For Basil, my love, and Caesar, my first.
I've thought about writing a letter to the Iowa City Animal Shelter for quite some time now. Despite the plethora of comparable letters I'm sure they've received over the years, I cannot help but fear that they would not fully comprehend how life-quaking their presence has been in my life.
When I met Caesar, my heart sank. I knew the moment I saw him that he was supposed to be my dog, and he was playing with another family.
"Mom, they're playing with my dog.
Some other mother, sick of testing out mid-sized anxious-pissers at the animal shelter could have said there were plenty of other dogs. Maybe she did? But if she did, she also popped her head into the outdoor play area and asked the couple if they were adopting the dog.
The woman had long blonde hair and a blue Patagonia wind-breaker. The man, straight black hair; they couldn't adopt a dog. They just came to play with the dogs.
We applied to adopt Caesar, then Cinci, that day. I lay in between my parents before bed that night, brainstorming dog names. I can't tell you what my other ideas were, but once I said Caesar aloud, they didn't matter. Caesar was a rich golden red lab mix. Later on, we would decide a Rhodesian Ridgeback Lab cross. He was a beautiful dog; closer in size and strength to a ridgeback, but the temperament of a lab. He loved people, but hated other dogs (in particular black dogs) and when he went after something he'd take me along with him; dragged along clinging to the other end of the leash, once in awhile even being scraped face first down the driveway. He wouldn't go to the bathroom in our yard, limiting himself to every other in our neighborhood, the further away the better. He was food motivated, loved running, and once killed a squirrel with just a bark.
Before we'd adopted Caesar he'd been on the lamb, and though he always came back, if given the opportunity to dart outside unleashed he would run away. Like all the neighborhood runaway-dogs before Caesar came into my life, I'd try to chase him down. The only time I ever caught him on foot was during a blizzard. I was home from seventh grade, and we'd spent the morning watching The Shining. My post-day-movie screening daze was amplified by the jitters of fear that the bathroom scene had created in my stomach. I thought Caesar would be unable to run off in the waist-deep snow that covered the lawn and most of sidewalks on my street, so I let him out in the yard.
he always came back
When they tore down the original animal shelter, to begin building the new one further out of town, I thought about chasing Caesar, slow-motion, through the snow. I thought about each time I almost caught him, only to have him dart off out of reach. Him, jumping over the snow banks, smiling with pride in his game, as I trampled after him.
When Caesar died, I did not think I would ever be able to get another dog. I still haven't forgiven my parents for spreading his ashes at their garden. I had wanted to keep him. I never asked my mother what the vet said he'd had, when we got the results and it was already two days too late. My mother had offered- some type of cancer- I think, but Caesar had stopped eating out of nowhere and died in the early morning three days later, and that's all I needed to know about the situation.
My father had taken me to Prairie Lights that night, buying me a book instead of ice cream I suppose. Telling me, on the way home, that we'd probably have to make a hard decision in the next couple of days.
I told my father we wouldn't, and we didn't- Caesar died around 3 that morning.
Caesar would've hated Basil. He hated all other dogs.
Caesar would've hated Basil. He hated all other dogs, but especially dark-colored ones, the fucking racist. He loved people, especially me, and my dad's running buddy Doug Rubbert. Caesar and my relationship is very different from that of mine with Basil now. When Caesar died I thought I couldn't ever get another dog. I didn't for almost 5 years.
I cried to Caesar on a lot of walks. I cry to Basil too, but in a different way now than I did back then, and for a different comfort too. In the same way that their personalities were near opposites, my love for each of these dogs is too different.
Caesar was my first dog and he was steady. I don't remember a lot about when I first got Caesar, apart from the stories I've told myself so many times I don't even know if they're true, but I do remember I was truly overjoyed to have a dog. You have to understand that I wasn't just obsessed with dogs, I didn't just like them or even love them. I wasn't a dog person, an animal-lover, or even a horse-girl. I breathed for dogs. If you look back at photos of me at Girl Scout campouts I have my tongue out and my 'paws' up at my chest. I wanted to be a dog when I grew up. I often think the 'D' book of my parents World Encyclopedia set was the only volume ever touched (Lol touching the D). I memorized every dog breed in there, paging over the different groups and picking my favorites. To this day I can almost always tell what even mixed breeds most likely are. And I still love dogs, but as an adult you have to be more subtle about things.
