Oscar the Mighty Boxer, 2000-2010

In which I say goodbye to my companion of ten years.

Oscar the Mighty Boxer passed away quietly in his sleep early Friday morning, April 16th, 2010. He was nine and half years old. When I returned home from the office Thursday evening he met me at the door, his usual exuberant self, full of life and needing food. Later that evening he took a spill. We thought his somewhat lame leg had tripped him up (sometimes happens, often with hilarious results) but now I’m fairly sure it was a heart attack that led to a blood clot.

After the spill I thought he had sprained his leg again and that was the reason for his sullen demeanor the rest of the evening. But I knew something was wrong and the poor guy was hurting. He kept me company in my office until 12:30am or so. I helped him outside to go do his business, then helped him back in. He stood in the garage looking up at me and I knew there was no way he was going to take his usual hike over Gracie (our Great Dane) to get to his bed. So I got it for him, placed it at his feet, and said good night. I intended to call the vet first thing in the morning to have the leg looked at (again).

I awoke and got into my usual routine. I started my coffee on the stove and headed out to the garage to see my dogs. I stepped through the door, took one look at Oscar, and knew he had passed away. Oscar was stretched out across his blue mat, teeth in his typical “dream boxer smile”. Gracie looked up at me with big eyes, not quite knowing what to do. I let her out.

The rest of the morning was a blur of the necessary phone calls to take care of the body and then introducing the reality of death to my daughter Sophia in a tangible way. It was a sad, but redemptive day. My daily companion of nearly ten years was gone.

Later that morning as I drove to meet my family at the Play Gym, I “saw” my dog one last time. He came bounding up next to my car, tongue hanging out in its wild way, slobber streaming behind him as he sped passed me in full gallop. He dashed passed the car and disappeared into the sky without looking back. Yup. That’s my dog.

I don’t pretend for a moment to explain this experience. Was it spiritual? Was it a trick of the mind to help me deal with things? Some of A, some of B? I just know that it was a tangible experience that gave me a big smile and helped me send Oscar on his way. This is not an invitation for people to explain it. I’m perfectly content with this mystery being what it is.

There are literally hundreds of stories I could tell about Oscar but I only feel the need to tell the first one.

I first met Oscar at a Pet Smart in San Bernardino, California. It was an adoption weekend and I’d been looking for a dog, a boxer specifically, for about two months. I had researched dogs thoroughly. By this I mean I had scoured the net for dog breed information, taken quizzes that supposedly match a person to the best breed, purchased three books along with smattering of magazines, and talked to numerous dog owners. I tend to be thorough.

The research led me to three breeds, the Great Dane, the Mastiff, and the Boxer. All three breeds are known to be loyal, but not overtly aggressive. They are all family friendly and can entertain themselves. I was single, without a steady job, and pretty much making rent by the skin of my teeth every month. But I needed a dog. I decided on the boxer because it was the smallest of three and therefore the breed that was most likely to be allowed in a rental.

Oscar was in a small, beige crate, under the table where the adoption volunteer sat. I almost missed him, but I heard a growl and looked under the table. There he was. I inquired about adopting him and was informed that he wasn’t up for adoption until next week. They were just getting him used to the noise.

Next week I showed up as soon as the doors opened and put in an application to adopt him. The lady was not keen on giving him to me. She told me “single, male guys in their late teens, early twenties make the worst dog owners. We get the most reports of abuse and returns from that. So, I’ll take your application but its unlikely you’ll get him. We prefer that dogs, especially a pure bred, go to families.”

Exchanges like this don’t phase me. Dealing with obstacles is something I’ve done since I was old enough to talk, and therefore negotiate. Instead of challenging Linda (I don’t remember her actual name), I simply asked about the puppy’s story. This caught Linda off guard. She was geared up for an argument and instead got a conversation.

The puppy under the desk, which I already thought of as my dog, had been donated by a vet along with two brothers and a sister. The other pups had already been adopted, only this one remained. The vet had the pups because the original owners had been evicted from their home and instead of taking the pups to the pound, donated them to the vet and the vet donated them to Pet Smart. I thanked Linda for her time, thanked her for accepting the application despite her reservations, and said I’d be back next week.

Six days proved to be enough time to gather three letters of recommendation, a tactic I knew would catch Linda off guard.

Saturday I strode back into Pet Smart, found Linda, smiled big, and handed over recommendation letters vouching for my character and ability to care for my possessions. They were written by a youth paster, an older adult mentor, and my Mom. The boxer was still available, Linda was still skeptical, and I still wasn’t phased. Again I roped Linda into a conversation, this time about herself. How long had she been helping Pet Smart? What pets did she own? What advice did she give to new dog owners? I thanked her for her time and said I’d be back the following week.

Next Saturday Linda said hello to me first. Before I could say anything or potentially hand her more letters, she said that if she didn’t receive any better applications that day, I could adopt the dog. I can still remember trying to contain my excitement.

True to her word Linda called me on Wednesday and by Friday “my dog” had become “Oscar” (named after my Grandfather Torkelson) and we were off to the park for an afternoon of running, wrestling, sleeping, and generally having a splendid first day.

For the next ten years Oscar was with me almost constantly. He helped me survive two hard breakups, three job transitions, finding the woman of my dreams, moving to Nebraska, two daughters, a Great Dane (his biggest challenge), and finally a move to Bend, Oregon. That doesn’t really begin to describe it though.

Oscar saw me become a man. Not only that, he was a significant part of the process. He had a warrior heart, vigilant, gracious, unwavering in the face of evil, and unwilling to settle for anything. If it could be obtained through determination and effort, he obtained it. No fence, chain, collar, harness, yard, dog, or obstacle could hold him when he set his will against it. He always served me faithfully, but I was never his master. Never.

Oscar my old friend, nothing in life could hold you. I have no reason to believe death will either. Thank you for everything. Spending ten years with you changed me and I am the better for it.