Sometimes life just ain’t right.  Today a part of my life just wasn’t right.  At 11:00 this morning I was forced to say goodbye to a member of my family.  Buster, my constant companion for the past three years and official plate cleaner has gone to the shelter, never to return.

The reason?  Irreconcilable differences with the little person seen seated behind him.  This is not to say that Mr. Seat of his Diapers in any way antagonized and/or provoked the dog.  Honestly he’s better with animals than most children his age.  The problem was with Buster, and I’m afraid this had been coming for some time.

I think his past was the issue.  We rescued Buster from an abusive home, and the biggest culprits were a couple of children.  Now that Lil’ B. is getting a bit older, Buster had begun to see him as a threat and was acting accordingly.  Both my wife and I have tried for months to change this behavior, but even as someone who has raised more than a dozen dogs, I couldn’t solve the problem.

This was followed by three months of trying to find a home for him on our own.  Unfortunately our circle of friends tend to have very large dogs, and had no room in their homes for an almost-medium sized Boston Terrier.  The others had children, and knowing his disposition, I refused to allow him to be placed with them.

So it was that today, with a heavy heart I said goodbye to a dear friend.  Someone who has slept in our bed with us since the day he joined the family, and did so right up until the day he left.  It’s sad, but in a way it’s a relief as well, because his behavior had me concerned that at some point he might hurt my son.  I pray that he finds a good home with someone who can appreciate him.

On a happier note, we have applied to adopt another dog from the shelter whose temperament better fits our family dynamic, and who desperately needed a home and a family to call his own.

For those who might think that I just replaced the dog I gave away, I didn’t.  Dogs, like people, are irreplaceable.  I’ve already trashed all of Buster’s toys, beds, blankets and anything else that was specifically his (and no, they were in no shape to be donated…  Buster was rough on his stuff.).  If the application at the shelter goes through, I’ll get the new furball in the house his own stuff.  Stuff that he’s going to like.  Heck, he’s his own dog, and I don’t know exactly what kind of dog that happens to be just yet, other than mellow and happier-n-heck to play with my two year old.

I also know that our family has more than enough love for this guy.  On his own merits.

Peace, I’m out until later.

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