“I guess you don’t really own a dog, you rent them, and you have to be thankful that you had a long lease.”
—Joe Garagiola
Sometimes genetics call the shots on the terms of the lease. And sometimes, as in the case of this fellow, the guardians get to set their own terms.
Burt was rescued as a pup from a park in Los Angeles. He was nearly feral—hence quirky—and would require an especially understanding human to care for him. He got that and more.
When he was diagnosed with cancer and an immediate death sentence three years ago, his humans refused to buy into it. They tried everything possible (acupuncture, massage, herbal remedies) to extend his days and keep him free from pain. And they succeeded for several years.
Burt knew it. And he managed to reach the average old age for large dogs, in spite of the vet’s prognosis. But two days ago, he couldn’t go on. He hid in the garden beneath a palm and waited for his main human to drive through two hours of Los Angeles traffic to get home to him. When he heard her car, he struggled to sit up one last time—to receive her affections and to communicate all that they had meant to one another over the years.
And then Burt crossed into a different time and space, leaving his humans and their friends with this stark reality from Marjorie Garber: “If you have a dog, you will most likely outlive it; to get a dog is to open yourself to profound joy and, prospectively, to equally profound sadness.”
But the timeline from joy to heartbreak is always worth it. I’m pretty sure Burt would agree.
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