The Hardest Goodbyes: To Our Beautiful Boy, Cado.

It took months to write about Ivan after we said goodbye. And here I am, 24 hours later, willing my fingers to do my best friend justice to ease the ache and pain of a house that suddenly feels shuttered without him. 

On Thursday November 12th, we lost our best friend. 

Cado was never the dog in the limelight. When we started the blog 7 years ago, it felt like everyone in DC knew Ivan and Miah and followed their story here and on social media. When Miah took a bad turn, we memorialized her passing with raising money, hosting giveaways, and celebrating a life well lived and a battle untimely fought. 

Ivan? Nothing to say but I felt that I buried my child the day I laid him personally in the ground. Hardest day of my entire life. That summer I fell into a deep and harrowing depression, and grieved to the point where I could not bring myself to truly speak of his passing. Few people ever find a true friend like the one I had in Ivan, and I swore that I would never give of my heart and soul to another creature like I did to him, and to a similar degree, Miah. 

And then this poor old pitt – this deaf, clumsy, arthritic, anxious, rescue – came from the heavens when we least expected it. 

Scott said it best today – Cado came to us when we needed him the most. It was only after he came into our lives that we realized how much he needed us. 

This blog has taken a back seat in this small corner of WNY. But if it hadn’t, you would have read for the last two years how Cado captured our hearts. How the night we first met him and had him home I realized the “man hearing” his foster referred to was a deafness brought on by a lifetime of food allergies. His stomach was always upset, and when we tried to limit his diet to rice and chicken, we only realized that he was allergic to chicken. All poultry. Beef. The list goes on. 

You would have known that Cado attached himself to me in ways that I had never experienced before. Every step I made, no matter how deep of a sleep he was in and active his dreams, he would jump up to follow. He would wait at the bottom of the stairs, too steep for his poor body to climb, and whine for me until I returned. 

You would have laughed at the thought of a 6’5 man and a 95lb dog in a dilapidated queen bed, edging me off until nights became more comfortable on the couch. But alas – I would find myself on the couch for two minutes before Cado would jump on top of me to keep me warm for the rest of the night. Edged off there, too, but I didn’t care. 

You would have probably seen us walking daily on the canal or at Boxwood Cemetery. And when he lost steam and the hills became too great, just weave about the graves by Glenwood. You’d see him perk at every dog that walked by, nuzzle every child who asked for a quick pet, or linger when we visit his favorite gravestones. 

You would have loved to say hello to him on our walks about town or our holiday parties, but would have instantly felt rejected because Cado loved only two people, and two people only. Everyone else was a passing smell of minor interest, and so he would keep on walking. 

 

You would have learned that Cado was the most stubborn dog in the world. If you leaned into him, he leaned away. Pull him in for a photo? FAT CHANCE. You had to learn to live playing the opposite game on the daily if you wanted any chance of him complying. 

You would have also witnessed about a 1000 photos of Cado lounging and snoozing comfortably on Fox Cross. Not a single piece of furniture hasn’t been re-shaped thanks to that perfect 95 pounds of pitbull. And when we left, Cado would stand guard at the windows in the parlor, waiting to see the car pull back in safely. Of course, he would have torn apart all of the couches in the interim, but no harm done. 

You would have found his avoCADO leashes and collars amusing, his namesake, of course even though he wandered about the farm freely and safely. We would have told you how much he hated the heat, hated the snow, and abhorred the rain. A true fair weather friend, was he. 

And your heart surely would have melted when we posted video of Cado loving on Wren at Christmas and licking her this fall as she spent her days with him. Crawling under him, exploring his skin tags as he tried to sleep. He would lift an eyelid, see that it was just a beautiful little girl, and back to sleep he would go. 

You would have know that I tried to prepare myself for this. That I tried my best to convince myself that grief is relative, and rescuing an old dog would ensure that the 12 years I had with Ivan could not to the same damage if I only had a few.

And here I am, telling you how wrong I was. 

With Cado I learned that every dog, every person, every experience has the ability to shape us no matter how long the season. Cado affected me so deeply in his short two years with us than I ever could have hoped. His needs became greater than our own, our sign language was a love language of our own making. He could only understand my leaving the house if I blew him kisses from the door – otherwise, he would pace for hours. I guess you could say that we were mutually dependent on each other for the security that the other one would always be there. I’d blow him kisses goodbye, and he would greet me with kisses hello. 

And today I returned home after school to a vacant doorway. No beautiful brindle awaiting my arrival.No hello kisses, jump off the porch, excitement over the upcoming walk. The house is so profoundly quiet tonight. So big, intimidating, lonely.  I’m a dog mom – that’s who I am. Who I’ve always wanted  to be. And tonight, I feel the emptiness after burying the last of her kids. 

This year has brought so much tragedy. Losing a pet is such a minor detail to most in the face of what has been endured this year. But family is family and loss is loss, and I guess no matter what loss you are feeling right now, you are owed the permission to feel the weight of it.  

Cado never heard me tell him I loved him, even though I told him a hundred times each day. And when I said goodbye to him and whispered I loved him, I know he didn’t hear it. But I’m positive he felt it. 

To the most beautiful boy who deserved the world, we miss and love you. May your playtime be filled with legs that work, ears that hear, and all the chicken you can eat. Tell Ivan and Miah that Mom and Dad said hello.