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Lost our 3y/o baby boy


L.I.T

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Our youngest, Bucky, has been missing since last Tuesday. He and his brother Lotto had gone outside around 11am that morning. Lotto came home that afternoon with some scratches on his belly, and a couple of small puncture marks on his rump. Bucky never came home at all. We did find his collar a day later, but no sign of what could have happened.  Predator? Neighbor's dog? A fall from one of the cliffs around our house? Bucky was always the daredevil, living on the edge. 

In all honesty, we have been flying by the seat of our pants with this little guy since before he was even ours. The day he was to be flown to us, he ate some poisonous flowers, and had to be delayed. When he got here, he ate every piece of toy he could, and promptly had to have his stomach and intestine opened up to have string removed. Then he ate an unknown pill and required an emergency visit to the local pet ER. 

Next was a trip outside where he did something to his knee, so we had to take him to the specialty surgeon to have his CCL rebuilt  (equivalent of ACL). Later, when it didn't improve, we thought it might have even been his hip. 

Bucky was always playful, with a very high pain threshold, and never learned the 'limits' of play fighting, so we spent a year with behavior specialists trying to get him and Lotto to coexist peacefully (the irony was that we got him, a half-brother, so Lotto would have a companion as he got older). All of that, and we ended up shoving them in a room together for a week at which point Lotto finally realized Bucky did not mean to kill him. Even still, they continued to tussle over who would get to sleep by my legs (as Lotto would not share).  Finally, there was a fight where the neighbor's cat attacked Bucky - except the neighbor's cat was 9lbs and Buck-a-doo was 20lbs.  Bucky defended himself only, but still, we were worried we would have to move. 

With Bucky, you just always had to take it day by day. 

All of this is moot now. The neighbor cat won't have any interloper, our cats will be more at peace, not always looking to see if Bucky will be attacking/surprising them on the fly. We won't have to worry about moving, nor chasing him to free the chipmunks he caught, etc. In truth, without him, our lives will be more peaceful. 

But they will also be more empty, as Bucky was the class clown, chasing lights on the wall, making love to smelly feet, vibrating his tail and hollering through the house, burying food, paddling in the toilet water (if you accidentally left the seat up), climbing every ladder he could get his paws on, or playing hide and seek/leap frog with Lotto.... He was always doing the unexpected, and forever in search of 'fun'. He was not the cuddle-bunny, but always had a head bump ready, and would sometimes jump and wrap his paws around you to remind you that he was there, and wanted your love. The thing is... He had a way of forcing himself into your heart - you just couldn' t help but to love him because he was just genuine Bucky. 

Given a choice, I would never have traded him for peace. Losing all the life he brought to this house is as much a shock as his sudden death. It feels like a puzzle where the missing piece ruins the whole dynamic of the game. 

I keep looking outside like I will find something - inspiration, comfort, perspective. And all I end up seeing is that he's not there. 

I know time will heal, and we will be OK. But the loss of a life so young, and one so full of joy, fun, and mischief... It reaps me to the core. I don't want to have that sliver of hope. I don't want to fall into yet another depression. I don't want to be the sensitive person that I am, seeing his life everywhere in this house, and knowing that it is extinguished. And yet, there will be peace? What irony is wrought from this situation. 

So I keep asking the good Lord, what am I to learn? Because all I can think of right now is that a hungry animal apparently needed to live more than my little Bucky. And my heart weeps. 

I've written down every memory I have of him - and notes of how much he was loved, etc.  And still, putting those memories down on paper has done nothing to keep me from seeing him in everything I do. My husband wants to wait for  total of 3 weeks before grieving. But I can't do that. It's like something in my heart knew Bucky would not be coming home that day - or ever. And now his absence haunts me every moment of every day. 

My only solace is that if a coyote or bobcat did get him, he would have passed doing his 2 favorite things - being outside, and fighting like a madman. Like I said, he lived life on the edge - the more exhilarating the better. 

Thanks for listening to my story - it is like many of yours, the unknown gnawing at our hearts. Turning every time we hear a sound, to see if maybe they came home. Imagining every horrid possibility of what could have happened. All while still going through a grieving process that is littered with slivers of tortuous hope. 

