This is my baby boy, Tank. He’s been gone almost a year, and it still doesn’t seem right… it’s still hard for me to talk about him. He was such a good dog, a big baby who loved everybody and everything. You don’t get blessed with many dogs like this, and I’m so glad I got to be a part of his life, as short a time as it was.
This was just a day or two after he came to our house; a friend from north Alabama sent him to me, and I’m forever grateful. He was a happy go lucky boy; loved his naps and playing. Really just a big goof-ball all the time- no matter what he was doing, he could look up with that smile that said, “oh come on, let’s go play!”
We were keeping him in a crate while we were gone to keep him out of trouble…. until one day we came home and he was laying on the sofa, smiling at us. The crate door was still fastened, only bent a little at the top where he had squeezed through. I was never comfortable putting him in one again- I was so afraid the next time he’d really hurt himself trying to get out.
Our next move was blocking off areas of the house by closing doors, only to realize he could open the doors. (80 pounds of Staffordshire Terrier saying ‘open up’ tends to put the fear of God in any door.)
Then we started putting things like bookshelves in the way- not that it made any difference. He’d just move them out of his way. In his mind, we were giving him a puzzle to solve, and solve them he did!
His favorite toys were never toys- give him a box or a paper wrapper and he’d stay entertained for hours, flipping it into the air and ripping it into shreds.
But as playful and friendly as he was, NO ONE was allowed into our house without him checking them out; and if he wasn’t sure about someone, he let me know. One night he and I were out walking, and we came home to a strange vehicle in the yard. The man had gotten out and was talking to Randy on the porch, but Tank did not like it at all. The only word I can use to describe what he did was “stalk”. He kept taking deep breaths, as he gave the man’s car a very wide berth. He eased quietly, almost on tiptoe, up to the porch. Every muscle was poised to jump. He never growled, but he was on high alert. If the man had made one false move, I’m afraid the rescue squad would have had nothing to work with.
He was a perfect specimen of a Staffie – gorgeous metal-gray and white, a heart as big as the outdoors and wonderful, sweet temperament.
He started having problems in March; we thought his ears were infected (lots of discharge and shaking his head, walking with it to one side sometimes, etc) and the vet who saw him gave us something to clean them out, but it didn’t clear up. All this happened right after we started him on a flea-heartworm treatment pill. I don’t believe for a second that anything in his background caused his health problems- I will always believe it was those pills.
We changed vets, and she also saw problems in his ears, but she also noticed that he seemed to have problems in his spine. I don’t know if he hurt himself or the ear infection was worse and affected other parts of his body, or if the pills damaged more than we realized. We also think he was having seizures- sometimes he would ‘zone out’, grit and grind his teeth, and then hold his head up and back and smack his lips. When he was like this, he also tended to stumble when he walked; otherwise he was his own peppy self, running and playing.
Right towards the end, he couldn’t hear very well; his vision was affected and he got confused a lot. He finally got so he wouldn’t sleep at night, but would pace around- jump up on the bed, then down to walk around the room, then jumping back up on the bed.
I finally had to make the hardest decision a person owned by a dog or cat has to make. Even at the end, as bad as he felt, he was still a sweet, well-tempered dog.
Our very dear friends Leah and Jordan came to help give him the funeral he deserved. He’s buried in our side yard, and when Hope and I walk every day, we have to stop and visit him.
Hope has helped me heal from my grief- but I won’t ever get over him; I won’t ever forget him….
I have been blessed with three wonderful dogs in my life, so I am far ahead of the average. My baby Caleb, my baby Tank and now my baby Hope.
For those among you who don’t understand how the loss of a pet can affect you so hard – I can’t explain it other than this: our pets are a part of our family; they love us unconditionally; they don’t care how good or bad we look, how rich or poor, skinny or fat we are; they’re gonna love us whether we live in a mansion or a shack – in other words, they show us God’s love every day.
*********************************
Psalms 147:3 He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.