seven weeks of grief.
Our sweet girl, Josephine van Beaumont, was put to sleep two days ago. Her gallbladder was blocked by sludge and her liver couldn’t adequately keep up with the toxins. There’s no poetic way to put that and I’m no doc - technical terms are all I can offer. She was an exemplary Blue Heeler. And there will never be another like her.
She was raised in a house of 20-somethings with folks constantly coming and going - frequent gatherings and band practices in the basement. She lived to entertain and was the least enthused when it was just her, Frank and I during COVID shutdown. (Alex worked through it all at Lowe’s, in the hopes to learn the HVAC trade and earn an apprenticeship within the union - a job he could travel with, potentially taking with him to MN, whenever we decided the light turned green to do so… a later post about the how’s and why’s we ended up selling our house and moving to DLH in December 2020.) We joked that I imprinted on her during those months - Al was always Josie’s favorite, her uncle Jon a close second. She would nip at my heels when I travelled upstairs, her herding instincts mistaking me for a cow. She saved all her people-pleasing tricks for Alex. I was just a bystander. The one who brought in Frank - our scrappy street kitten that she wound up raising as her own.
I’ve always been a cat person, never owning a dog in childhood. I know where cats prefer to be pet. I know their hiding places. I understood Frank and his “zoomie” ways. Josie just shed a lot. And killed bunnies with a ravenous attitude. And howled at the monthly tornado siren tests. She was great at catching balls high in the air like a dolphin. Outside of these qualities, she preferred her Dad and we left it at that; an agreement to stay in our respective corners.
She never barked at strangers, instead greeted people at the door no matter how welcome they may or may not have been. She LOVED babies, I mean LOVED BABIES like an older woman with arms outstretched, salivating at the chance to smell their heads. Gentle and tender she was with the little things. Frank practically grew up inside her jaw. He never grew past the 7 lbs. mark, and she would let him win their daily tussles despite her 45 lbs. advantage.
Our living room consisted of a sofa, loveseat, and two chairs from IKEA with light grey tweed. Josie slept in the chair closest to the door, so she could be the first to greet whomever strolled in. I never knew a dog to have such a personality, to commandeer a person’s chair. She thought she was people… and demanded all the luxuries people enjoy. Toys were meant to be shredded in order to destroy the squeaker inside. Frank was her favorite and most accessible toy.
She wasn’t a cuddle-r. We would tease and taunt her to come up on the couch to lay with us. She would awkwardly sit on us, not near, somehow jabbing every bone in her body in out ours. She would threaten to sit on any other chair or the loveseat.My obsessively clean and tidy ways couldn’t handle the amount of dog hair that accumulated on the floors, and I’d be damned to vacuum every.single.piece of living room furniture. So we enlisted the help of spray bottles, evenly spread out onto each cushion, standing at attention to designate “Josie is not allowed here.” It worked. And was embarrassing. But it saved me the already 20 mins. I spent daily vacuuming up her hair that floated into every corner and wove its way into every fabric in the house.
We could never leave out blankets, gloves, hats, socks or shoes. Anything with our scent would be snatched up in a matter of seconds when we turned away. I always found this creepy and somewhat annoying. Al loved it - which only gave Josie more vitriol to continue the behavior. Again, I’m not a dog person. I don’t find the usual behaviors of dogs endearing. At least, I didn’t before Josie came along.
It wasn’t until we moved to MN that we purchased a dog bed for her. A Pendleton dog bed, no less. To go with her Yeti water and food bowls. Alex spoiled this dog - yet I always agreed, Josie deserved it. She was the best girl, so sweet and gentle. So obnoxiously manipulative and smart. So what if that bowl cost $75. Her comfort brought us joy.
In her later years we noticed she would almost lose consciousness while drinking water. She would lap and lap and lap it up, forgetting where she was and what the goal to it all was. So we’d call for her. And then she’d cough. The most ridiculous sounding cough - she knew she overdid it with the water. But this was every time she drank. Soon becoming our daily symphony. Her coughs and “throat clearing” sounded like duck honks. A sound I can’t believe we’ll never hear again. I couldn’t replicate it properly, as hard as I may try. It was one of a kind. Something I wish I recorded.
Josie was the least photogenic, beautiful dog I’ve ever known. She would immediately make a Dobby-like face when I pulled the camera out on her: ears down, tail between legs, practically shaking with shame. What photos I have are tiny miracles. She was also straight-edge; she’d cower and turn away at any beverage pointed towards her. Often, the beverage was a bottle of beer. Countless times this phenomenon was tested. She always begged for human food, planting herself right at your feet under the dining room table, but if something was offered she rarely approved of it. Which pleased me to my core: we treat our pets like family, but I find it reprehensible to feed scraps or beer to dogs. Its a source of contention with my in-laws who love to let their long-haired dachshund Heidi lick off plates before putting them in the dishwasher. Eww. And no.
It wasn't until we moved to MN that Josie started to demand daily activity in the form of walks and hikes. She was able to spend hours, most of the afternoon and evening patrolling and guarding our backyard. She would keep busy walking the perimeter, double checking that no bunnies ventured through our yard into the neighbors. She would bark at cars that went down the one=way alley that ran behind our fence. “WRONG WAY WRONG WAY” Alex and joked as she barked ferociously. Something we didn’t expect to find was the lack of fenced-in yards in DLH. So odd, considering most people have dogs and tend to run errands with them around here. Josie’s first experience on a tether was when we moved, and it breaks my heart thinking about how much she must’ve hated that. So walks and hikes were a must in order for her fulfill her duties and keep her active.
I struggle to end this post, as memories are all I have to share with her box of ashes. Alex and I agreed: no more dogs for a while. And we intend to spread her ashes when and where we find land to build our future - a spot that we had hoped she would leap and bound through, saving us from any intruders of the bunny and deer kind.
It’s a universal pain. A contract signed once the Pound Puppy comes home and becomes family. But the pain stabs and aches each time we enter our now empty home. She had such. presence, a static energy that now carries such a heavy void. Days are manageable without the ruminating and reminiscing. Friends and family continue to reach out - opening the wound once more. I know that is not their intent, but it leaves such a searing pain nonetheless. Maybe we should’ve left her bed out. Or her last toy: a Lambchop plushy. He tether stay roped around our deck post, a lasting sign that we’ll never hear her yelp, “HEY I’m out here and you’re in there and that’s not cool.”
You’ll be forever missed by so many, Jo Jo. Jose-bean. My echineaca, cone-flowered girl. May you enjoy perpetual fields full of bunnies to catch and cats to train.
