I'll be honest. As much as I wanted a little sweet bulldog puppy in theory, I was shamefully ill-prepared for the reality of owning one. Being newly pregnant in February of 1998, when we brought home his little two month old self, full of wrinkles and skunky puppy breath, and adorableness (him, not me), my tolerance was already limited to things that would not make me throw up or get off the couch. So already, things were not boding well for this little loud ball of energy with sharp teeth and the tendency to leave his poo in places you didn't really want poo to be. Not that you want poo anywhere, but given the option, under your bare foot or on your clean folded laundry are not usually up there near the top of the list.
Anyway, puppy energy notwithstanding, I really really liked Elvis. Jeff really loved Elvis. I eventually grew to love him, but it was more like extreme fondness on my part, not the adoration that Jeff felt for him. Elvis was really Jeff's dog. I was, more often than not, a means to getting fed, a hand to hold the leash, a voice to ignore or the source of an available limb to teethe on. Nevertheless, Elvis was one charming motherfucker. All smooshy and handsome and wrinkly. His dominion over things soft to lie down on was legend. His snore and grunt and ability to get ticks in his ears unequaled. I have never seen one dog win the hearts of so many people (even mine).
So, it was no surprise when Elvis, after being dogsat by friends during the birth of our second baby, caused those friends to be charmed into offering him a home, should he ever need one. The truth is, I was relieved. Elvis was still adorable and sweet, but he was big and heavy, and too much for me to handle with a toddler, a newborn, and a husband who worked nights. Also, it just wasn't fair to him. Elvis didn't ask for much. A pizza crust, more pizza crust, any other food product available, a scratch on the belly, a soft spot to lie down on, and company. We just weren't able to provide him the company he needed and deserved. So, we gave him up. We gave him to Michele and Brian, the kind souls without the distraction of tiny human beings all up in their grills, with loads of grass for Elvis to kill with his squat-like-a-girl peeing. Michele and Brian loved loved loved Elvis. They spent all day with him. He slept with them. They turned entire pieces of furniture over to his control. Michele and Brian routinely had Elvis' favorite brand of pizza crust to spare. Elvis was happy. Elvis deserved to be there.
Later, Elvis moved to perfect bulldog climate, Northern California, with Michele and Brian. And while we never actually saw him again, they sent pictures and news often and we always felt included in the big events of his life: he took over a new ottoman, he got a new cat brother, he liked his new lesbian dogsitters. He ate some more pizza crusts. We even got to see Elvis on TV when he was a contender in the World's Ugliest Dog competition (a great offense to my children who believed that never was there a more handsome doggie).
I am grateful for a lot of things in my life. I have, really, everything I need and a lot more. But one of the things I am most grateful for is that Elvis got to live the perfect bulldog life with Michele and Brian. They gave him love and attention and an ideal life we could not have mustered. Any guilt I felt about the enormous relief I had at giving Elvis up was ameliorated by the realization that the guilt was about me, and that this really was the best thing that ever could have happened.
Elvis died two weeks ago. His death was all it could have been, if it had to be at all. He died doing his favorite thing (sleeping), following a dinner of his favorite meal (Domino's pizza crusts) and with the people he loved most, and who loved him most in the world. Michele and Brian didn't have to make any hard choices and he wasn't sick or in pain. I am grateful for a lot this Thanksgiving. But especially I am grateful for this. And for Michele and Brian. And for Elvis. Long live the King.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Awwww. This made me tear up. I remember hearing about Elvis, and am glad he had such a wonderful home. Long live the King, indeed.
Well put honey. As "the Jeff" I to can confirm that Elvis indeed was the best dog anyone could have ever hoped for. Upon hearing the news of his untimely departure I felt a passing relief that it was without any long drawn out illness from which Michelle and Brian had to deal with. Elvis will always be remembered as the dog you couldn't walk by without stopping, because he would let you know by given you a stare and say "oh no you didn't". I will miss Elvis, but I truly feel for Michelle and Brian because ultimately they were the ones that developed the livelong connection to this wonderful animal/friend. My sympathy to you both for your loss.
Every time I start to type a comment I get weepy. Thank you for writing this. It's beautiful. I miss my little beast every day.
Post a Comment