To a Friend

I apologize in advance for this potentially Christmas-Heavy post, but as it is after Thanksgiving and probably a good two months since Target and Wal-Mart started putting up their Christmas ornaments.  If my theories are correct, they should be up to Easter stuff now anyway, so I think I’m good on this.

I never ask for much each Christmas.  I usually just ask for something small:  a video game, a funny T-Shirt, my own personal Iron Man costume, nothing huge.  Usually I get small things for Christmas from my parents as well, although I’m still personally waiting on that Iron Man costume.  But every once in a while, my parents spring for something big.  Such was the case nine years ago.

Back in 2003, things were simpler.  Girls had cooties, TV shows had no real continuity, and my Hogwarts letter still seemed like a reality (although I still have yet to fully accept my being a muggle).  And one thing that I knew was this: everything always had an answer, so when the following happened…

…there had to be a good reason.  And there was.  As my family drove to a yet unnamed destination, an aura of mystery surrounded the vehicle.  Where were we going?  What were we going to do when we got there?  And what was I going to get for Christmas?  After all, it was December 23^rd.

Granted, this is probably not an accurate description of what happened nine years ago, but my memory is so horrid that for all I know, I could have just gone to my neighbor’s house to get a milkshake.

Of course, I do remember it being a long car ride and coming home with a dog instead of a milkshake, so that’s probably not a very accurate description of what really happened.

Oh wait, there is supposed to be a sense of mystery in this Christmas tale.  Umm…NO I DID NOT GET A DOG I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO NARNIA.  I don’t think I even knew what Narnia was at that point in time, but let’s not get bogged down in minor details, shall we?

So to cut this probably very long blog a little bit, I’ll spare you some of the unnecessary details.  We got to this house in southern Minnesota that was filled with German Shepherds.  After about an hour of watching four puppies each about ten weeks old roll around on the floor, we made our decision and walked out the door with a brand new puppy. 

That night, on the drive back, as the little ball of fuzz was curled up between me and my sister, asleep, my parents informed me that he was our big Christmas present for the year.  Needless to say, I was stoked.  Our last dog had died in March earlier that year, so I was definitely pretty happy to have a new puppy in the house.  And not just for companionship reasons either.

The greatest part about getting a new dog, as many pet owners can probably tell you, is coming up with a name for the dog, and let me tell you, I played an active part in naming him.

In my defense, Diablo is totally a legitimate name for a dog, our neighbors at one point in time had a dog named Diablo.  Either way, as the family wanted a distinctly German name for our German Shepherd (and my sister and I both had not started taking German in school yet), we named him after Augustus Gloop, you know, that Dutch punk from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory who just ate everything he could possibly find.

Augustus was not a living vacuum, that would come much later when we got our Basset Hound five years later, but it stuck, and we shortened it to Augie.  He seemed so thrilled about his name and our adopting him that he decided to give us a little gift of his own on Christmas morning.

It was then that I referred to him as “The Gift That Keeps On Giving.”  And that showed in more ways than the poop way.

Augie was a wonderful neighbor.

He was also very protective of my sister and me when we were ferociously attacked.

And he was among the most coordinated dogs I’ve ever met.

But like most dogs, Augie was that family member that I could go to when I had an issue.  I don’t really “play well with others” (another reason I want that Iron Man costume, Tony Stark is me), and I rarely, if ever, will talk to other people about my problems when they arise.

And this wasn’t a one-way situation, either.  Around 2008, my family got a Basset Hound (I’ve mentioned his existence both earlier in this post and in a short comic, found HERE).

They didn’t get along that well at first.  Throughout the first couple months, I found myself constantly going over and giving Augie a little extra attention, because he demanded it (Mom said he got that from me).  In fact, for most of the rest of 2008, I think I actually had to pull the two apart multiple times per day, but after a while, they managed to get a neat little system worked out.

Kind of.  By neat, I mean that Augie just would take his crap elsewhere and ignore him.

As high school wore on, Augie and I were pretty much inseparable, which proved to be very fortunate for his sake, as multiple girls told me that they planned on stealing him from me.

