I remember his first visit to our home.  He was small and reserved, but curious.  He had big brown eyes, a bushy fox tail and fur as soft as angora. During a trial walk, he started braying at the ground.  It was at that moment we knew he was the soulmate to our basset-beagle boy Ted (another BOB beagle formerly named Vincent).

A few weeks later, Vincent moved in (complete with almond treats supplied by foster dad, Guy). He became the classic second half of ‘the heir and the spare’, often looking to his older beagle-basset brother to be told what to do and how to do it. The two continued to track scents together while honking loudly, oblivious to the amusement of passersby, earning the nicknames “donkey and chicken”. 

We waited patiently with hope to meet the ‘real’ Vincent.  His pure ‘joie de vivre’ blossomed one day; ears flapping wildly up and down as he ran full speed chasing my daughter and her friends during a game of ultimate frisbee.  There he was!

Vincent thrived and bonded with us all, but mostly with Ted. Over the decade they were together, it was not unusual to find the two crammed into one little dog bed.  You rarely ever found one without the other.

In 2017, Vincent was diagnosed with megaesophagus.  This condition disabled his ability to keep food down and enabled the regurgitated food to travel into his lungs, causing what is known as aspiration pneumonia.  Left untreated, the pneumonia is fatal.  With no known cure, the prognosis with daily feeding intervention was about one year.  We prepared ourselves and set out to make the most of the next twelve months, fully aware that his next bout of pneumonia could very well be his last.  Thank goodness Vincent loved food enough to get him into his feeding box three times a day and tolerate sitting in an upright position for gravity to help him out. During his mandatory 30 minutes, Vincent expected and demanded quality time with his humans.  No cellphone use permitted.  Less than full engagement was met with protesting howls. All was forgiven if singing, meaningful conversations and head rubs happened. 

Sadly, the box was no guarantee of a pneumonia-free existence.  There was no telling how long he would go between episodes. Each time the pneumonia flattened him, and the first twenty-four hours were always a battle.  To everyone’s amazement, he somehow managed to pull through and thrive.   After countless recoveries, we started calling him the “Comeback Kid”.  He even soldiered through a broken foot and the loss of his beloved Ted due to cancer in May 2018. In the end, it was kidney failure at the age of 14 and a half, that would be his “Waterloo”.  He quietly stopped eating and let us know it was time for him to go on October 15, 2020. 

Vinnie Porkchop, we promised you we would say goodbye on your terms and be with you until your last breath.  We will always love you dearly. Living years longer than your prognosis was truly a gift that we cherished every day.  You were never a burden.  You were a blessing.  We will miss you dearly; your silly bark, your ability to love, your beautiful face, your soft ears.  We hope you felt the love that your humans had for you.   We pray that you are with Ted, ears flopping, noses snorting, honking away eating whatever you want.

Your empty feeding box sits in the dining room, as we are not quite ready to let it go.  It reminds us of your inspiring resilience, your never-failing determination and your strength.  Your name is from the Latin word vincere, meaning to conquer.  You were more than just ‘the spare’.  You were the warrior, and despite your many battles, you conquered it all, Vincent.   Until we meet again.

Much love,

Your furever family

 And when all hope had gone away

On that rainy, rainy day
We said goodbye; the hardest thing to do.
But we could have told you, Vincent,
This world was always meant