Christina Suplee

How do you write something that you don’t want to write, because you don’t want it to be real? And at the same time how do you not write when your heart is breaking, and you feel like getting your thoughts out now might be the only way to start healing. So here it is; here’s my heart, right now.

Buster, this morning was the first morning I had to wake up without you in this world. I couldn’t bring my feet to touch the ground right away. I pictured how many times you would walk to my side of the bed and wait for me, not to feed you, not to let you out, but because at 7am we would switch spots, and my side of the bed became your side of the bed. You waited patiently for me to get up, but sometimes your presence would wake me out of a deep sleep, because I could feel you watching me.

But you weren’t there this morning. And even though you haven’t been there for several months since you haven’t been able to jump on the bed in a while, today I felt your absence in a different way. Knowing I wouldn’t see you when I got to the edge of the bed in your crate made me freeze in bed. And I just kept picturing the last memory I have of you, curled up in your bed at the vet, right after your heart had stopped. Tears streamed down my face as they do now. And I know it hurts so much because I loved you so much.

You taught me so much, Buster.

You taught me about unconditional love. My favorite memory of you is from when you were a puppy. It was you and me; daddy was out of town. And I intended to get home on my lunch break to let you out, but I didn’t. It was just long enough that you were technically going to be ok until I got home, but I still wanted to let you out sooner. I felt awful walking up those apartment stairs to you. I expected you to be mad and not look at me. But you didn’t. You were SO happy to see me and were wagging your tail so quickly. I remember letting you out of your crate, grabbing you in a bear hug, and just instantly balling. I felt the Lord whisper to me in that moment, this is unconditional love.

I remember reading one time about a boy saying that the reason dogs don’t live as long as humans was because they learn quicker than adults how to love unconditionally. Buster, you knew this immediately, and you gave us your love until your last breath. Even as I was crying over you at the end, you gave me kisses to make me feel better. You loved, unconditionally, always.

You taught me how to take care of someone other than myself. You were the first pet I ever had. You taught me how to think about what you need. I’d come home exhausted and tired, but you needed a walk; so I walked you. I’d want to sleep in, but you needed to go out; so I got up. I wanted to relax on the couch, but you wanted to play; so I played. You grew me as a human, and you prepared me to be a better mom to Maverick and Ryder, because I had grown from taking care of you.

You taught me to expect the unexpected. How many times when you were a puppy did we come home, and you had chewed something up? We even called you Houdini for a little while, because it felt like you could always get out of your crate one way or another. And then all of a sudden one day, you decided you didn’t like hardwood floors. Like what? But it was this quirk that somehow made you so much more loveable, and how many laughs did you provide us over the years between you going from rug to rug, to your booties, to giving you pep talk after pep talk after pep talk to come inside/go outside.

You kept our family safe. You were a guard dog, first and foremost. And from our apartment to our first house in Texas to our Maryland house to our house in Katy, I always knew we were safe, because you were there protecting us. You never really barked just because; so I knew that when you barked someone knew was in our house. All it took was me giving that person a hug, and you’d relax. But that was something I never scolded you for, because I knew that it was your way of protecting us, and I loved you for that. Anytime daddy would travel for work, I knew that we were safe because of you, even when you were sick at the end; I knew that you would still rally if we needed you.

You were there for me in a way no human could have been in one of the hardest seasons of my life. When I was trying to get pregnant with Maverick I would wake up every morning at the exact same time, take my temperature, record it, and go pee on a stick. I’d then get back in bed, and many days I’d cry. It only took a couple of weeks of this being the normal until you caught on. And when I’d get back in bed, you’d curl up next to me, right at my belly. And you’d just lay there until I was ready to get out of bed. It was one of the hardest seasons of my life, and you saw me. You knew I couldn’t be alone, and you came and cuddled with me, which usually you only did on your terms. And you did this every day for 9 months. The day you didn’t jump up and cuddle with me was the day I found out I was pregnant. It was like you knew that I was pregnant before I did, and you knew that your job of comforting me through that season was done.

And it wasn’t just that time, somehow you knew how I was feeling and what I needed in so moments. When I was sad about something you’d come and let me pet you, or bring a ball over to me to get me up and out of the house and focused on something else. If I was mad or overwhelmed you’d come over to me and lay down, or do your play bark to have me play with you. Over and over and over, you were so in tune with what I needed, and you were just that over and over and over.

You accepted Maverick and Ryder, even though they dethroned you. Before kids we were totally those dog parents. We took you to the dog park, we took you on walks, we would throw the ball with you. We did it all. Then we had kids, and you pretty quickly became our dog. And you fit into your new roll seamlessly. You protected Maverick and Ryder the same way you had protected daddy and me all of those years. The first time you met Maverick you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You just stared at him, making sure he was ok; you even growled at Belle when she got too close, which we quickly shot down, and you never did again. And anytime someone new would come over to hold him, you’d sit on the floor with your head on the couch and just watch them hold him. You were making sure that they were doing it right. Watching you love our boys made me love you even more.

You made our life better since the day we got you on March 21, 2015. We got you when you were 2 months old; we gave you the birthday of January 11. I think you were technically born in December, but I loved the idea of your birthday being 1/11, because you were the answer to so many wishes I had made. Wishing on a star, wishing on 11:11, wishing on a wish bone, wishing on eye lashes or blown flowers. So many wishes I wished over the years for a dog, and you were the answer to all of those. So it seemed fitting that your birthday would be special. And although we still have Belle, who misses you a ton, by the way, but she’s quickly adjusting to having our extra love and attention, and there’s a chance I’ll have other dogs in the future, I’m convinced that no dog will ever have the same place in my heart as you do, because YOU and you alone were the answer to all of those wishes. You were my first dog, and you were the best dog.

Yesterday after you were gone I watched videos and looked at pictures going back to when you were a puppy, and I was flooded with memories of you. From the kisses, to the dances, to chasing the lacrosse balls so fast, to the fun jump you would do when a squirrel was in a tree that made you look like you could fly, to the squeaking toys you’d chew up, to tug of war, to swimming at the dog park or jumping into our pool, to beach days, to lazy covid days, to sharing the bed, to the treats, to walks (including your first walk at the cinco lakes when we kept feeling like we were going to step on you, because you were walking between our legs), to potty training, to middle of the night wake ups with babies, to being there for me when I was sad, to protecting us, you made our life better. You made me better.

And so even though yesterday was so hard, I am confident still today that we did what was best for you. And I had the strength to do the hard thing, because you had done it for me your entire life. You had prepared me your entire life to be able to say goodbye to you yesterday, before things got really bad for you. It wasn’t the easy decision. I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to be around longer. I wanted more time with you. But because of what you taught me, I knew that it was my turn. It was my turn to unconditionally love you, it was my turn to think about what you needed more than what I wanted, it was my turn to watch over Maverick and Ryder and explain to them what was going on, it was my turn to realize that even though you were only 10 and it wasn’t how I had pictured it that I needed to accept the unexpected, it was my turn to protect you from the pain you were in every day, it was my turn to sense what you needed and be there for you and just do it, it was my turn to curl up next to you in the hardest season of your life; it was my turn.

And each day, I will get out of bed, and it will continue to be my turn. So rest now, sweet boy. And know that your love and all the lessons you taught us will live on in all of us. I love you, Buster.