BOXER BYTES

by Stephanie Abraham

Passage

Gus is gone. Ch Trefoil's Caruso, age 9 ½, lived a princely life, always the thoughtful gentleman, always sweet, always wagging and delighted to be alive. He was all the things that endear the breed to us--exemplifying every reason we love these boxers for as long as we can and cherish each day as they grow older.

I looked back--angry passengers were crowding behind us, every one impatient to be off and about his business. More out of frustration than anything else, I looked down at Gus and said, aloud, "Gus, there's just no way out unless you crawl under these cars." Gus looked at me with those beautiful gentle eyes, then slowly lowered himself to the floor and efficiently made his way under and around the cars that remained between us and terra firma. The lady behind us in the pink hat was shocked at his achievement, but Gus and I just walked nonchalantly down the ramp, as though we did this every day. He finished his championship a few weeks later, at a large and prestigious specialty show, but I'm sure that Gus was much more proud of his accomplishment on the ferry than of any number of purple ribbons in his collection.

Gus was not the most beautiful boxer we ever owned, though I will never forget the thrill of his first major, owner-handled, under sunny skies at the huge Bucks County show before ABC. And if truth be told, he was not the most prepotent sire, though he did pass along many fine qualities, not the least of which was his thoughtful intelligence. But he loved us, and we gladly returned the favor. I had hoped he might go on for years--his mother is still with us at 13. Until Thanksgiving Day, I had no reason to think he was ill in any way. But the Fates decreed otherwise, and the ultrasound revealed a heart muscle tumor--probably malignant, obviously deadly.

I don't remember all the things I murmured to him as he peacefully left this world, but I'll bet Gussie does. He was that sort of dog.

Ch Trefoil's Caruso