For Bobby, My Little Boy

I had to say goodbye to my beloved little terrier mix, Bobby, on November 17, 2023. I knew the time was coming near, but foreknowledge is no help when your heart is breaking. I’d had to say goodbye to my beloved lab mix, Cotton, in May of 2021, and that was still a tender wound.

Anyone who’s companioned and loved a dog knows all too well that their lives are far too short. They walk with us for just a few years, but in that time can make a hugely outsized impact. Bobby weighed only 17 lbs., but he was a heavyweight of the heart.

Maybe that’s why his heart started giving out on him. It was so big, both in physical size and in spirit. When the diagnosis came that he had congestive heart failure and a heart murmur, Cotton was still alive, but I knew he would leave me soon. It felt like a terrible injustice to learn that Bobby’s life would be shorter than I’d expected.

For a while the meds helped, but eventually, trying to balance drawing fluid off the heart with not overtaxing the kidneys took its toll, and his kidneys started going.

Bobby literally ran into my life while I was still a doctoral student at the Claremont School of Theology, sometime in the spring of 2013. We’d had a program with the Baha’i community and while attendees were socializing after the program ended, a dog suddenly ran into the classroom from the patio. He kept running around the room until I finally got him to settle down under a chair where I petted him and spoke softly to him.

His fur was long and matted, he had no collar, no tags, and he wasn’t neutered. A couple of other students and I came up with a plan: Brianne posted “found” photos of him, I called the shelter, and Dara Joy took him for the first couple of nights. At that time, I already had one dog, Cotton, and a cat, Chelsea.

Our threesome of rescuers decided to call him Bobby and after a couple of days, he came to stay with me. But I had no intention of adopting another dog. I had only a one-bedroom apartment, and just didn’t need the added stress. I did get him groomed, and afterward he looked like a completely different dog. As cute as a bug. My current pets seemed a bit put out by the new kid, and so I contacted a rescue group who said they’d gladly take him.

Famous last words. Within about three days, he’d completely wormed his way into my heart.

I used to tell him that while I found Cotton in a shelter in northeast Georgia, and I found Chelsea through a rescue group on Petfinder, Bobby found me. And his adoring gaze showed me just how much I and his new home meant to him. It was like he was saying, “You won’t even know I’m here, I’m going to blend right in. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here.”

And so, he stayed.

I used to always say that Cotton was my 1950s guy. Utterly devoted to me, but also a bit stoic and standoffish. But Bobby was all about the love. He soaked up and gave back a lot of affection. And he was just so damn adorable. I’m not sure of his genetics, but I always thought he looked like a combination of West Highland White Terrier and Pomeranian. I used to say he was my little plush toy. I mean, people would stop in their tracks and tell me they wanted to steal him.

Bobby adored Cotton. Cotton was less enthusiastic, though I think he did come to appreciate Bobby’s presence. We went on a lot of adventures together and until Cotton developed sound anxiety, both of my boys relished car rides. I’d always wished they’d be dogs who played together, but both seemed to have issues that got in the way of their really trusting each other. But they’d both enjoy playing with my brother’s dog, Venus, and that was always fun to watch.

When Bobby moved in, I was already in the habit of taking Cotton to a local dog park every day. There was a group of folks who met up there that we called The Dog Park Pack. We’d socialize at the park while our pups played, but also celebrate each other’s birthdays outside of the park. The first time Bobby joined us, a husky got too much in his business and Bobby turned into a Tasmanian devil, scaring the poor husky to death. Bobby didn’t bite him, but boy, did he make an impression. A woman happened to snap a picture that she later gave to me. It still makes me laugh.

After finishing my doctoral program, I took a job in middle Tennessee. It was a woodsy area, and I never tired of seeing the deer. Of course, Cotton and Bobby didn’t either. A young fox even sauntered along a few paces behind us one day, seeming to want to join our pack. It was while we were in Tennessee that Cotton began declining, with dementia, sound anxiety, and pain in his back and hips.

 

It wasn’t long after we said goodbye to Cotton that Bobby, Chelsea and I moved from Tennessee to Florida. Ultimately, I think Bobby much preferred being the only dog. Though he had a few behavioral issues when he first arrived, over time Bobby had beautifully grown into a great little dog. He loved other small dogs, though was never a fan of the bigger ones.

Until his health slowed him down, Bobby pranced when he walked. He had a jaunty little step that other people noticed. A neighbor in my apartment complex once stopped me to tell me how happy seeing me walking with Bobby made her.

He made me happy too.

For such a small dog, he was a big presence. And his passing has left a huge absence. At this point, still being in rental housing, I don’t think I’ll adopt another dog. I’d like to adopt a kitten so that Chelsea has a playmate. But I will dearly miss my beloved boys’ canine energy.