In Memory of Gus

Gus (Gussy, Gus-Gus) "Little Bear" McDavid
Oct 24, 2004 - Apr 16, 2016

I needed to put words to my feelings, in the hopes of dislodging the large lump in my throat.  Gus was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma in his left femur on Good Friday just 3 weeks ago.  We took him to the vet the month before when he started limping, but everyone involved (the Doctor and the Vet Tech and then as a result we) felt confident it was sporadic arthritis that would come and go since he was over 11.  Otherwise, he was uber healthy and fit.  We got some anti-inflammatory meds and it worked wonders within 24 hours.  He was back up and running again immediately.  That only lasted a few weeks and the limp came back so we took him for X-rays, which is when we got the cancer diagnosis.  Cancer is awful.  Osteosarcoma is especially painful in the bones and tends to spread quickly.  At 11.5 years old with his anxiety around strangers and leaving the house, we decided not to treat him via amputation and chemotherapy.  We feared we'd cut his time even shorter by attempting to buy more.  I know we were right.  So we stockpiled NSAIDs, pain pills, joint supplements, and fish oil and tried to keep him comfortable as long as possible and love him as long as we could here on earth.  It used to make me really sad that he didn't like to be around strangers or do well going places.  I felt like we couldn't share him with the world, and everyone else got a distorted view of the sweet Gussy who slept in our bed with us.  I think now I've realized he just saved up all that extra love for us because he didn't have to share it outside our little family.

While he didn't complain a bit about hobbling on 3 legs to avoid the pain, there was no avoiding the inevitable when we could tell the cancer quickly spread to his lungs.  One day he was full of spunk, albeit on only 3 healthy legs getting up to greet everyone as someone entered the house or the room, and the next day a cough started getting the better of him.  He aged 5 years in a matter of 2 days.  His fur changed texture.  It was awful to watch him go through it.  Last night, just a few weeks after the diagnosis, he told us it was time.  He spent all morning (starting at 4am) out on the patio with us soaking up the sun and the breeze, the birds chirping, the leaves rustling, and all our love just poured on him.  We gave him an anti-anxiety pill to help him relax and get comfortable and we're so grateful that his final hours were very peaceful after a long, rough night.   Once he got comfortable, I sat on the ground brushing his hair, and talked to him about how loved he is and how he's been such a good boy and so brave.  Never one for strangers, or trips to the vet, we arranged a home visit this afternoon.  The vet was patient and gentle as she took away his pain and facilitated his drifting off to eternal rest around 1:30pm.

Letting him go was the kindest thing we could do for our baby to release him from his failing body, but it doesn't make it any easier to cope with our empty house.  My mind drifts back and forth between a happy, funny memory and then returns to sadness that he's gone. I'm sad that he won't greet us at the door with a pair of dirty socks or one of the kids' stuffed animals he wasn't supposed to have.  I'm sad that I'll feel his absence when I'm cooking dinner without a 65 pound hurdle to dodge between the oven, sink, fridge, and trash.  There's sadness that such a beautiful little life has come and gone in what feels like the blink of an eye, and sadness that the shadow that used to follow me from room to room and keep my feet warm is gone from the physical world forever.  And I'm also mad at myself for all the times I resented the messy floors and not being able to wear anything black without accessorizing with a thick layer of white fur.  Mad at myself for scolding him when he was underfoot at the wrong time.  I'd love to have a do-over and get those moments back.
   

In lighter moments, I remember the funny and quirky things that make me smile.  He had a wiggle like no other.  I used to worry that he'd tip his puppy crate over because he'd get it rocking so much when we'd come home to see him at lunch or the end of the day.  He had a brief awkward growth spurt where one ear grew faster than the other and his smile was so big and wide, it reminded me of the "flip top head" toothbrush commercial from yesteryear.  During that phase, this puppy looked like he was a couple tacos short of a combination plate if you know what I mean.

Gosh he was cute though.  Our first house had stairs down from the deck to the yard.  As a puppy, he used to announce himself by barking like a mad man as he ran down the stairs and then did a lap around the perimeter of the yard.  That stuck with him in every house since!  Puppy kindergarten was a flop.  He never came out from hiding behind a chair.  And forget regular training products - he loved the taste of bitter apple spray intended to punish bad behavior, and rather enjoyed a burst of citronella in his face from a "no-bark" collar.

We didn't meet him in person before we bought him from a breeder in Missouri.  It was an online romance.  We fell in love hard and fast.  I dare you not to love him in that photo!

The other thing that used to make me laugh is that we'd read studies about dogs not being able to see actual images and colors on the tv, that they only see it as moving light.  Sorry folks.  Gus watched tv.  Like a couch potato.  He got up for a closer look when animals came on the screen.  I remember one horse race, probably the Kentucky derby several years ago, he looked up and saw the horses running, and kept running to the edge of the tv as though the horses were going to continue running past the screen!  Case in point:

And I think I made reference to a couch potato... for real.

He would probably be considered spoiled by most, at least until our kids of the 2-legged variety came.

But then he was every bit the protective big brother when he dropped down the totem pole as Nugget and Doodle arrived.  Even if the babies were driving him bonkers, he didn't like me to raise my voice at either of the kids.  I'd be swarmed with wiggles and kisses to lift my spirits.  The kids didn't bond with Gussy they way I would have liked or expected, but he loved them deeply because we love them.

Pretty sure Gussy was making a sarcastic comment under his breath...

What gives me great peace is knowing he's no longer in pain, and that he's finally reunited with his best friend Maggie.  I know in my heart she was there to greet him, probably with an alpha bitch warning growl too!

While my heart is broken, temporarily, I feel so lucky to have loved and been loved by this boy.  I'm grateful fate led me and Brent to both work from home for the past 3 years to be with him all day everyday for his final years.  If anyone's actually reading this, please give your family an extra tight squeeze tonight, including your furry family members.  Maggie and Gus, I hope you both run fast, play hard, and rest in peace until I see you both again.  Thank you both for loving us unconditionally and giving us memories that we'll hold onto tightly forever.  All my love...XOXO