My Aunt’s dog had a surprise litter in 2001 (you can imagine how thrilled she was), which left her with eight lively pups that were tiny, oh so adorable, and a bit of a handful.
Just a bit.
She followed all the right steps to raise the eight buggers to be healthy, and week by week, she watched them develop and grow into themselves more every day. Eight weeks had gone by, and the small, fragile babes that once couldn’t see and could fit in the palm of her hand were now able to jump, and run, and jump some more… all over the house.
*Cue my Aunt reaching out to my parents in hopes of them agreeing to adopt one.*
Now, I didn’t know about this at the time. I was just five years old (soon to be six, as I would remind everyone), and as a crazed animal-loving almost six year old who once cried over wanting a bunny, my parents decided to leave me out of the decision making process, which, looking back on it, was probably a smart move.
One day in mid April, the doorbell rang, and to my utmost surprise, my parents told me to go answer it. I suppose I was slightly suspicious as to why I should answer the door, because for any other occasion, having a small child answer a door might not be the best idea. I went along with it, knowing my parents were up to something. Standing in the doorway was my Aunt, whom I was very excited to see. But, my attention wasn’t on her once my eyes drifted to what she was carrying in her hands: not one, but two puppies.
Both were beautiful. One was black and white, and the other was a mix of all colors you can think of; he was mostly strawberry blonde, with some white patches, and some brown. We named the black and white one, Benjamin, and the blonde one was Einstein.
They were so small, and vulnerable. And they were scared. All I remember thinking is that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them, and that I needed to make them feel safe with me. I have a very nurturing, protective nature, and although I had already decided these puppies were mine, I asked the question: “Are we keeping them?” To which my parents replied, with a smile, “Yes.”
You can imagine how happy that day was for me, seeing my Aunt walk through my front door with two puppies that were here to stay… two puppies that were mine. I had always wanted a pet, and now I had two. It seems so long ago, but it’s one of those days that you remember. I think it was one of the happiest days of my entire life.
It’s something that stays with you, no matter how many years have passed. To put it simply, my dogs and I became inseparable. The love we had for each other was established the day we met each other, and from there it flourished into something that is boundless. Anyone who says that dogs can’t love, has never had a dog.
They grew fast, and before I knew it, they were not puppies anymore. I followed suit, growing with them each year, as I watched them grow. We had a partnership, the three of us. It was a special relationship that couldn’t be defined by any other relationship I had in my life; it was an unbreakable bond, unlike any other.
They knew me better than most people did, and they were always there for me when I needed them to be. They knew when I was upset, or angry, or happy. They just knew it all. And I like to think I knew them, too. Dogs have personalities, and my two definitely were characters, to say the least. It’s something special to watch a living thing go through the stages of life, and I am grateful that I got the opportunity to do that with my dogs. Unfortunately, it comes with a price.
They saw me mature from a six-year-old to a twenty-one-year-old, and as my adult life was just beginning, theirs was coming to an end. I had to watch them grow old— see them deteriorate, and fade. They lost control of their bodies, and their minds. They wouldn’t be able to make it outside to use the bathroom anymore. They began to lose weight, a lot of weight. Their legs just wouldn’t work right. Their energy became nothing, and eventually, they struggled to get up altogether. I found myself praying more than I ever have for them to stay with me, even though I knew that they couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine life without them in it, because they were always there.
We had to take them to the vet. We knew what was coming when we brought them there. We tried to leave them at home as long as we could, always hoping that one day they’d start improving, but they didn’t. They just didn’t.
In December of 2015, Einstein was put to rest. In May of 2016, his brother Benjamin joined him. Watching the life leave them on that cold metal table will haunt me for the rest of my life, but it was one of the best decisions I made to be in the room with them. I wasn’t going to abandon them. I never had, and I wasn’t going to start when they needed me most. I find comfort in knowing that I was the last thing they saw here, and I hope they felt safe. I thought back to when I first got them, many years ago, and how I promised myself I’d always be there to protect them.
We buried them in our backyard, one near the other so they could be together. I still haven’t gone up there to visit them, because it’s too difficult. But I will, one day. Something broke in me with each of their deaths, whether it be a piece of my heart or soul, I can’t tell you, but something broke and it won’t be mended.
Time doesn’t heal all things, and it certainly hasn’t healed this emotional wound, but it gets easier. I miss them everyday and find myself waiting for them to be around the corner any day now. I cry, a lot. And I’ve learned that this is healthy, and it’s okay. I fill the hole in my heart with memories from the fifteen years they gave me, and treasure the lessons I learned from their love and loyalty, and hope that one day, I will see them again.
To all dog owners: you are your dog’s entire life, so give them a great one. Don’t waste time yelling at them for accidents, or being annoyed that they made a hole in the couch cushion. Just give them everything and more. They deserve it.
