Dozer (2006 - 2021)

I’ve been sitting at my computer, thinking on how I can begin this post. And I’m at a loss, literally and metaphorically. So what better way to begin than to say I don’t know how.

I have so many firsts involving my boy, Dozer. He was my first pit bull; the first rescue where we knew, at least on some basic level, he didn’t have a good beginning and would need time to feel safe and secure; the first dog that had so much anxiety, he ate through no less than three walls, two doors, busted out of a wire cage and broke teeth on a heftier one, ate through wiring (luckily without electrocuting himself), destroyed a bean bag lap desk so badly to the point that styrofoam beads had spread to the upstairs living room; the first dog that wanted to give love more than he got it; and was the first dog I’d ever had that didn’t favor his mom or his dad, but was happiest when the whole pack was together.

He was also the first dog where we were able to schedule his euthanasia before his physical and mental health became so critical as to require a trip to emergency - which would have been a strange and unknown place, causing more stress and fear on a dog who was already at his limit, and deserved better than that.

Dozer came into our lives about a year after Roscoe had been our only dog. Dozer was afraid of a lot of things - men, strangers, anything you held in your hand, loud noises, being alone. When we first went to meet him, though, it didn’t take him long to warm up to Robert (maybe 20 minutes). And once he met Roscoe, and moved into our house, I think we all helped him with the rest. Well, for the most part anyway. Fireworks and thunderstorms were his two biggest triggers, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a dog that LOVED either of those things.

The last nearly six years of his life, Dozer was the only dog in the house. I think that may have contributed to his increased anxieties, but at the same time it allowed him to become more confident and sure of himself. So much so that anyone or any dog that dared walk by the back fence was treated to the most fearsome barking and growling I’d ever heard come out of that dog before.

He was a good guard dog and acted like a real tough guy, though I’m pretty sure that was just for show so no one would find out how big of a scaredy-cat he really was. Or to try to infiltrate his territory, obviously.

I have so many thoughts and feelings about this dog that I don’t think I can properly organize them all here in a single post, so please excuse my less than organized ramblings here.

Except for a few years during college, and a few months before moving back to Michigan, I’ve always had at least one dog. And now, for the first time in 27 years (since we moved back), I’m spending my days in an empty house. There are no remaining dogs who Robert and I can force extra love onto to help cope with this recent loss. The only comfort I can find right now is that the current pandemic allowed us to spend so much more time at home with Dozer during what would be his final year. If there’s any kind of silver lining to be salvaged from 2020, this has to be the silveriest of them all for me.

It’s already been two weeks that Dozer’s been gone. I don’t like that time continues to pass, that the world moves on, that I don’t have my little wigglebutt with me anymore. In all honesty, I am broken and I am not okay.

My mind is telling me it will get better, and somewhere deep inside, I know it to be true. Which just makes his absence that much more painful. All I can do is trudge through each day the best I can, cry when I need to, offer support to the hubby when he needs it, and hopefully we can both make it out to the other side of this with minimum scarring.

Good bye, my sweet Dozer. We will meet again some day. Until then, I will love you forever.