My sympathies to everyone on this board, because if you feel the same way I do, you know that no words, no amount of hugs, no suppositions will make this pain go away. And time seems the cruelest of all as we count the days that our furbabies have been gone. Yet we have to go on. We will go on. But we will Grieve first. I love you, Buck-a-doodle 

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My beautiful boy was run over yesturday we found him already passed I'm devastated can't stop the tears he was so special to us my kids are heartbroken so am i , i hope u find the closure u need although it's going to be hard they are our baby's i know how your feeling x

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Oh, Joanne, I'm so very very sorry.  He is adorable, and I know first hand how you and your kids must miss him.  It's so hard to put into words the weight which we feel on our souls when our babies die.  They are not just pets, but part of our families, and the loss is beyond devastating.  Perhaps even moreso because they are so innocent.  Or, maybe in my Bucky's case, so innocently BAD!  They have their own personalities, their own quirks, and are an integral part of our family dynamic...When they are gone, all of that changes, and we feel we are left out in the ocean without knowing how to swim.  We must survive, but it's so hard to move forward.

I realized this morning that my memory of my little guy is fading.  I can no longer remember the intricacies of his face.  I can't 'feel' his nose in my hand as he nuzzled me the last time we saw him.  I can't really 'see' anymore, his tail vibrating as he ran out the door.  I can remember, but they are fuzzy - like ink that has been doused with water.  I suppose that means I'm healing, but I'm also angry at myself because I don't want to forget those moments.  I don't WANT to forget how soft his fur was, or what his wet nose felt like.  I want him back more than anything.

And yet my mind still slowly erases the details.

I hope that you are finding some comfort.  I hope that you, too are healing.  But if the comfort is fleeting, or if you find yourself not wanting to heal, I completely understand that as well.  It's such a double edged sword.  I wonder if I'm cut out to have a pet - or why I even bother when I know their death will so violently shake me.  Yet I love them with all my heart, and we provide each other with companionship, comfort, and joyful memories.  And then I think that I would not trade my time (even as short as it was) with Bucky for the world.  For my grief is only a symbol of how much I loved him.  I'm sure it is the same for your family.

I'm so sorry for your loss, and I'm even more sorry that those few words cannot even remotely express how I really feel inside.  I'm sorry just isn't enough.  In the words of Stephen King, "The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. "

My heart is with you and your family.

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L.I.T.,

I am so sorry you lost your Bucky.  I lost my Miss Mocha June 3rd and still catch myself looking for her.  It's hard when you don't have a definitive answer as to what became of them but one thing I know, she never would have run away and she never ventured beyond the neighbor's.  I'm pretty sure it was a bobcat or other predator.  It's heartbreaking to think of and yet I know they grab them from behind, unawares, and they'd undoubtedly go into shock which would protect them largely from what was to come.  Living without her is quite another matter, I still miss her, as I'm sure you can relate.  Your Bucky sounds like quite the cat!  He reminds me of my dog, Arlie, I've had many "adventures" with him, and wouldn't trade him for the world.  It is so hard saying goodbye, I prefer to say, "I'll see you again".

This is for you and Joanne:

 

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Joanne, I am so sorry for your loss too.  We were blessed to have them but the tears fall as we lose them.  (((hugs)))

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1 hour ago, L.I.T said:

Oh, Joanne, I'm so very very sorry.  He is adorable, and I know first hand how you and your kids must miss him.  It's so hard to put into words the weight which we feel on our souls when our babies die.  They are not just pets, but part of our families, and the loss is beyond devastating.  Perhaps even moreso because they are so innocent.  Or, maybe in my Bucky's case, so innocently BAD!  They have their own personalities, their own quirks, and are an integral part of our family dynamic...When they are gone, all of that changes, and we feel we are left out in the ocean without knowing how to swim.  We must survive, but it's so hard to move forward.

I realized this morning that my memory of my little guy is fading.  I can no longer remember the intricacies of his face.  I can't 'feel' his nose in my hand as he nuzzled me the last time we saw him.  I can't really 'see' anymore, his tail vibrating as he ran out the door.  I can remember, but they are fuzzy - like ink that has been doused with water.  I suppose that means I'm healing, but I'm also angry at myself because I don't want to forget those moments.  I don't WANT to forget how soft his fur was, or what his wet nose felt like.  I want him back more than anything.

And yet my mind still slowly erases the details.

I hope that you are finding some comfort.  I hope that you, too are healing.  But if the comfort is fleeting, or if you find yourself not wanting to heal, I completely understand that as well.  It's such a double edged sword.  I wonder if I'm cut out to have a pet - or why I even bother when I know their death will so violently shake me.  Yet I love them with all my heart, and we provide each other with companionship, comfort, and joyful memories.  And then I think that I would not trade my time (even as short as it was) with Bucky for the world.  For my grief is only a symbol of how much I loved him.  I'm sure it is the same for your family.

