My First Best Friend
Tanner was a first-generation Goldendoodle, the cross between a male Golden Retriever and a poodle. His hair was a dark ginger as a puppy, with a slight wave as it spread over the hunches of his shoulders and onto his back. His hair was never curly, but it was never really straight either. As he grew older into adulthood, his hair took a lighter hue of yellow, matching the same colors as a purebred adult Golden Retriever male. He was the best dog that I had ever had. He was the best dog that I had ever met either, even to this day. There are some days when I honestly really do wonder if he truly had the soul of a dog at all, or if he was something a little more special and a little more different.
Throughout my childhood, and while I grew into adolescence I admittedly struggled very hard with managing my stress and finding my self-worth. There were times where I considered myself entirely worthless, and even darker times where I considered not living at all. Tanner was there the entire time. As ridiculous as it sounds to get support from just a dog. Even as I look at it now though, after all of that, he still really wasn’t “just a dog.” He was never “just a dog.”
We got him shortly after Christmas. My parents had surprised me at the time in a mexican restaurant of all places. Even at my young age when it happened, I still remember it clear as nowadays. I sat there in utter disbelief. There was no fathomable way in my mind that they would want to get a dog. The year before we had lost the dog that my mother had from before I was born. He was never really fond of me, as I was his “direct competition” and that was understandable, but even as young as I was at the time I understood the loss that my mother felt losing the dog that had gotten her through raising a child as a single mother, and starting a new family over again. They pulled up a printed sheet of paper with an absolute fluff ball on the front. The puppy pictured could have weighed no more than ten pounds and had enough hair on him to cover his eyes enough it seemed as though he could barely see. I fell in love at first sight, even if it was just a picture.
We traveled northward in the cold midwinter of the American Northern Midwest. Along the highway, I could make out snowdrifts that seemed to go for miles along the road through the early morning glow. Hopefully today I would get my puppy. I did. He was everything that I had imagined and more. His energy level matched mine, and he and I were enamored with one another. He was perfect. As time went on, he remained perfect.
I grew older, and so did he. Tanner witnessed my first days of Middle School, and then High School. He enjoyed sunny days over the summer and woke up extra early with me on Christmas morning. He kept me warm at night, and even sometimes took up more of the bed than I did. He sat close when I was lonely. He stood next to me when I would cry, and he always seemed to know what to do when I would fall into another fit of despair. Sometimes I wonder if he knew me at the time better than I knew myself. He probably did.
It was a Sunday when he died. A bright, sunny, and warm midsummer Sunday of all days. Tanner had been suffering for a little over a month from a large tumor that had formed on his left shoulder. When he started to limp we had taken him to numerous vets to find the answer to why, even resorting to acupuncture for a little while, which had seemed to subside the pain. By this point I had formulated in my teenage mind that he didn’t have much time left, but I didn’t know he was going to go like this. We were all in the basement, doing something or other, that I can’t quite remember. Tanner hadn’t walked in days. We were taking him outside every hour on a makeshift towel-litter so he could go to the bathroom. Today of all days was the day that one of us had forgotten and left the basement door open.
Tanner was a social dog first and foremost. His purpose throughout his life as it seemed very clearly was to bring joy to every person that he met, and he did that very well. It was in his character at his very roots to want to be with us, even if he couldn’t walk. I was looking at my mother when it happened. I saw the shadow from the low landing on the basement stairs as I heard the very audible and solid thump of his torso hitting the floor. Tanner had wanted to be with us, so he tried to walk down the basement stairs.
My vision blurred as my mind raced to try to conceive what I had just witnessed. Looking back at this moment, years later, I am very ept at being able to handle hard and ugly situations like this. I am made for it. It is the reason why I am the way I am and why I hold some of the rescue and medical certifications that I do. This was one of the only defining moments when I could not handle what I had just witnessed at all. My face drained of color (and blood) and I felt adrenaline rush through my body. Time stopped for a moment, and then traveled very, very fast. I stepped over Tanner as quick as I could and ran outside to the backyard. I gulped in the warm, afternoon air and looked right up into the middle of the bright sun. I then proceeded to vomit across the yard. My knees shook violently as my legs lost strength and I collapsed in a heap on the ground. I did not cry. I did not make a sound. No air escaped my lungs as I faded into a sort of comatose. I felt pain unadulterated that day.
My hearing returned as I looked up into the sky one more time. I crawled up into the house again from the yard and gingerly looked down the staircase into the basement. The sight of Tanner in his current condition was awful. So much so that even as I write this many years (and lifetimes as it seems) later I still have trouble remembering the sight. He lay there silent, his breaths labored and quick. The way his chest rose with such effort still brings me pain to this day. My heart broke as I walked down the stairs to him. He noticed me, and even in his state at the time, he still struggled and failed to try to rise himself to meet me. Through body-racking sobs I knelt down and cradled his upper half in my lap. I knew this was his time. I just didn’t know if I had the strength to be able to lift him out of the stairwell and into the car to get to the vet. I had a creeper for going under cars in the garage upstairs, and I brought it down to use as sort of a makeshift stretcher. As I slid Tanner off of the landing and onto the platform of the backrest on the creeper, Tanner weakly bit down on my arm. His eyes met mine and I knew it was purely out of pain, and nothing more, that was the only time in his life that he had ever truly bitten me.
We carried the creeper with him on it up the stairs and paused at the top. I set the creeper down, walked to the bathroom and threw up one more time. I looked back at Tanner and saw the life start to escape from his eyes. I knew that it was his time to go. As we loaded him into the back of the SUV to go to the vet, I could not feel my hands or face. The emotional strain and pain was far too great. For the rest of the night I clutched his collar to my chest. I couldn’t let go. I can’t help forget when my best friend and brother, Jason had picked me up afterwards that night to just talk. I was a mess in the passenger seat of his Honda Civic. It was one of the worst nights of my life.
Looking back at all of it, I can’t help but think of the end of his life, but seeing all these dogs around me near Rocky Mountain National Park, I have to remember that his life was so much more than that. It’s only so many years later that I can finally accept that in my heart. So much has changed since when Tanner passed, but the memory of his goofy, furry, dumb face still crosses my mind often. Never take others for granted, human or otherwise. Cherish every moment and thank God for the good and the bad ones. Keep your heart open to love all, and take example from those who do, human, K-9, or whatever else. Above all else, never forget your first best friend.
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