Astute readers of Objectivity may have noticed, in the book’s acknowledgements section, the Tyson reference – that’s this beautiful boy, as I liked to often call him. Look at him; at those eyes; at this gift that, frankly, I did not deserve. I took this shot, here, a little over half a year ago, and had I known about the heartbreak to follow, I would have spent as much time as I could around him. He would have lived like a king.
Of course, I didn’t know what was going to happen, and while I could ask who does, that’s proving to be of little comfort to the man who took that picture.
Fast forward to yesterday, Monday November 23rd 2020, at approximately 6pm, we had to reluctantly put Tyson down. His belly had just been continuing to get bigger and bigger, and his heart had been beating too quickly in a desperate attempt to get the blood where it needed to go. For months we’d had him on heart medication tablets that weren’t cheap, but you can’t put a price on a soul like that. Not if you’d like to claim to also have one of your own.
Suffice to say, this has been a pretty painful couple of days. I might not have been suffering physically, as had been the case with him more recently, but I sure was suffering psychologically. Not just how it hurt me to see what he was going through, but also because I had behaved, once or twice throughout the years, in a manner that I have come to deeply regret. When, for example, I might’ve gotten angry at him for having, shall we say, left a present or two in the bedroom.
Of course, it wasn’t anything he ever did for any reason other than he needed to go and felt he couldn’t get our attention to let us know. Or if he was outside, scratching at the door to come in when maybe he was just scared or he just wanted to be inside with us.
And the ape got angry as usual. Once again, ladies and gentlemen, the Class-E showed what he’s made of. Have no fear, folks, there’s no bar being set here.
If that boy was here right now, and he was scratching at that door to come in, I wouldn’t be able to get the fucking thing open fast enough. And nor, once it were open, could I give him enough attention. I would love to have him here right now, if just to be able to tell him that I love him one more time. And also because, while we had him, I regret not having said it anywhere nearly enough. I can only hope he came to know how I really felt.
There are things about Tyson I’m going to write about, here, because I don’t want to ever forget them. This I do for me.
I used to love how he’d lick my face, and all I could see, as he was hard at it, was those eyes looking right at me. I used to like leaning over from behind and lifting him up from just underneath his front paws, just enough that he was effectively standing with his back legs still on the ground (and not just because my doing it would often lead to him licking the side of my face). I used to love saying, in a stupid tone, “what ya doing?” and he would come up and walk by my feet, and I would reach out and hold him with both hands. I used to love kissing that area at the top of his head which, before he got sick more recently, would so often prompt an attempt to lick you if he could. I used to love how he had the cutest little nose but he didn’t really like it being touched. And those lovely, floppy ears. How it always looked so funny him trying to walk on the bed with those back legs of his. Even how innocently (and trustingly) those back legs would go limp when he was being picked up. And while patting him, without fail, he would always let me lift up one of his front paws. “Can I have this paw?” Either one, it didn’t matter. And then I would go on, while I was still holding it, with something stupid like, “this is my paw now, my paw”. And he would let me do it, every… single… time.
And those eyes. Words fail me. I’m not a religious man by any stretch of the imagination, but what a blessing he was.
You might not be able to tell it from the picture up at the top, but he’d actually lost the sight in his left eye (the right in the picture). Let’s just say, it involved an incident with another dog a couple of years prior to the shot. Of course, we didn’t realise it at first, it just looked like his eye was getting milky, but even that is a testament to his character. Had we not known he was losing the ability to see with it, we might never have known, because, like with everything else, he took it in his stride. That’s strength for you, a strength that I could never know.
No, I didn’t deserve him. It’s not even close. And as such, I don’t know if I’ll ever get another dog again because, frankly, I’m not worthy. That beautiful boy only ever wanted to spend time with me, even when – at times – I didn’t reciprocate, and that’s an oversight (if you could call it that) this ape isn’t going to walk off anytime soon. We all have our cross to bear, and this is mine.
Don’t take things for granted. Ever. If there’s something in your life you love, tell it, every day, because you just don’t know when you might never again have that opportunity. And believe you me, that’s when you’ll want to be able to say it most of all.
