All Hail King Bosco - Personality Goes a Long Way, 2013-2025

 A Tribute

To a Fallen Soundboy Soldier

Bosco the Great

    In 2013, I moved into a large duplex in the Echo Hills area of Charlotte. I was single at the time and still really into trail biking. I used to take my bike to the park a couple of times a week for almost a year, until one day I realized that I wasn't a "bike person", I just enjoyed maintaining a bicycle and getting fresh air + exercise. It occurred to me that I could get fresh air and exercise without transporting and storing a large bike if I had a dog to walk around. Normally, I try to adopt adult dogs or "rescues", but I couldn't find one who matched my personality and character; which is important to me, because I see animals in a different light than most people. So when I heard that an unauthorized i.e. "illegal" dog breeder was getting shut down by the county, I got in touch with them because I thought they may have some puppies who needed to be re-homed, and I was not about to pay the designer dog prices they would have requested prior to that.

    I was introduced to 3-month-old Bosco (at that time he was unnamed) as a dog who was an attempt to cross breed a Boxer (smart, loyal) with a Carolina (wild, unpredictable), his being the eventual result. I had my doubts, but there was something about the look in his eye. On his first vet visit I was informed that he had some unusual biochemical traits. He shed constantly, year round, even when brushed daily, even for a very short-haired breed. (Carolinas are essentially North American Dingoes, country-style outdoor dogs.) He was rambunctious, yet solitary. He was curious, yet apathetic. As he grew up, he developed the kind of traits one would expect from a stockbroker or HOA manager or corrections officer; in other words, he was a total dick, both figuratively and literally, as he often tried to successfully hump everything that wasn't nailed to the floor. (Everyone reading this who knows me well is laughing at that irony. They say pets take after their owners.) I was very tempted to name him after the song "Cool Jerk" by the Capitols, after one of my neighbors yelled over to me "your dog is cool, but he's a jerk!", pointing to a sort of "mini poop mountain" he had created by pooping continuously all in one spot near their outdoor swing and relaxation area. I didn't apologize, because those people were assholes, I just said "yeah, that's something, ain't it?". I wasn't going to punish him for that. I actually thought it was really creative. Besides he did other things that were a whole lot worse.

    Once, on a fishing trip at the lake, I tethered him to a stump with one of those expandable leashes attached to his harness. When he got tired of fooling round at the edge of the woods, he suddenly ran at me full speed and jumped into the swampy water I was standing next to, drenching me in filthy, mossy, creek water and mildew; causing me to swallow about a quarter-cup of bog water which lead to me having a nasty bout of dysentery. There was also the time we were grilling in the yard, and a girl I liked walked up to me to talk, and for whatever reason, he just didn't want me to do that right then, (we were throwing the football around) so he once again bolted right toward me, put his head down and rammed me in shin at full speed. Do you have any idea how hard a full grown dog's skull is? I thought my leg was broken for sure, until a racquetball-sized knot developed and I realized it was just a bad contusion. I really wanted to throw him onto the freeway for doing that, but I didn't. 

    I was glad that I made the decision to spare his life, when a couple of years later I suffered an extremely bad work-related back injury. On one occasion, in the middle of the night when I tumbled out of bed, gasping for breath due to the pain, I yelled out to Bosco to drag my backpack over to me, which contained some ineffective pain meds, which I took and then tried to lie still for a few hours. At daylight, he came and lied down next to me and I explained to him that I could not make it to the door to let him out, so he would have to poop in a box I kept near the back door for recycling and bulk waste. Surprisingly, he did just that, or at least he tried his best, instead of taking advantage of my incapacity to poop in my bedroom or on my meditation rug, which he had done in the past for some unknown reason. But his most surprising act of canine heroism was later that day when he essentially dragged me to the bathroom (and I am not a small guy) so I wouldn't have to soil myself while lying in the floor. Remembering that day always makes me emotional, and I never forgot that. My hoodie was destroyed in the process, but I avoided having to shat myself, and I will take that trade any day. I gave him that hoodie. He used it as a blanket for a number of years. 

Bosco's three favorite things in life were lying outside in the sun (which I also love), hamburgers (which he only got on certain occasions) and his football collection. I got him a new football every year for Christmas, as a year was about as long the old one would last. He loved Christmas. Much unlike my other dog Babygirl, who can take or leave it. She is very cat-like in that regard. The only reason I ever decorated for Christmas was because when Bosco would wake up in the morning and see the tree, he knew to behave, so he would get his treats and toys. Dogs don't have a concept of time passage, so he had to behave himself each day he saw the tree because he never knew which morning would be the one; when a new football would be waiting for him. Conversely, eating hamburgers eventually became very bittersweet or melancholic for him, because I would use them as a consolation or distraction, like when he got neutered, a decision I made because I felt he was eventually going to cause some serious SA damage (there was an incident with a small horse, and a great dane). The day he came home wearing a Victorian cone-collar and gradually realized he no longer had balls, I let him eat a whole bag of hamburgers. He enjoyed them, but I know deep down he would rather have kept his balls. It upsets me to think about that as well, as my entire career trajectory has reflected the fact that I decided to keep my balls (metaphorically, that is). 

