TW: This post talks about depression, suicide, and loss.
I started this blog in 2019 as a way to share Caesar and my adventures. Over the years, we have gone so many places together and created an unbreakable bond—much of that I have shared here. When I created this blog, I just wanted a place to archive our life together. It didn’t matter to me if anyone read it, but I was always happy to share. Through my work at the Van Wert Times Bulletin and my social media, people have come to know Caesar. His portrait is even hung at the Van Wert County Hospital, so those who don’t even know him know him.
In February, Caesar will be 12 years and 8 months old. He’s at the point where I know he will not make it past that. I am in the final weeks of life with my best friend. I know if I don’t write this blog now, I probably won’t have the emotional capacity to write another major one until he’s long gone.
So, I want to share the story of why Caesar came into my life, how we met, and the impact he’s had.
The Story…
Many people don’t know this, but I had a dog before Caesar. It was the winter of 2010. I had moved out of my parent’s house earlier that year but was living with my grandma. I was in my senior year of high school and had been begging my then-boyfriend for a dog. He found one on Craig’s List, and we picked him up—a 5-month-old chocolate lab I named Castiel (Supernatural, obviously).
I didn’t even have that dog for a month before I was forced to rehome him—something I still think about today and the reason I never talk about it (it’s embarrassing to me as an avid dog lover). I still sometimes regret that decision until I realize that if it weren’t for rehoming Cas, I wouldn’t have met Caesar.
Fast forward to August 2011. I was living on my own in an apartment, and life wasn’t going as I had planned. I was just out of high school, making minimum wage ($7.45 at the time), had a car that barely ran, couldn’t afford anything (not even food most days), and was in an extremely toxic relationship that left me beyond depressed. There were so many times when I considered how much easier it would be to die. The days I spent in my apartment all alone with my thoughts were agonizing. I longed for something living to give me purpose because, at the time, I could not find that within myself.
I got my wish on August 11, 2011—my 19th birthday. My on-and-off boyfriend had found more puppies on Craig’s List. We drove to an Amish farm outside of Fort Wayne where 8-week-old black and brown puppies were abundant.
I picked one up, and he was sooooo cute, but then another charged at me, and I thought, “He looks like a Rottweiler!” I had Rotties growing up, and looking at him invoked nostalgia.
That’s exactly how Caesar was chosen. He was then named after the summer’s biggest movie—the Planet of the Apes remake.
On nights I wanted to die, Caesar kept me alive. I would lay on the floor and cry because the pain in my heart was so great. He would lay beside me, nuzzle his face into my neck, and I would weep into his fur. On days the pain became beyond bearable, I remember telling myself, “I can’t die; who would take care of Caesar?”
It took me years, but Caesar pulled me out of that darkness. In my 20s, he was there as I learned how to navigate complicated relationships, disappointments, starting over, and how to come back stronger.
Caesar helped me go through it and grow through it. The people we were when we first met is not who we are at the end of Ceasar’s life.
My first several years with Caesar were spent partying and being selfish. Near the end of my 20s, I transitioned into woodsy old lady mode and spent nearly all of my time with him hiking and doing things that were good for the body and soul.
Caesar was there for me when I needed him most—that’s how he came to me: in my most desperate time. And now, I’ll be there for him when he needs me most.
Dogs have a way of changing us for the better. They force us to care about something other than ourselves. They can pull us out of darkness because they are pure and good and full of love. Caesar has been my everything. My heart is having such a hard time recognizing my friend has gotten old.
Most of his days are spent sleeping. His dementia has gotten to the point where I’m certain he’s not enjoying life anymore. He doesn’t wag his tail. He doesn’t sniff when he goes outside. He doesn’t respond when I say his name. He has a tough time getting up on his own. His appetite (which has never been good) is a source of stress for me at every meal. When he does get up, he gets stuck in corners. It’s to the point where I do not leave him at home alone. I know this is not the life he wants, and I’ve had to make the dreaded call. We will spend the last of our time together cherishing every memory we’ve created—and there have been a great many.
We have had a beautiful life together. I don’t regret a single moment. I’m glad he got me through Jeter’s death. I’m glad he got to know Gatsby. I’m glad he came into my life and gave me purpose. I’m glad for every second we’ve spent together, and I’ll be glad for all the remaining ones we have left.
Hug your dogs tight. Their time is so limited.
For what it’s worth,
It was worth all the while
It’s something unpredictable
But in the end it’s right
I hope you had the time of your life