Living together under the strict guidance of my parents household Caesar was not allowed to sleep in bed with me. He wasn't allowed on furniture, and he well behaved (apart from darting out doors and his interactions with other dogs). He had his bad moments, but even his table surfing was a stealth operation more than disobedience. He was smart; conning my dad out of extra treats and bones more than once. What began probably as an effort to turn their mischievous youngest child into someone a little more responsible, ended up being a life-saving effort. Caesar was there for me through junior high, and high school; through the days when my childhood best friends began secretly cyber-bullying me and through those when I was so depressed I'd spend the afternoons slashing my forearms into neatly lined strips. On those days, I would get so angry I would lash out at Caesar on walks. Never physically, but a too fast tug tripping me on a dark sidewalk would be enough to send me into tears. I would gripe and blame Caesar, who's pure sweetness made guilt impossible. Once I was crying, I'd always apologize explaining to him that I didn't know why I was so sad, that I didn't know why my mom hadn't told me it was my friends bullying me. Dogs are the best listeners in the whole world, and I swear to god those walks saved my life. Caesar's presence pulled me out of those moods in times I was very near taking irreversible actions, Basil does the same for me too, today.
Though my love for both these animals is similar in a lot of ways, at their core the difference being the direction with which energy flows. Caesar was, as is Basil now, my best friend and confidant. He listened and cheered me when needed, but he was comfortable in his own life. I needed Caesar, and Caesar loved me, but he would've been fine living on the lamb for a few more years.
Basil is needier, but his needs give me an excuse to prioritize my own health and needs.
The family dog, Caesar, was everyone's solace, but Basil is they center of my universe. Having that focus, that reason to go home early, being forced to take a long walk or go for a run, and of course, someone to come home to that greets you like you've just returned from war is life changing for my depression.
The day I picked Basil up from the shelter, he didn't know what he was in for, but he already loved me. I set him on the shot-gun seat of my wrangler and by the end of the drive home he was in my lap. He was big enough I could barely drive with him there, but there he stayed. He still prefers the front seat. Looking back, there were many moments that could serve as warnings for Basil's less-than-ideal needy dog personality. I love this dog more than you can even comprehend, but I know many owners would struggle with him. Perhaps even, he'd be well behaved with a strict owner.
When my mom and I went to the shelter to look at pups, I'd already had Basil in mind. The long hall of adoptable dogs had enclosures on either side. I instantly found Basil, Barley then, and told Beth he was the one. She agreed that he was handsome, but pointed out a one-eyed Shepard across the way. As soon as I turned my back on Basil, he started crying (a sure-tell of his attention needs) and I knew he needed to come home with me. I filled out an application that day, after playing with him once. He was a mouthy pup, at four months and the attendant stopped in after only a few minutes to ask how much longer we wanted to play with him. I answered, and though I'm sure it sounded canned it was the truth,
"only the rest of his life".
Basil is my best friend in the world. He's my guy, my roommate, the love of my life, and the person I spend more time with than anyone else. It pissed me off when my old boss made gross jokes about beastiality, I just freaking love my dog. He sucks up a large portion of my income each month, dictates how I spend my time, and even the jobs I take. I've thrown money at doggy-daycare's and DNA tests to tell me what breed he is (find out if he is CAT positive). I'm sure friends are tired of gathering at my house, don't want to walk him for me on long days, and I know my dog-allergic boyfriend would prefer if he didn't jump all over him to lick his face, but he is my Basil and I wouldn't have it any other way.
The thought comes to me when I am at my worst- that if I hadn't adopted Basil I'd have no reason not to kill myself. I could, in theory, do it with him in my life, but despite all my wonderful, dog-loving friends that would give Basil just as good of a life as he knows with me, I cannot shake the feeling that he would miss me. Basil and I were meant to be owner and pup. For all his ill-behavior and the money I should probably spend on other things, I need to be with Basil.
Like Caesar, I cry a lot to Basil, and like Caesar, Basil listens. He may be too rough when playing, and scream inside vehicles, but when I am sick or sad he snuggles up alongside me and cuddles me though he too cannot see the road ahead.
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