Beowulf Has Crossed the Rainbow Bridge

No one knows where Beowulf came from.

The above is one of the first photos I ever took of him. Beowulf was found wandering the fields around Huntington County, Indiana, southwest of Fort Wayne. To this day no one knows where he came from--he wore a collar so rusted it couldn't be unbuckled, and had to be cut off. Clearly he'd had a rough life for awhile.

 

He was very serious, and also very curious. I suspect he was mistreated by his former owner, because he would whine instead of bark, and was a little jumpy when touched. We did our best to make him feel at home, and I think it worked: One day he got off his line in the backyard, and when I started a panicked search I found him patiently waiting at the front door.

 

Gradually he relaxed and, as will happen, became family. He never chewed on anything unless he knew he was allowed to, and when someone passed by he would bark at them for one reason: He wanted us to let them in so he could make friends. (Having said that, he saw any animal smaller than him as food, giving us some insight into his former life.)

He loved every kid who came around, and most adults--unless he detected alcohol on their breath. Then he'd start to growl and become protective, which perhaps gives us another look into his past.

 

Like us he loved to travel, but he also loved to get home.

But he got old, as dogs do, and people. Neuropathy, hip dysplasia, hearing loss, cognitive problems. We were okay with him sleeping a lot--heck, I sleep a lot. But wandering in circles, steering himself into corners and just standing there, whining when he should have been comfortable ...

Sometimes there comes a time when you have to consider if you're keeping them around for their happiness--or yours. We got him about six months after Emily and I were married. The vet's estimation of his age meant he was around sixteen years old. It was time.

In the last photo ever taken with the three of us together, Emily and I were smiling, kind of. I think I can speak for both of us when I saw they were forced smiles.

 I'd like to give a shout-out to Line Street Veterinary Hospital in Columbia City, a place we'd gotten more and more familiar with in recent years. You don't have a pet for eleven years and just let him go with a "he's just a dog". They understood that. They let us in through a private door, set out last treats, and gave us all the time we needed, which was a fair amount. We fed him Hershey's Kisses because, as the jar they were in said, no one should pass away without tasting chocolate first.

He wasn't just a dog. He was family. Now he's crossed the rainbow bridge, to frolic with the family members who came before him (as Emily told him to at the end). There aren't any words to describe how much he'll be missed.

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