by Guest » Thu Apr 16, 2009 11:32 pm
I want to preface this by saying that a lot of what I have just written is a little sappy. I consider a lot of it to be a tribute. Tough it out and look for the message…it’s in there, it always is when the Bull posts. Being emotionally charged reframes your world, but I assure you, that before I posted this I reviewed it with the utmost amount of logic and reason. Everything is a learning lesson…
A Boy and His Dog
I’m going to come right out and say it…woman cannot make tough decisions. When emotions get involved, women simply cannot ‘pull the trigger’ in an accurate fashion. One of the aspects of the Community that has always resonated strongly with me is that women are emotionally driven. Their emotions drive their thoughts, their thoughts drive their decisions, and their decisions drive their lives.
As PUAs, we seek to short circuit this simplified thought process. We tug and pull on their emotional levers is such a way so as to make their decisions result in an outcome that we desire. It sounds a lot like manipulation, and in many ways it is, but keep in mind that with manipulation you are controlling someone. I will never concede the point that we can control anyone. Instead, we influence them and stack the deck in our favor, but we can never 100% control anyone.
And, there in lies a very fundamental difference between being a man and not.
Emotionally driven decisions. Sometimes, life is hard. Sometimes, life is painful. Sometimes, life requires tough decisions. This is where a man comes in. We have been blessed with a gift…the ability to cut through the fog of emotion and make tough, logical decisions. Women, with their emotion and compassion, have a free pass in this department. It is in their nature to nurture, to shower others with love, even when this shower burns those taking it.
This past weekend, I drove to Houston to visit a friend. He’s my oldest friend, going on 21 years now. But, just because he’s my oldest friend, doesn’t make him my closest friend. No, no. That distinction belongs to another, my childhood dog: Bear.
[b]Easter Sunday[/b]
Here I am, driving back to Dallas from Houston, blazing down the highway hoping to God that I don’t get pulled over but expecting to see the red and blue in the rear view mirror at any moment.
I’m driving in a pack of cars and, as we all know, I feel comforted by the fact that I’m in a group that’s, collectively, breaking the law. Safety in numbers right? Wrong.
As the day passes I see at least 4 of my fellow misdemeanor violators get pulled over by the 5.0. I, however, am spared. At the time I believed it was dumb luck, part of me still does. The other part thought it was something bigger, more powerful. Fate? Maybe, if you believe in that sort of thing.
Eventually, I arrive at my mother’s house. My future seems all too predictable and familiar, a holiday dinner with my mom, sister, and niece. We’ll drink good wine (because I picked it out), eat good food (because my mom has finally learned to cook), talk about the good times, forget the bad times, and, of course, disgruntled discussion of the father (husband) that we know no longer. It feels as if I’ve been here a million times before. Walking in, it seemed so routine.
When all we have is routine, we long for something else. I know I did. Sometimes we get what we ask for…
As soon as I walk in, I see my mother:
Bull Run: “Happy Easter pretty lady…â€
Mom: “Something’s wrong with Bear.â€
Bull Run: I’ve been here before. “Mom, he’s an old dog. 16 years old. He has good days and he has bad days. It was cold last night, and a little nippy today. I’m sure it’s just a bad day.†I knew better. I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop…
I’ve known for a while that he has…had…congestive heart failure. I knew that he had an expiration date, of sorts. But, as long as he had more good days than bad days I was willing to let him fight it out. Shit, just a week ago, I took him for a short walk and he was as spry as you can expect a 16 year-old dog to be. Still though, I knew he didn’t have long. But, as long as he was willing to fight, I was willing to let him. He and I were so close, such good friends, that I knew he would let me know when it was time…even if I didn’t want to listen.
After the warning from my mom, I go check on him. I didn’t see him initially, but I could hear him…a sound I will never forget. I flipped on the light switch and saw him huddled in the corner, he was very obviously trying to hide himself from sight. He was seeking isolation.
Again, he’s old. 16 years old. That’s a long life for any dog, even longer for a mid-sized dog. He’s been living on borrowed time for a long time. When you look at him, you see a puppy. Literally. I’ve spent the last 10 years telling people how old he was. But, when you age, you simply lose a little bit of capacity. In his case, he was virtually blind and close to deaf. Again, you wouldn’t know it by watching him. But, I knew because I knew him when he was young.
Despite his handicaps, he picked up his head, labored to turn his body, and walked towards me. I was impressed that he even got to his feet, let alone three steps. Then, he collapsed.
