Goodbye

I am usually a fairly open mourner and after we euthanized Moo, I cried loudly for two days. The kids watched as I crumpled in on myself, completely destroyed by the empty spaces in the house she used to occupy; decimated by the absence of her paws behind me, the memories of her as a puppy (when she was the youngest of our three), and the absence of her presence on daily walks. But there were kids to drop off and adults thing to attend to and work I had to complete without intermittently sobbing. And so, like all good adults, I stuffed the sadness somewhere deep and dark and private and have just been holding onto the grief. But I know it has to go somewhere and I know that burying her memory is the opposite of what she deserves.

In the days since she has been gone, I have reminisced about so many moments that need to be written down because they will fade as time passes. She deserves to be remembered because she was a true and loyal friend, a stalwart celebrator of life and consumer of the most disgusting half-composed organic material. If you were in her pack and on the list of people she adored, she was fiercely loyal. We shared nearly every week of her life--she came to us at six weeks--and we were her chosen people. 

Her pastimes included hefting logs three times her size around in her mouth, swimming like a dolphin (she was astoundingly fast) and bark yowling (it was a sound a bit like a dog bark and an airhorn combined). Her favorite activity as she aged was occupying whatever room her humans were in, lying close, and sprawling out on the sofa as near to us as possible. 

She grew to love our children, despite a rocky start. They fed her bones and she lounged on top of them on the couch and she had our routine absolutely memorized. She knew an insanely early morning meant I was off to work and she didn't get to come, knew kid drop off preceded a walk, and that my bed time meant it was time for her last outside visit before morning.

We introduced her to Bear in the winter of her life, what would turn out to be her last year with us. Initially she bemoaned and dreaded his company, but ultimately she accepted him and was instrumental in teaching him how to be a canine. He still seems a bit unmoored by her absence, a bit unsure of what a good canine should and would do. By the end, the evenings were long cuddle sessions between the three of us, them lying peacefully together without competition, envy, or animosity.

There are so many echoes of her everywhere--her shadow still lies in the morning sunshine as it cascades through our window (her favorite place to lay as I got ready), on the love seat in the living room where she contentedly watched the hustle and bustle of our lives, and in our bedtime rituals when she would follow me from room to room, saying goodbye to the kids.

She was, at one time, the youngest of our three dogs. She was a reminder of the life we lived before we had children and was by our side through three children, three different houses, and so many significant life stages. She was a quiet and faithful companion--painfully loyal and eager to please. She was a sensitive dog who would leave the room if Tim and I started fighting.

She loved us so, so deeply. And I hope she knew to the very depths of her marrow that we loved her, too. That we miss her. That she made existence on the planet Earth so much richer and beautiful than it would have been without her company.