Early in Luna's life she was a force of nature that we imposed on everyone in our lives. Big and wild she was quick to lick your face or put mud on your floor. That combined with her health issues created a nickname for her used for years: "problem puppy."
But by the time Finn was ready to be born that narrative was dead. At that point Luna barely did anything bad and Roscoe was the dog that needed all the care. Sure Luna would maybe eat something off the counter if you left her alone all day on a Saturday when she expected us there, but overall she was mostly a very good dog. I remember thinking how lucky we were that she was the dog we had for Finn's early life. I remember just hoping she could make it long enough to get leftovers from his high chair, and throughout his first year I kept reminded myself to appreciate her part in it all. Finn would never remember her, but I would tell him about the first dog he loved one day.
Sometime around Summer 2019 we started talking about getting a new dog to grow up with Finn and it was obvious Lindsey and I had different opinions on it. I wanted another boxer, as I had grown to trust the breed. She wanted a smaller dog as she wanted less of a mess and hassle. Eventually in our conversations she made the point that "if we got a new dog it would cut into Luna's attention" and I determined to hold off on another dog as long as Luna was around to make sure she got all the attention we could give her. Somehow that morphed into me being accepting of maybe having a period in our lives with no dogs for the first time. To let that sun set for a while with Luna until we could see eye to eye was logical, and facing that reality forced me to imagine a life without Luna in it.
Meanwhile Luna kept being part of the process. She became the dog under the high chair I dreamed she could be, and she learned how to handle a Finn who wanted to tug on her and didn't know when he was hurting her. She had some baby blues and showed it randomly by tearing up something of Finns like a can of formula or a toy, but for the most part she went along with the changes coming in life and just the fact that everyday he was taking up more and more space in our lives.
But my fear of losing her, which really started the day Xena died, kicked into high gear through the first year of Finn. She went from a vet appointment once a year at best to one every three months. She went from not being on meds to having Roscoe's rotation and the can of food to go with it. This all despite the fact that really she was doing pretty good, and was still riding the wave that losing all the weight after Xena died started for her. I just couldn't accept letting her go and even the vet was trying to talk me down from that ledge by reminding me she was an old dog.
Then in 2020 it changed for me. I started the year quite depressed and I didn't know why. After some soul searched I could identify two parts to it: 1. The magic of the baby's first year was over, as was our honeymoon of being new parents plus 2. The fact that Luna would become the age Xena got to in his second year which is old age for a boxer. Any day now I could lose Luna to almost any condition and I couldn't be surprised or shocked by it- she has already lived much longer than I assumed she would when she was the problem puppy with constant medical issues.
Part of what made Xena's death so tragic is how sudden it was, yet part of the reason my sadness had such a depth to it was the eventual realization that by the time she died she was actually old for a boxer. The final photos of her life told the story- her face was completely grey with almost no black left. Her face told me her time was up, but I wasn't paying attention.
Recently Luna has gotten a new grey streak on her face, combined with a hacking cough the vet has no cure for. Neither are fatal or even a bad thing, but they have triggered inside me an impulse to begin the process of letting Luna go so I am not debilitated when she finally dies.
This September if she makes it to then would mean Luna lived three years past Xena, which means I have spent two thirds of her life (the first three years and the last three years) being scared of her untimely death. She has been such a good friend, and I have appreciated her so much, and I would hate to waste whatever she has less to contribute to our lives because I am spending the time obsessing about her death. But I can't deny that her life now feels like the end of an era that we are now completely past, and I know I can't fall apart when she died like I did when Xena did so I want to get ahead of it if I can.
But the dog won't let me. She has to be a part of it all, she has to be in the middle. Unlike a Roscoe who was on the margin's of our life at his death, Luna demands to be in the center as long as she is around and in a way that will be her legacy. It will also mean that there will be a huge hole in our lives when she is gone, and I don't expect to ever fill all of it. Luna truly is a once in a lifetime dog.
But by the time Finn was ready to be born that narrative was dead. At that point Luna barely did anything bad and Roscoe was the dog that needed all the care. Sure Luna would maybe eat something off the counter if you left her alone all day on a Saturday when she expected us there, but overall she was mostly a very good dog. I remember thinking how lucky we were that she was the dog we had for Finn's early life. I remember just hoping she could make it long enough to get leftovers from his high chair, and throughout his first year I kept reminded myself to appreciate her part in it all. Finn would never remember her, but I would tell him about the first dog he loved one day.
Sometime around Summer 2019 we started talking about getting a new dog to grow up with Finn and it was obvious Lindsey and I had different opinions on it. I wanted another boxer, as I had grown to trust the breed. She wanted a smaller dog as she wanted less of a mess and hassle. Eventually in our conversations she made the point that "if we got a new dog it would cut into Luna's attention" and I determined to hold off on another dog as long as Luna was around to make sure she got all the attention we could give her. Somehow that morphed into me being accepting of maybe having a period in our lives with no dogs for the first time. To let that sun set for a while with Luna until we could see eye to eye was logical, and facing that reality forced me to imagine a life without Luna in it.
Meanwhile Luna kept being part of the process. She became the dog under the high chair I dreamed she could be, and she learned how to handle a Finn who wanted to tug on her and didn't know when he was hurting her. She had some baby blues and showed it randomly by tearing up something of Finns like a can of formula or a toy, but for the most part she went along with the changes coming in life and just the fact that everyday he was taking up more and more space in our lives.
But my fear of losing her, which really started the day Xena died, kicked into high gear through the first year of Finn. She went from a vet appointment once a year at best to one every three months. She went from not being on meds to having Roscoe's rotation and the can of food to go with it. This all despite the fact that really she was doing pretty good, and was still riding the wave that losing all the weight after Xena died started for her. I just couldn't accept letting her go and even the vet was trying to talk me down from that ledge by reminding me she was an old dog.
Then in 2020 it changed for me. I started the year quite depressed and I didn't know why. After some soul searched I could identify two parts to it: 1. The magic of the baby's first year was over, as was our honeymoon of being new parents plus 2. The fact that Luna would become the age Xena got to in his second year which is old age for a boxer. Any day now I could lose Luna to almost any condition and I couldn't be surprised or shocked by it- she has already lived much longer than I assumed she would when she was the problem puppy with constant medical issues.
Part of what made Xena's death so tragic is how sudden it was, yet part of the reason my sadness had such a depth to it was the eventual realization that by the time she died she was actually old for a boxer. The final photos of her life told the story- her face was completely grey with almost no black left. Her face told me her time was up, but I wasn't paying attention.
Recently Luna has gotten a new grey streak on her face, combined with a hacking cough the vet has no cure for. Neither are fatal or even a bad thing, but they have triggered inside me an impulse to begin the process of letting Luna go so I am not debilitated when she finally dies.
This September if she makes it to then would mean Luna lived three years past Xena, which means I have spent two thirds of her life (the first three years and the last three years) being scared of her untimely death. She has been such a good friend, and I have appreciated her so much, and I would hate to waste whatever she has less to contribute to our lives because I am spending the time obsessing about her death. But I can't deny that her life now feels like the end of an era that we are now completely past, and I know I can't fall apart when she died like I did when Xena did so I want to get ahead of it if I can.
But the dog won't let me. She has to be a part of it all, she has to be in the middle. Unlike a Roscoe who was on the margin's of our life at his death, Luna demands to be in the center as long as she is around and in a way that will be her legacy. It will also mean that there will be a huge hole in our lives when she is gone, and I don't expect to ever fill all of it. Luna truly is a once in a lifetime dog.
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