Wheezing, ashamed, tail laboring to wag. To most he looked pathetic, to me, he looked like the prideful, loving friend that I’ve always known, refusing to back down in the face of adversity.
Even though he’s blind and couldn’t raise his head to look my way, like normal. Force of habit I guess.
Within 2 minutes, I had him in the car to the ER.
Within 10 minutes, I had him at the ER.
A few bits of paperwork later, I was talking to the Vet in a consultation room with my mom and sister (my niece was dropped off at her father’s house). The x-ray was more than shocking. His abdomen had filled with fluid, a common symptom of CHF, so much so that it compressed his lungs. He was literally drowning.
We had two options. Treatment with a cockney of drugs potentially buying him a few weeks, at tops, or we put him down.
My mother and sister tried to convince me to buy him more time.
Mom and Sis: “We can have him a little bit longer…it’s not time to say goodbye. We haven’t had our time yet.â€
Bull Run: “No. He’s my dog. I knew this day was coming. I wish it would have come a little later, but he can’t fight any longer. I respect that. It’s time to let him go.â€
Mom and Sis: “But, he’s a fighter. He always has been. He can fight through this…we’re not done yet.â€
Bull Run: I’m almost balling at this point. “No matter how much you love someone, no matter how much you’ve been with them, the amount of time you’ve spent together is NEVER enough.â€
Bull Run: “We can buy him time, but he’s the one that’s going to pay for our decision. He’s MY friend and HE’s ready to go. It’s time for US to honor the decision HE’s made…â€
And, so it goes. I always said that when he had more bad days than good days it was his time to go. Well, this was the worst day.
The Vet asked us about ‘arrangements.’ Well, he has no burial plot so that was out of the question. The only other option was cremation. But, how? A private company could do it, or the city.
Bull Run: “So, doc. If the city does it will he be cremated with other dogs?â€
Vet: “Yes. They cremate them in a communal fashion.â€
Bull Run: “NO! My dog, my friend!!!! Will NOT be cremated with a bunch of others. He was an individual. He will be cremated alone.â€
Vet: “Ok, they price by the weight. He’s 35 pounds, so…â€
Bull Run: “Price cannot buy his individuality…whatever it takes.â€
From here on, time stretched out like a razor blade. A slow motion replay of my life. How do you say goodbye?
He came into my life when I was 13. A fat, lonely kid that needed a friend. He was my best-friend and for the longest time, my only friend. To this day, I consider him to be the most true friend I’ve ever had. He loved me regardless and I returned the favor. Then, I grew out of him. My caterpillar turned into a butterfly and, in the process, I forgot what lifted me up to the level that allowed me to transform. I built myself off the back of him, for that, I can never repay him.
Looking back now, he was the first set I ever ran. I practiced my storytelling and joke telling skills on him in my youth. He never laughed, of course, or understood, but he knew I needed to talk, and so, he listened…and, he listened with enthusiasm.
A boy and his dog.
A man, learning the final lesson his dog could teach.
The transformation that he sparked was close to complete.
Bear: “Bull Run, make the tough decision…I’m tired. I’ve lived this long for you. You’re going to be OK. You’re no longer a boy, you’ve blossomed…you’re something more. What is that? I don’t know. But, my time has come. I’m leaving because I believe in you.â€
I told him one last joke before he went…I hope he heard me. Not because it was good, because in truth it sucked, but because I want him to know that I learned to stand up and take what life dishes out, and to do so with pride and love, just like he did.
Gentlemen, if I was not there, I would be sitting here looking at a dog doped up on ‘life saving’ drugs. Although I would be fronting the money for his meds, he would be paying the price to live a life that he very obviously did not want.
Yes, he was just a dog. But, in many ways, he was the best man I ever met in my lifetime. Everything he did came with a lesson. Usually I could never decipher his agenda, but on Easter Sunday I recognized it immediately.
Bear: “Bull Run, make the tough decision. My life is in your hands, I want to be with you, but not like this. Make the tough decision, be the man I know you can be…â€
You held on for me to arrive on Easter, you got up and tried to greet me when I was there, and just before you left you raised your head and tried to find me…I was there, I love you, I miss you, and I thank you.
I hope you were happy.
Men, make tough decisions based on logic and reason. If I listened to my emotions, I’d be able to glance down at a doped up, old dog waiting to wear out.
This is a microcosm of my life, but his lesson cannot be ignored. It seems like an easy decision when you’re looking on the outside in. But, I implore you to think of it differently. If your best friend begged you to make a tough decision that no one else would be willing to make, would you make the decision?
Men think, women feel.
Bear, you will be missed...