you lose a pet. sorry for your loss.
You should probably repost your essay on Fuerte the Wonder Pooch, in this context. I still consider it one of the best. Not that more recent stuff is far behind.
So let it be written, so let it be done.
I thought I had saved a copy but lately, I can’t remember where I put my glasses or what I had for dinner yesterday.
Thank you!
shit now I really am depressed you will missed Mr Boo. R.I.P.
Well SHIT. Almost brought me to tears; okay it did.
It is always painful to have lost a team member however many legs they may have, two, four or even three. Mr Boo will be missed by all of us as we followed his antics and adventures. He and all our furry fellow travelers bring light to our lives and help remind us that there is goodness, kindness and unconditional love. Condolences to you and yours