I'm so sorry for your loss, and I'm even more sorry that those few words cannot even remotely express how I really feel inside.  I'm sorry just isn't enough.  In the words of Stephen King, "The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. "

My heart is with you and your family.

 

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Thanku so much it's still very raw I'm sure it will get easier thanks for your kind words really means so much x

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2 hours ago, L.I.T said:

Oh, Joanne, I'm so very very sorry.  He is adorable, and I know first hand how you and your kids must miss him.  It's so hard to put into words the weight which we feel on our souls when our babies die.  They are not just pets, but part of our families, and the loss is beyond devastating.  Perhaps even moreso because they are so innocent.  Or, maybe in my Bucky's case, so innocently BAD!  They have their own personalities, their own quirks, and are an integral part of our family dynamic...When they are gone, all of that changes, and we feel we are left out in the ocean without knowing how to swim.  We must survive, but it's so hard to move forward.

I realized this morning that my memory of my little guy is fading.  I can no longer remember the intricacies of his face.  I can't 'feel' his nose in my hand as he nuzzled me the last time we saw him.  I can't really 'see' anymore, his tail vibrating as he ran out the door.  I can remember, but they are fuzzy - like ink that has been doused with water.  I suppose that means I'm healing, but I'm also angry at myself because I don't want to forget those moments.  I don't WANT to forget how soft his fur was, or what his wet nose felt like.  I want him back more than anything.

And yet my mind still slowly erases the details.

I hope that you are finding some comfort.  I hope that you, too are healing.  But if the comfort is fleeting, or if you find yourself not wanting to heal, I completely understand that as well.  It's such a double edged sword.  I wonder if I'm cut out to have a pet - or why I even bother when I know their death will so violently shake me.  Yet I love them with all my heart, and we provide each other with companionship, comfort, and joyful memories.  And then I think that I would not trade my time (even as short as it was) with Bucky for the world.  For my grief is only a symbol of how much I loved him.  I'm sure it is the same for your family.

I'm so sorry for your loss, and I'm even more sorry that those few words cannot even remotely express how I really feel inside.  I'm sorry just isn't enough.  In the words of Stephen King, "The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. "

My heart is with you and your family.

Thanku so much for your kind heart felt words xxx

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1 hour ago, KayC said:

Joanne, I am so sorry for your loss too.  We were blessed to have them but the tears fall as we lose them.  (((hugs)))

Thanku true words xx

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KayC,

I'm so terribly sorry about Miss Mocha.  You are so correct when you say it is hard when we don't have a definitive answer. I find myself clinging to every 'miracle story' that friends tell in their efforts to provide comfort.  And yet, all it accomplishes is to impart a tiny bit of hope to which I cling to for dear life... Only to lose my grip again (later) when I realize that he is not returning.

I agree completely that they were likely not truly aware of their end.  And although small, at least it brings some modicum of comfort. Something that each of us needs to temper the stabbing grief we feel. 

Thank you for your kind words. Perhaps Bucky and Miss Mocha found each other over the rainbow bridge. He would have loved nothing more than to have a feline companion who just wanted to play! 

I read this quotation a long while back. For some reason, it grabbed my heart. 

"I think the hardest part about losing someone isn't having to say goodbye, but rather learning to live without them.  Always trying to fill the void, the emptiness that is left inside your heart when they go." - sd 

 Rip our sweet fur-babies. Know that you are loved cherished, and missed with reckless abandon. We wait only for the day to be reunited again. Xoxoxo 

 

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This isn't the best picture, but it's my Miss Mocha.  She had blue eyes and a black heart shaped nose and the tiniest sweetest little voice, she was so feminine and dainty.
She always got along with others and she'd be the perfect one to greet your Bucky!
 

Miss Mocha.jpg

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On 4/12/2017 at 10:42 AM, KayC said:

This isn't the best picture, but it's my Miss Mocha.  She had blue eyes and a black heart shaped nose and the tiniest sweetest little voice, she was so feminine and dainty.
She always got along with others and she'd be the perfect one to greet your Bucky!
 

Miss Mocha.jpg

What a beautiful cat. I'm so sorry. It's almost worse not knowing. I can't imagine the hell you went through. You're so much support to others on here, despite your own grief. You will be richly blessed!

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Thank you, I miss her so much!  I don't know how old she was, she was grown and abandoned to the woods when she made her abode with me, I had her 10 1/2 years.  She'd already had kittens and been spayed before I got her and she must have grown up around a dog because she was very tolerant of them and loved my Lucky (Whippet).  I will never find another like her, my little girl.

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