After months of weakness, and the final weeks of being unable to even poop or pee on her own, we decided that it was time. My husband has had Bandit since he was in college. His brother first got her as a puppy while they were living together at Chico State. My brother-in-law finished school and left, and somehow Bandit became Gregg's dog. Over the years, she's touched many lives, and has been the first dog experience for many of us. And after having a dog like Bandit, it's hard to imagine any other dog measuring up. All of us thought she'd live forever because isn't that what perfect dogs do?
I met her relatively late in her life. And she kind of hated me at first. Well, not really, but she was definitely standoffish. I think she was jealous of Gregg's attention. It wasn't until I started running with her one summer that she decided that I might be all right. After one or two runs, she knew the drill. I'd reach for my tennis shoes and she'd already be waiting by the door. Sometimes, as evening approached, if I hadn't made a move for my shoes, she'd look at me expectantly. And every time we went out, without fail, she'd find the cleanest lawn that we could and plant a big old poop. I never learned to carry bags with me, and the two of us would be tearing ass after the poop happened, hoping no one had seen it. I have to admit that I didn't know much about responsible dog ownership in those days.
She was the dog that understood every word you told her, that would follow you to the ends of the earth if she loved you. She liked people just fine but didn't go out of her way to be nice. I remember one time, I was watching her for a week while I lived in San Diego. My roommate said that whenever I left for class, she'd hang out staring at the door until I came back. Once, my roommate tried to tempt her with a hot dog. Bandit was suspicious at first, finally went over to grab it, and then went right back to her position by the door.
On the day she died, we had the vet come to our house. Gregg had to make the final decision, of course, and I'm sorry to say that I pushed him towards it. It was hard for me to see her the way she was. She couldn't move on her own. She had a permanent spot on the rug in front of our back door, or just on the other side of that door if we wanted her outside. Sometimes we'd just leave her on the grass so that she could pee all over herself (because she wouldn't go while we held her up and we figured it was better she went on herself than not at all). By the end, she was getting daily baths, something I know she hated but she couldn't run away from them anymore. I couldn't keep seeing her like that, although for Gregg, I know it was hard to imagine not having her here. She didn't make it easy either -- a few days before the end, we suddenly saw her playing tug with Mia. There was a toy that she wanted and she clearly wasn't giving it up. Mia actually finally gave up. Until the end, she looked at us like she always did, like she knew what we were thinking and like she would live forever.
So I pushed, but when the day came, I had second thoughts too. Even as our local vet was calling to make sure "we were still on", our specialist was calling to discuss Bandit with us one last time. I swear, it was like we were waiting for a stay of execution order from the governor. But what she said - for me, at least - made it more clear that we were doing the right thing. Still, the whole thing sucked. The vet came with a tech and it was all over before we knew it. Before she showed up, Gregg and I stressed over getting a print of Bandit's paw with this Christmas ornament that we've had well, since Christmas, but had never gotten around to doing. We kept messing up the print and snapping at each other.
The only other thing I really remember clearly from it all is that right when they gave her a sedative to knock her out, it was like Bandit was already gone. And she had her tongue stuck to the linoleum. Seems so silly but Gregg and I actually kind of laughed a little because it was like it was stuck on there. And then that was it. Suddenly, the vet was telling us that it was over and they would give us a few minutes and wait outside.
The whole thing didn't quite feel real. It was hard for me to even cry. What's been worse is after. I keep wondering how long I'll be looking for Bandit by the back door. At first, I expected to see her there every time I walked into the kitchen. Now, it'll happen randomly, I'll look out the window and wonder where she is. A few weeks after it had happened, we went to Oregon to visit my family and saw a dog at the farmer's market that looked exactly like a younger version of Bandit. And both Gregg and I caught our breaths a little.
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| hogging the squeaky toys, of course |
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| on a hike at the ripe old age of 14 |
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| Always stylin' |
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| the younger version |
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| a rare moment of closeness (though really she just wanted the bed and figured Mia would move if she just plopped herself down on top of her) |
Anyway, may you rest in peace, Bandit. There's never going to be another dog like you, and things just haven't been the same since you left. Where ever you are now, I hope that there are lots of squeaky balls for you to tear up and rabbits for you to chase.
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