Good Boy

We had 5 dogs, all of them Bichon Frises. Powder and Cotton, then their puppies - Kes, Worf, and Bubbles. All with their own distinct and lovable personalities. All of them pests and sweethearts and little goofballs. But as all pets do, they began to pass away, one after the other. And then there was only Bubbles and Powder left, with Bubbles moving with my parents to Texas, and Powder staying here in California with me and Sam. And now there's just Powder. She was our first dog, and now she's our last.

Bubbles had been sick for a couple weeks. He suddenly just stopped eating, and when my parents took him to the vet, they found he had auto-immune hemolytic anemia, and was going through seizures off and on. After an iffy few days, he started to get better - he was eating again, no more seizures, and he was slowly regaining his energy. And then, on Monday, he suddenly refused to eat, and even worse, was throwing up and yapping. The doctor told my dad not to bring him in until after noon, and when my dad checked on him before lunch, he was finally sleeping peacefully. My dad went to make lunch, and came back. But Bubbles had passed away.

He was an old dog, having turned 12 in November. But in my mind, he was still a puppy. I was there when he was born. I had known him his whole life. I think that's an incredible thing.

Bubbles was such a wonderful dog, with lots of character. When he was only a few weeks old, he walked all over his sisters' heads as they slept in a pile on a bunch of blankets. He was the only one of our dogs who liked to play with tennis balls. We'd toss the ball, and while the other dogs would run away, intimidated by this little bouncing yellow thing, Bubbles scampered after it. He'd catch it in his mouth - the ball barely fitting in his little Bichon mouth - and run around with it victoriously. Bubbles loved to have his belly scratched. Any time you touched his side, he'd flip over to expose his tummy and wiggle his legs in the air excitedly. And when my friend Elizabeth came over to the house, she squealed and picked him up. Bubbles got scared at being held by a complete stranger, and he peed all over her. Even now, I can't help but chuckle at the memory. And then he taught himself how to beg, by standing up on his hind legs and waving his front paws in the air. He and Powder were the only ones who ever taught themselves tricks.

I regret that I never got to see him again, after my parents brought him to Texas. I had thought that I'd still have time. Powder's 15, and still doing so well. I haven't gone to see them, because it was never the right time or the right circumstances or the right cost. I wish I could have seen him, played with him again. The fact that I didn't get to see him again, that he was far away when he died, makes his death feel unreal. It's hard to believe that a dog so full of life is gone.

My brothers came over last night to pay tribute to our beloved dogs who have passed, and to the one dog who still remains. I think that was a good thing for us to do as a family. Our parents are far away, and we have to be emotional support for each other. And we have been so very blessed to have such wonderful dogs. They've enriched our lives. Powder still continues to.

I will truly miss Bubbles. I'm glad he doesn't have to suffer through a painful illness anymore. And I'll bet he's being a complete mischief-maker up there in heaven with Cotton and Kes and Worf. God bless them.