A Death in the Family

I can't believe my "first dog" is gone.

When I was twenty-two, and I met her for the first time, I was a little afraid of her. She seemed so big, after all, even though she was smaller than either of her parents. Part Black Lab, part Doberman, she was incredibly devoted to her master and single-mindedly alive. When she was a puppy, she managed to get out of his car and follow him into the store, waiting for someone to go through the door to get in, then searching for each aisle until she found him, her tail wagging maniacally. She was so smart. She and the cats would work together to get bread off the top of the refrigerator. She would transfer some of her water from her bowl to get every last morsel of food from her dish. She was incredibly dainty about her feet, but would slurp water in large amounts and then come drooling over to you by way of thanks.

I hadn't had a dog growing up....She taught me the joys and responsibilities of having a companion dog. I didn't start out meaning to take care of her. But she lived in the same building and would mournfully paw at the door that connected our apartments to be let in whenever my friend was at class. Sometimes she'd find some way to push it on open, leaving our cats to hiss at each other while she joyfully padded through my house looking for fun. She won me over a little at a time.

When it came time for me to have my own dog, I wanted one just like her, only not quite as willful. Cerys has been all of that. When I first saw her at the pound, she did the same paw and whine--the first and only time, in fact. She seemed so like her, only in miniature. Many people assumed that they were sisters, even though her long Doberman nose looks nothing like Cerys' piggy one. But they were raised together and spent their days together. Even when we went on to move apart, we had sleepovers, or I would bring Cerys over for the day so they could be together. They always looked like two bookends on either end of the couch. Their personalities were very different, but they were so companionable--although she never let me forget that she was my "first dog".

She went down suddenly, and didn't suffer. We petted her and loved on her before her surgery, and when it was certain that there was nothing else to do, we put her to sleep without waking her back up, so it was a quiet and painless death. All the humans from the family were there with her, touching her even as she died, all of us crying and trying to comfort each other.

She had a wonderful, full life for fifteen years. The selfish thing would to have brought her back home even though it was getting harder for her to eat and walk. But instead we let her go, even though it was so hard, especially as she'd been almost bouncy right before the surgery.

I miss her. Life seems a little emptier, even though I know she'll live on in our hearts. Cerys didn't understand why I came home in tears and pulled her close--but she was a comfort. I hope we don't have to go through the same thing with her soon. It seems odd for Cerys to be without her, but it would be so much worse without either.

Goodbye, my dear. You were a wonderful protectoress and faithful companion. May your spirit run free and happy. You taught me so much about unconditional love. You will be missed so much. Requiescat in pace.