Saying goodbye to a critical care team member

My support team lost a critical member overnight. He wasn't a cheerleader, wasn't terribly energetic and couldn't do much in the way of helping me through treatments and the like but he was there probably more than most anyone and he'll be missed terribly. Our dog, Bungo, died last night after being (of all things) gored by a deer in our backyard.

We were cleaning up after dinner when two very, sharp and pained yelps came from the backyard. Marla went outside to look as a large, young-looking and antlered buck paraded across our backyard. Bungo had taken refuge under our porch. Marla called to Bungo and he came out limping and not moving very well. The light from her flashlight revealed a gouge on his shoulder and we thought that maybe he had received that cut and perhaps a kick to explain the limp, in a confrontation with the animal.

We put Bungo into his doggie bed and I drove him to the Animal Hospital where I learned that the gouge on his shoulder was not the most serious of his wounds. He had also been gored in the abdomen. The vets said Bungo was in shock and worked to stablize him so that they could perform exploratory surgery to see the true extent of the damage. Around 11:00 we learned that Bungo's vital organs had not been hit, it seemed he would recover, and we went to bed perhaps a little worried about the recovery process for a dog his age with this sort of trauma. We got another call around 3:00 informing us that Bungo never came out of the shock and anesthesia from the surgery and that he had passed away. Bungo was 13 and was starting took look and act his age. When I learned of the wound to his abdomen I wondered if or how his little beagle-body could take such punishment. I suppose it couldn't.

Bungo was a master of lying around the house, in tune most with the comings and goings of sunbeams through windows and where to find crumbs of food on the floor. But he brought so much to my recovery by simply being my daily companion as I recuperated at home. Most of the time his reward was a pat on the head or a scratch under the chin and I have to assume that was enough for him. No matter where I went in the house he was there too. Following my trips to Hopkins he was always there at the front door (albeit laying in his doggy bed, not prancing around like he was 3 again) waiting for me to return. He was simply determined to be there for me--and he was, in a way and to a degree that is not possible for people with lives and families to achieve. It sounds somewhat melodramatic to write and read but there it is.

Clearly, our family is sad as a result. Bungo was my wedding present to Marla and he's been there for everything. This includes our recent battle with cancer. While I have stressed that my family continue to do the things that normal wives, sons, daughters do in order to maintain some sembalance of normalcy, Bungo did just the same. His job was to keep me company and he did just that while overcoming stiff legs and failing eyesight to navigate our split-level house--all in a simple effort to be where I was. How can anyone replace such a loyal and devoted companion?