I don’t know how to say goodbye to my silent companion. The dog I didn’t want but now love. He saw me through every step of our military life and was a welcome friend when I had no one. Well, not always. He wasn’t always my friend. In fact, there was a time we could hardly tolerate each other.
I never wanted a dog, or any pet really.
Vaguely, in the back of my mind, I knew my husband (then boyfriend) had a dog back home, but we were young, in love, and at college and I could easily forget that said dog even existed.
That is, until I found myself having a western style stare down with 63lb of terror named Boxer. If looks could talk, Boxer’s face said everything I needed to know the first time I met him. I wasn’t a part of his pack.
So began our journey of Boxer, me, & the military.
We were thrown into the military lifestyle together and stuck fending for ourselves initially. My husband had gotten just enough leave to fly to Georgia, get married over Labor Day weekend, and return the day after to Fort Bliss and head out to Fort Irwin for a National Training Center (NTC) rotation. Which then left me to make the drive from Atlanta to El Paso with my dad (thanks dad!) to tend to Boxer and our house. This time, if looks could talk, Boxer’s expression would say “Not you again!”
Boxer hardly had house manners and was a stinky, shedding, slobber box. My first order of business as the new woman of the house was the stink. I only attempted to bathe him once. It ended up with me alone in dirty-dog bath water and Boxer running away.
I would take Boxer for walks only for Boxer to refuse to get up off the sidewalk two blocks from home or him walking me as he dragged me up and down the street. He’d chew my shoes, steal my food when I wasn’t looking, and whine all night looking for my husband. I couldn’t stand the dog and he couldn’t stand me.
I cried to my husband when he returned from the field and he would laugh at the antics and promise me it would get better. I just had to assert myself as Alpha over the dog. Whatever that meant! For a year, Boxer would stay behaved for my husband and drive me crazy when my husband was in the field.
Then my husband deployed for the first time. Initially, Boxer did what he did best. I was so over the dog! But one day he bolted out the front door when a package was being delivered. My husband’s dog ran away while my husband was deployed. The dog I loathed and yet tolerated solely because he was my husband’s dog was gone.
It was not looking good for me. I was certain that losing your husband’s dog, especially while he was deployed was grounds for divorce…and so I ran right after him. Down the block I went, crying and screaming out Boxer’s name like a lunatic until I came upon a FedEx truck to see Boxer happily wagging his tail while getting belly rubs from the driver. Furious didn’t even begin to cover it. If looks could talk, Boxer was smug for days.
As the deployment went on, things began to change. The dog who never left his bed to greet me after work started meeting me at the front door with a tail wag. I woke up one morning to see he had dragged his bed to the floor on my side of the bedroom. Boxer would come sit at my feet to watch TV with me in the evenings. We’d even lay out in the backyard together in the sun. We shared my popcorn and I’d give him ice cubes for a treat.
He became my quiet companion. A comfort for the lonely deployment and a tie to my husband. No longer a burden but more like a family member. By the time we PCS-ed out of El Paso, Boxer was just as much my dog as my husband’s.
He worked from home with me, always under my desk at my feet. Snoring his days away and wagging his tail whenever I’d pet him. Walks were no longer treacherous. His bed forever remained on my side of the room, no matter if my husband was home or not. Wherever I went, Boxer went. Every vacation, road trip, and visit to family that we could take him with us, we would.
Boxer was next to me when I read my first positive pregnancy test, and when my husband deployed in early 2020 shortly after the baby was born, Boxer dutifully watched over the baby too. I’d often go looking for Boxer only to find him in the nursery, laying near the crib watching over our son. Boxer was there for me through the hardest years of my life. He captured my tears in his fur and kept me grounded.
But here we are, many years and PCSs later, and Boxer has gotten older. At nearly 15, he doesn’t get off his bed much anymore. He never comes running to get ice cube treats. Gone are the days of doing zoomies around the house and yard. Boxer’s fur has turned gray and all the muscle disappeared from his body. The vet gave us his cancer prognosis months ago, and we did our best to keep him comfortable. Selfishly, we delayed saying goodbye longer than we should have. As I look at his sweet, old face and consider our nine years together as Boxer, me, & the military, I see nothing but love in his deep brown eyes.
This time, if looks could talk, Boxer’s face says “It’s ok. It’s time. I love you.”
Boxer Tyson Lane, 2008-2023.
If like us, you struggle to know when it’s time to say goodbye to your pet, check out the resources our vet provided us when the time to decide came.