I turned down a lot of bread, (a lot) walked away from a lot of mainstream "opportunities" that may have provided a better life for us, but who knows. I can't apologize for that either. 

I have always refused to be anyone other than myself, for better or worse. 

The funniest story of that era involving Bosco was when I had a "Jack Woltz from the Godfather" moment. I woke up one morning, lying on my side and the first thing I saw was  Bosco, in my bed, lying on his side staring at me casually. This was puzzling because he knew my bed was one place that was entirely off-limits due to his uncontrollable shedding condition. What happened next deserves a moment of context. During that time, I had a few girlfriends. I wasn't afraid of commitment, I just had difficulty finding someone with whom I wanted to spend a lot of time exclusively. When you're secure and self-aware, you would rather be alone than unhappy [Jamaican air-horn sound, gunshots, associated rambunctious patois; "watch this", hear me now", etc.] so, I'm not going to apologize for that either. Anyway, back to the story...when a lady-friend would stay over at my place, I had an unconscious habit of tapping her on the nose and saying "boop" as people sometimes do to small children in a playful manner. That was my way of telling her to leave, without me saying "you need to leave". The morning I woke up staring face-to-face at a wide awake Bosco, asking him if he was crazy for getting up in my bed, he sighed; then reached his paw over and "booped" my nose, then rolled over and faced away from me. The moment of shock and horror felt like it lasted forever. After I pushed him out of the bed and yelled my usual incoherent string of country folk nonsense, it occurred to me that at that moment, Bosco saw me as the woman in our relationship...and he was ready for me to leave. I was confused more than angry, but it did make me reflect on my life and relationships.

In 2016, I bought a house on the East side of town, surrounded on 3 sides in the back yard by a large bamboo garden. Bosco and I moved in and took it easy for a while. I shifted my focus from tech to wellness and we spent the next few years getting by as best we could. Bosco didn't exactly age gracefully. He became ornery, even more moody and had an air of contempt that he never had before. He hated getting old, as most of us do. He couldn't play football the way he wanted, he couldn't act a fool at the park anymore the way he used to, he couldn't go for epic long walks on green-ways without having to stop and lye flat on his back with his tongue out, but he was still my friend. My best friend. Even though he would sneak out of the house to poop in places he knows he shouldn't have, (near the picnic table or hammock or somewhere else he knew someone was sure to step in it) even though he broke my balls over every little thing he didn't like (the equivalent of old-folks complaining) and even though he took almost every available opportunity to make himself an inconvenience, he was still my best friend.

In the summer of this year, he developed a bowel issue and had some incontinence, which was a bigger deal than normal, logistically anyway, because he weighed 80 lbs. at this point and I had to struggle to get him outside. We eventually got through that, but it was undeniable that his time of leaving us was approaching. In the fall, he developed masses and tumors on his legs and torso that were different than the lipomas he had previously, which would not bother him or eventually go away on their own. This was a different set of circumstances, and we both knew it. Now, most of the time, his eyes had a general sadness behind them. He would have some brief moments of happiness, but overall, I think he understood the eventuality he was facing. He was too old and too fat to successfully recover from any type of surgery (especially amputation) if it were required, which I almost certainly couldn't afford anyway.

 

On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, a large mass on his left front leg ruptured, into a horrific scene of blood and tissue. I was able to stop the bleeding, but I knew that without serious medical care, he would expire. Veterinarians agreed that his condition was essentially inoperable, so I arranged to have him sheltered at a rescue while alternate treatments were applied, until it was necessary for him to be painlessly put to rest. On Thanksgiving day, I made arrangements for him to be transported to the shelter by the on-duty animal care & control person, who was very nice. As we waited for him to arrive, I made Bosco a hamburger and sat down on the floor beside him, already weeping. He wanted to eat it, but he also didn't, as he knew by then that something bad had either just happened or was about to happen. But, his hunger overcame his sense of foreboding and he ate it right up. It was just the way he always liked it; plain, room temperature, with one slice of cheese on a soft bun. We sat in silence for a while and when his ride showed up, eventually I said goodbye, told him to be a good boy, and I watched him go for the last time. 

A week later I was talking with a friend who asked me about him and when I told her he was gone, she hugged me and consoled me, and said "he was a good boy". I held myself together as best I could, enough to say "He was an okay fella, I recon. But more importantly, he was my best friend". And he had personality...and personality goes a long way.

Skip Pulley