Puppy Chow: The Final Chapter by Sharon Lurie

© 2018 David’s Harp and Pen

Bruno, my partner-in-crime-fighting for seven years, died on January 14, 2017, exactly two years ago today. He was the best dog a girl could have. I think about him a lot around Independence Day and any time there are fireworks going off. Bruno was fearless about many things, but fireworks weren’t one of them. Whenever he heard them -- or thunder -- he would hide under the bathroom sink.

Bruno taught me much about being secure in God’s love during his life, but even more so in his death.

Bruno had developed cirrhosis of the liver, which is common in dogs (I was unaware of his drinking problem 😉). The veterinarian said there would be good days and bad days. He had made several miraculous recoveries, and I really believed he had a few good years left in him. I was proven wrong.

When it became clear Bruno wouldn’t recover from his last downturn, the veterinarian prescribed some new medication for him and said if he didn’t recover within 10 days, he wouldn’t recover at all, and I had to look at euthanasia.

During this time, Bruno couldn’t walk. I had to feed him baby food using a syringe. Whenever I would try to move him, he would growl, fidget, and try to bite me. I tried to use a muzzle to prevent this, but he wouldn’t let me put it on him. (Bruno, in his heyday, was a big boy who weighed over 90 pounds.)

I don’t have children, so Bruno was the closest thing I’ve had to my own child. I can’t describe the levels of helplessness and terror I felt, both in not being able to ease his pain and not being able to prevent his inevitable separation from me. I think C. S. Lewis said it best in A Grief Observed, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

The dreaded day came when I had to take Bruno to be put to sleep. I had made arrangements with some friends to come to the house to help me carry Bruno to my car, and then we would all go to the animal hospital. The friends called and said they would be extremely late, too late for me to get to the animal hospital on time if I waited for them.

I am a survivor of narcissistic and spiritual abuse. An abusive relationship, whether romantic or platonic, rewires the brain in the same way an addiction does, and this is because of a phenomenon called intermittent reinforcement (for more information, click here). Something I’ve learned in breaking away from an abuser and from friends recovering from addiction is that stress often triggers relapse. Whenever we feel unable to cope with the adversity in front of us, we gravitate back to that bad person or that bad habit because it’s familiar and gives us a sense of control, even though the relief offered is short-lived.

I was afraid and confused about how I would get Bruno to the animal hospital on my own, and I feared doing anything to make him suffer any more than he already was. I began considering calling someone I had no business calling. I rationalized this in my head telling myself that I needed help in this situation, my other friends had let me down, and there was no way I could handle this alone.

I looked down at Bruno, who looked up at me with total trust. He knew he was my baby and I was his mama, and because of this I remembered who I was.

I knelt down beside him and prayed, “God, You say I am the Bride of Christ. You say I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me. You don’t want me running to the Enemy for help. He is telling me I have to call you-know-who because I can’t do this all alone; but I am not alone. I am never alone. You are with me. Prove the Enemy wrong, God.”

I then wrapped Bruno up in his comforter, and with a power I know did not come from me, I gathered him in my arms and carried him successfully to my car. Bruno didn’t bite or squirm, unlike all my previous attempts. I made the appointment after all, cuddled Bruno, and told him I loved him for the last time.

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my goofy fur baby, nor the hell on earth from which I walked away. God has healed me in ways I didn’t think possible. The restoration process isn’t over yet, and I still feel tempted at times to look back and abdicate the freedom my former captor sought to destroy. Then I remember how Bruno trusted me even when he was scared and in pain, and I am able to trust in God the same way, and more so, because God’s love and resources for me are limitless. When terror comes to tempt me in my recovery, which it will, I am able to resist, because I remember the day I was able to carry my fur baby because my God was carrying me.

The End

MILK!!!!!!!!