bevin.hernandez
Novitiate
My sweet Obie passed away Saturday night at 11 years old. I thought I was going to lose him to DCM or Cancer, but instead it was bloat that got him. His stomach had flipped and because of his age and health he was not a good candidate for the surgery, so we made the decision to let him go. Sadly, he was in so much pain that his crossing was hard, but I'm glad we were there for his final moments. Logically, I do not regret the decision, but I want him back so badly. My heart physically aches.
Obie was my first doberman, after years of wanting one. I got him as a puppy and from day 1 he needed to be by my side. He was with me through a tumultuous separation and repair of my relationship, raising teenage boys, job stress, and he was always there. He loved to go out for walks and hikes and I swear he would smile when he met new people. Because he was a fawn with uncropped ears, very few people recognized him as a doberman, and as a consequence were not frightened of him. He loved it when we would tell him that he was a "good boy" and when other people would say he was handsome I swear he would puff up his deep chest and look prouder. The couch is so empty without him sitting next to me, nub sticking into my side. When we slept, he had to sleep on my legs, which was really uncomfortable....but I don't know how to sleep anymore without being bent in some weird position from his presence.
Obie had a huge personality and was so very smart. When he wanted something, sure, he would whine (we called it pheeing, because of the particular noise he made) but if ignored, he would take to knocking things over until he got our attention. He would get particularly upset in his later years if his bed wasn't placed in the sunlight, which meant I was moving his bed around constantly, chasing the rays. I work from home, and he had to be a part of every conference call I was on, sticking his nose in the frame like a shark rising from the depths.
It's so hard to be without him. Bella & Tikka are here, but they are quiet. There are no phees, no whines when I go upstairs alone, and only one dog in the bathroom with me instead of two. He would just sit and stare at me, and when we would take walks, he would always look back at me, even on the leash, to check in and see how I was doing. I took Bella for her walk today and was struck by her lack of looking at me. She does follow me around the house, but it's not the same.
I find myself looking at fawn puppies, knowing that it's far far too soon, but hoping desperately to see one that looks like him. I haven't knitted since his death because I can't knit without him pressed up against me. I know eventually this pain will fade to a dull ache but right now it's almost all I can think about. I'm trying to stay distracted and working, but it's just hard. He went downhill so fast, one day he was fine, and the next, gone.
RIP, my sweet Obie. I hope to see you again someday. I miss you dearly.
Obie was my first doberman, after years of wanting one. I got him as a puppy and from day 1 he needed to be by my side. He was with me through a tumultuous separation and repair of my relationship, raising teenage boys, job stress, and he was always there. He loved to go out for walks and hikes and I swear he would smile when he met new people. Because he was a fawn with uncropped ears, very few people recognized him as a doberman, and as a consequence were not frightened of him. He loved it when we would tell him that he was a "good boy" and when other people would say he was handsome I swear he would puff up his deep chest and look prouder. The couch is so empty without him sitting next to me, nub sticking into my side. When we slept, he had to sleep on my legs, which was really uncomfortable....but I don't know how to sleep anymore without being bent in some weird position from his presence.
Obie had a huge personality and was so very smart. When he wanted something, sure, he would whine (we called it pheeing, because of the particular noise he made) but if ignored, he would take to knocking things over until he got our attention. He would get particularly upset in his later years if his bed wasn't placed in the sunlight, which meant I was moving his bed around constantly, chasing the rays. I work from home, and he had to be a part of every conference call I was on, sticking his nose in the frame like a shark rising from the depths.
It's so hard to be without him. Bella & Tikka are here, but they are quiet. There are no phees, no whines when I go upstairs alone, and only one dog in the bathroom with me instead of two. He would just sit and stare at me, and when we would take walks, he would always look back at me, even on the leash, to check in and see how I was doing. I took Bella for her walk today and was struck by her lack of looking at me. She does follow me around the house, but it's not the same.
I find myself looking at fawn puppies, knowing that it's far far too soon, but hoping desperately to see one that looks like him. I haven't knitted since his death because I can't knit without him pressed up against me. I know eventually this pain will fade to a dull ache but right now it's almost all I can think about. I'm trying to stay distracted and working, but it's just hard. He went downhill so fast, one day he was fine, and the next, gone.
RIP, my sweet Obie. I hope to see you again someday. I miss you dearly.