In Memory Of My Baby Boy, Bear
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In Memory Of My Baby Boy, Bear
By Chelsea M. Mascari

I just wanted to leave a little story here about the best dog in the world (to me at least), Bear. His full name was something like Polar Bear the IVth. I can still remember the first day I saw him. I was sitting with my father, discussing why we couldn't get another dog (we had a great dog at the time, Max, who my parents got before they even had me). Just as we finished our little talk and he made it clear that we were not getting another dog. And then right on cue my mother and little brother came walking in.  My mom said, "Honey, look what I got!" as she held a cute white Pomeranian puppy in her arms. (To enlarge the photo of Bear and Roman, click on the photo or link)

Since then I have become so close to him. He was a great dog. He would cuddle with you at any given time (jump on you too to lick your mouth if you weren't careful!) and give you kisses. He had a problem with knowing what to pee on and what not to, but otherwise he was perfect in my eyes. He could dance and do millions of other tricks. And for his size he sure had a lot of spunk. I remember a month or so before his death I had become even more attracted to him. We would go on long walks at the beach by the lake where he would run off of his leash and either run ahead of me or chase ducks. He even kept a wild dog away, that was know to be a bit vicious, by chasing it off; even though it was at least three times his size. (To enlarge the photo of Roman, Mike, Bear, and Chelsea, click on the photo or link)

He was always there for me. When Max died he shared our sorrow, although I'm sure it was harder for him. He even learned to accept our newest dog, Roman (a big Lab-Rot mix who's the exact opposite of him) and became great friends with him. Whether you needed him or not, he was there, and always willing to help. (To enlarge the photo of Bear and Roman, click on the photo or link)

The night he died was terrible. I personally had been having a great day until it happened. According to my mom my dad went and took the car out of the garage to go somewhere and forgot to close the door behind him. The dogs usually had their collars on that would keep them in the yard (those collars that spray a fowl smell when they try to leave) since they were known to leave to explore. Well, they slept in the garage, and since it was their bed time they had their collars off. However, since the door was open, and they knew that the collars weren't on them they ran right out onto the street.

I was talking on the phone with a good friend when I heard my mom pounding on the floor above me (a way she usually calls us up) yelling. I ran right up when she said to go into the laundry room when I heard my brother yell, "Bear got hit by a car!" I ran to him to see my mom holding him. His stomach was torn open, leaving some of his insides hanging out (sorry if it's graphic), but he wasn't really bleeding. My mom went into the garage and set him on his dog bed. Everyone but my dad was there. We all cried and told him good bye and that we loved him and would miss him as he passed slowly, becoming more and more distant with every kiss we gave him. Even Roman came by, and he knew what was going on, and we watched him whine and even nuzzle his only friend. I cried my eyes out (literally) until he finally stopped breathing. My mom declared him dead and sent us inside. I felt bad for my dad though, because he didn't get to say good bye like we did; and even though he said that he always wanted to get rid of him I knew that deep down he loved him.

We had a friend go to the vet to get him cremated the next day when we were going on our family trip. I petted his still body and took a lock of his hair, now in a plastic vile-like container. His ashes remain in my parents room so that they won't be disturbed. But his memory lives on.

I still cry for him at night when I think of him. He really was my little baby, and as the saying goes, "You don't know how much you really have until it's gone." Truer words were never said. It still seems like he'll come home one day. But now he's in a better place, reunited with his first friend who's life he made longer by a year or two, frolicking past the pearly gates, where I will see them one day and we can all have a happy reunion.

I love you Bearbears, and I hope you lived a good life with us.

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