That’s right.  Most of the girls I brought home would rather have my dog than me.  I am clearly the epitome of cool.  But then again, how could he be beat?  German Shepherds are basically the kings of cool.  They’re big, ferocious, and downright lovable, so of course the ladies preferred him over my sarcasm.

Don’t I just sound like the most dateable guy ever?  I should really start accepting applications right now.

That being said, I would have preferred him too, and I did.  Even to the point of when I left for college, out of all those goodbye hugs, the hug I gave Augie was the longest.  Despite going through a relatively easy high school career, all those nights I felt sad or angry usually ended with me scratching his butt or playing with his Kong toy.  It would be hard not having a dog to go to for any tough college problems.  Anyone know where I’m coming from?  Pets freaking ROCK at this kind of stuff.  I think snuggling up with half the people on my dorm would probably result in a black eye or three.  Not my cup of tea.  I’ll stick with my dogs, thank you very much.

Where was I again?  Oh yeah, Augie.

Augie died three weeks ago.

Don’t act all surprised, you could have seen this turn coming a while away.  Hell, all this story needed is a cover photo of the two of us happily cuddling and the Newberry medal to seal the deal.  And it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to the rest of us, either.  He was getting on in years, he had hip problems, and he simply wasn’t the healthiest dog out there.  He was constantly injuring his back legs from running along the fence, barking at the neighbors.  One day, he just threw his legs out so badly, he couldn’t continue, and, with my sister and me off at college, and my dad at work, my mom had to make the hard decision to finally put him down all by herself.

It’s really weird, losing a pet.  Especially losing a pet that has been with you for pretty much every important event in your life.  Now, for anyone here who’s lost a pet under any other circumstances, I’m not trying to belittle you or anything.  It was just particularly weird for me because Augie was such a constant part of my life.  He had been my best and closest friend since that fourth grade winter that we got him.  Almost every one of my friends in elementary school and I had stopped talking by junior high, and most of my junior high friends had had a falling out with me by high school.  And every little problem I faced, especially that last month or so before college started, seemed so much easier with that oversized, breathing teddy bear.

What made it weirder, at least for me, was being 400 miles away when it happened.  When I left, Augie, to me, was this cranky, middle-aged dog who I’d see in a few months when I got back for Thanksgiving.  Turns out I didn’t.  I almost dreaded Thanksgiving break, knowing that I’d have to go back to a house with one less dog in it.

And I can’t say it was easier than I thought.

Everywhere I turned, it was another reminder.  That hole in the wall, a couple discarded chew toys, only one food dish, only one dog.  Thanksgiving didn’t really feel like the same Thanksgiving.  All because of one stupid animal.  That one stupid animal that gave me patience, happiness, courage, and unconditional love throughout his entire life.

I know that this is turning into a sob story, so I’m going to try and liven it up here.  When I found out he died, and after the initial shock went away, my first thought was that it was the end of an era for me.  For a lot of people my age, it was their high school graduation.  Maybe that first week of college.  But for me?  It was Augie’s life. I think it was this moment that made me realize that I’m not a kid anymore.

God, I sound pathetic.

No, really, I do.  But you know what?  I’m okay with that.  It hurt.  Pretty bad.  But I know that I gotta keep on trucking (I’m so dedicated to this, I let basic grammar laws slip by just this once).  I don’t know what kind of message this is to me.  I don’t know what life lesson I’m learning.  But I’m not really asking.  I’ll get to it, in time.

So what is the whole point of this post?  A message to love what you have while you have it?  A persuasive essay as to why having a pet is awesome?  A eulogy to the best friend I’ve ever had?  I’m not sure really.  I think that this is just me coming to terms with his passing, I guess.  A personal memento to yours truly, as well as proof to some of you that I really do have a heart buried underneath all that sarcasm.  Above all, it was a story I felt I needed to tell.  So I told it.

Even in his death, just thinking back to all the good times over the nine years is enough to bring a smile to my face.

Like a true best friend, he always was the gift that kept on giving.