
They’re my fuzzy children. I’m not crying, you’re crying!
I learned something about brotherly love yesterday.
My eleven year old Boston Terrier "Mister" suddenly developed a bloated abdomen and looked like he swallowed a watermelon. I was doing my best to comfort Mister and call the emergency clinic as I tried to remain calm. At his age, I couldn't help but think about the worst case scenario that this might be the day that Mister decides to leave us. I tried my best to block that thought each time it entered my mind.
Mister's eight year old brother "Cubbie the Pug" began to get more and more nervous and excited as he could sense something was wrong. My wife was out of town and the vet recommended that I get Mister to the emergency clinic right away. So I put the leash and collar on Mister and headed out to the car, doing my best with my spare leg to block Cubbie from running out with us. I was just able to shut the door behind me.
That's when I heard it. My God. My ears. The loudest, most painful, shriek of horror coming from Cubbie and inside the house. Nonstop. I shivered, and my heart sank. Cubbie wasn't crying, he was weeping. Wailing. I've never heard anything like this from Cubbie before, and I heard it all the way to the car. Mister kept looking to me, then back to the house, then to me again, in pain himself but confused and concerned about his brother.
Mister was three when we brought Cubbie home on Mother's Day eight years ago as a four week old puppy. He has never spent a day in his life without Mister beside him. And although they argue and fight, and tease each other and get jealous, shred the other's toy and savor their own, at the end of the day they both curl up next to each other on the bed and sleep comfortably through the night.
Cubbie sensed that he was never going to see his brother again. I can't imagine what was going through his mind, but Cubbie's cries were of sheer panic. And pain. I'm sure that he was desperately trying to figure how he could fix this himself and make this painful feeling inside of him go away.
"Bring Mister back, Daddy. Mister!" That’s what I heard. Shattering me.
I cried all the way to the emergency clinic. Not just because of the pain that Mister was in, but because of the thought of how Cubbie was doing all alone by himself, with nobody there to comfort him. It was one of the saddest feelings I've ever had in my life.
Well, Mister is OK. It turns out he has a blockage in his abdomen which is fixable. His belly has been filling up with food and gas unable to empty for days. The vet caught an unrelated UTI and prescribed antibiotics. Mister will also be going to be going on a senior regulated diet and taper down on Starburst and Skittles because his blood sugar was a bit too high. He shares his Daddy's sweet tooth. It was a very scary situation but Mister is going to be alright. We all got lucky yesterday.
As I pulled up to the house I saw Cubbie staring through the front window. I don't think he'd moved since he saw us leave hours earlier. Glued. Eyes fixed. Expression changing.
When Mister and I walked through the door I’ve never seen such a welcome greeting from Cubbie in my entire life. It wasn’t for me at all, it was for Mister. He cried, he barked, he played, he rolled around on his back, he even ran around the house like a madman knocking things over along the way. A ceramic plant holders saw its final moments. Cubbie put on his sassy voice and growled to Mister warning him to never do this again. "I’m angry! But I love you! You sacred me! Come closer."
In the day and a half since this has happened Cubbie hasn't left Mister's side for an instant. If Mister lays down, Cubbie lays down. If Mister gets up, Cubbie gets up. Mister got up through the night to get some water and Cubbie went out to check on him.
Their’s is a story of brotherhood and love. It has a happy ending. In a world where we can easily be distracted with negativity, it’s nice to learn something from the innocence of our pets. I carry these lessons with me as I go about my day and I reflect on them as I watch over my two at the dog park every night. Today I learned a little bit more about the size of the heart of my little man Cubbie. And the bond between these two I never knew quite the extent. They taught me their own little fuzzy and warm version of brotherly love.
