Good-bye to a Loyal Friend

I've never been much of a dog lover. They make too much of a mess inside, they always jumped on me or barked in the middle of the night. We never had pets growing up.

Then after Marty and I got married, he and Bo moved in with me (yes, I intentionally mentioned that we didn't live together until after we were married and I was a virgin until that day, too :)). 
Bo was a perfect first dog for me because he lived outside but for the occasional extremely cold night or thunderstorm (he freaked out at the loud cracks of thunder and would scratch on the door for us to let him in), and he didn't jump on me and any time he did bark at night he listened to Marty yelling at him to "shut up, Bozo!"

I learned that there's just something about loyalty, non-judgement and faithfulness that a good dog just knows. On a bad day there was someone who was excited to see me, to just sit with me when I felt lonely. There was warm comfortable fur that would wipe away tears as I hugged him so tight. 

Now the tears keep coming and that kind fur isn't there to comfort me anymore. 10 years ago I never thought that I would cry over a dog. My how time changes and the wag of a docked tail convinced me other wise. 

Bo was there when Marty and I first started dating. He was sitting in the back of the pick-up when we had our first serious conversation that later led to marriage. 

This just always gets me-his ears sticking up over the side of the pickup bed.

 He wasn't so fond of me at first, most likely because I was invading his territory, but we grew to like each other, especially when I'd bring him meat scraps.

As I went running yesterday, memory after memory flooded my mind.
           ~Going for walks with me in the snow. He would listen for mice underneath him and then 
             would dive nose first into the snow to catch them.
           ~Howling at the moon or coyotes together. I would start and he'd join in. 
           ~Sitting in the back of the pick-up waiting for Marty or taking a break from cow workings.
             He'd often be under the toolbox and would come out and snuggle next to me. I would just sit 
             and massage behind his ears.
           ~He loved pancakes. They were the hardest thing for me to learn to make and I fed him the 
             burnt ones. He didn't mind at all.

Bozo used to be able to jump into the back of the pickup all on his own, then he started getting old and we'd have to put down the tailgate for him. In the last year I'd have to lift him up myself. But I didn't mind, it was worth it to see him enjoying the ride. 

He was ever faithfully by Marty's side. He'd hunt mice under the hay bales as Marty picked them out of the row with the tractor to load them onto a trailer and haul home from the field. He went on countless cattle drives, lining out any wayward ol' bag. He used to grab hold of a cows tail and hang on for a little swing-I'm surprised he never got kicked while flying through the air. 

He loved getting his belly rubbed. He'd become quite upset if you'd stop and would often growl at you.

Bo wasn't liked by everyone, but the feelings were mutual. He seemed to know who was afraid of him and I'm not so sure he wouldn't mess with their mind and snicker behind that scowl.

He was a great guard dog. Strangers were a bit nervous to step through my garage door where he usually lay, but once he found someone who'd scratch him he'd found a new friend.

Marty and I went on a trip a few months after we were married and we left Bo seven miles away with my in-laws. He was there about a day and was found a mile down the road headed back home. My father-in-law just brought him back to our house and figured Bozo knew that's where he was supposed to be now anyway. Another time we'd had him stay with my brother-in-law three miles away. Brad couldn't find Bo until he came over to our house to do chores. There he was. That smart dog had driven the roads so much that he known where he was to go. 

Hiking Harney Peak in the Black Hills

 

When he started to show signs of age we bought another blue heeler puppy for Bo to show the ropes of a ranch hand to. For the next few years our old dog turned back into a puppy. It was so fun watching them play together. Now it's sad to see just Silver outside, without her companion.

I knew this day would come, but I'd inwardly hoped it never would. So many good memories, so many laughs, and so many groans. :)

Bo lived a long life of at least 13 years. He was my first pet and a great friend. He was a good dog. :)

S & J with Bo yesterday morning; one last time before he peacefully slip away during their nap time.

 
Good-bye, Bozo. I'll miss you something awful.