Marsupial, Our Puppy, One Year Later, R.I.P.

So, about 15 years ago, the SO and I were talking – JUST TALKING – about maybe getting a dog for the family. We both missed the dogs we used to have, and I think they’re good for kids to. So, one day, the phone rings, and the SO tells me that someone had some Boxer Beagle puppies, and she was in love with them and so then we had a dog.

He was an absolutely *adorable* little puppy. He was also a jerk with *tremendously* sharp teeth. How do I know his teeth were tremendously sharp? Because I still carry scars all over my lower legs from when he thought I was his chew toy, or he was trying to establish dominance over me. Still not sure what his goal was.

Now, the SO had more patience and discipline than I did, so she handled the primary training (sit, stay, etc.) which he took to pretty quick. He was a smart little puppy. I, on the other hand, was engaged in a one man, one dog war with him over who was boss and who got to chew on whose legs.

Eventually, I won that war.

I don’t think I did it the way the books say to do it, and don’t worry, I never beat or hit him (I did hold him by the scruff of his neck with my teeth once), but I did spend a lot of time on all fours acting like a bigger dog.

Me and him? We developed our own relationship, rough housing loving, like stereotypical boys for the most part.

One thing we couldn’t seem to train out of him was his primal need to bark at non-family members like he was a savage marauder who lived only to taste the blood of humans. That behavior, combined with people often mistaking him for a Pit Bull, eventually got us evicted from our townhouse apartment. Which lead to us renting a house, which was cool, because we finally had a back yard he could run around in.

He ended up smashing out two windows (on two different occasions) while fiercely letting people know he was in the house. He was a Boxer, so if there was a window or door in his way, he beat on it with his paws. Which proved to be stronger than glass.

We ended up moving into a house that we were buying, and for a couple more years, we had to put him in the back of the house or outside whenever company came over, because, again, jerk ass. I ran a weekly RPG so I had the same people coming over and *eventually* we got him to accept those guys, and then he was meek as could be with them, wanting the occasionally loving, and then ignoring him.

After a few years, when the game fell apart, he grew less used to people being over and started to revert a little but not much when people came in the house. However, he *never* stopped trying to be a fierce beast when he saw people walking outside or coming up onto the porch. I had to strategically place things in-between our annoyingly expansive front windows and him to stop him from smashing those out.

In his last couple of years, he got real sick one time (first time he was every actually ill), and stopped eating. We think he may have gotten into some chocolate, but were never quite sure. So, after more than a decade, we had to take him to the vet (we’re poor, so it was a big hit on our monthly income). They helped, and he started eating again, but he *never* forgot being sick, and became obsessed with food. Any food that was around was even less safe than before (you couldn’t leave anything unguarded), and he became far more bold when it came to getting in your face while you were eating, to the point where we had to put him up during dinner time.

But outside of food, he was still the same obnoxious jerk. Just with ever-dwindling energy. Then he started to have weird fugue spells. Those were creepy.

And then one day, he kept trying to burrow, hide? Under whatever furniture was nearby, with little energy.

And when we woke up the next morning, he was laying in the floor like normal, but when I went to pet him, he was unresponsive.

He had died sometime in the night.

I’m not prone to deluding myself, so of course, I always knew that he would eventually die. And towards the end, I think I knew it was coming up on the end. I tried to spend extra time with him because of that.

When I realized he wasn’t breathing, I called the SO to make sure (my brain isn’t 100% trustworthy). I put on my stoic face and with my middle child, wrapped him up in a blanket that we had possessed even longer than we had him, so that we could take him up to the vet so they could handle his body.

Moving him from house to car to vet to holding him while waiting was one of the most difficult mental things I’ve ever done.

When we got him, the SO agreed to let me name him, and I picked “Marsupial”, because when I was about 17-18, I lived with someone and we had one of the puppies that my family dog had given birth to. That puppy was named “Platypus”. He died early (worms, before we were able to get his vaccinations). When he died, I always knew I would name my next dog “Marsupial”. The SO added the middle name “Jones”.

They say that pets and owners come to resemble each other. I don’t think that ever happened with us, but Marsupial was undeniably one of us. When I say he was a loud, obnoxious, seemingly fierce but not really, jerk ass. . . well, I would largely apply that to myself as well. I don’t mean it as an insult, but rather a descriptor of myself and our dog.

He was ours, and we were his.

He died this day in 2017.

We miss him.

Rest in . . . peace? No, that’s not right. I’d rather think he’s barking at every intangible spirit that crosses his senses, letting them know that he’s there, watching them and they shouldn’t forget that.

I put together a little Flickr album with some pictures of him, spanning about 10 years or so.