My dogs were a strong support system for me growing up. Each dog had their own unique personality that left a big paw print on my heart. Their ability to leave me smiling from ear to ear, even on my bad days, is something I will cherish always.
There's four total: Kahu, the Australian Heeler, Scrappy, the Pit Bull, Dolce, the Boxer, and Vlad, the Mastiff Mix.
Kahu was the first dog we ever brought home; my mom said I was two years old then. Out of the four, he was also the first to leave. During my freshman year of high school, we found out that Kahu had stomach cancer. I keep his ashes in my room with a silk black bow laid across his urn, occasionally telling him about my day and how much I miss him.
The wash house still smells like you, mixed with the scent of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Scrappy misses you too, I think him most of all. You were his best friend and playmate, even if you stole his food when he was a puppy. Do you remember the big bone and birthday card I got you when I was little? How many times I opened the wash-house door, your favorite place, for you to lay in? I hope you found a place like that and think of us from time to time, recollecting the memories we shared.
It was around the time of the 2009 Super Bowl XLVII that we brought Dolce home from my mom's friend's house. She was our third treasure, and the second to see what came after our life on earth. It was Black Friday when we had rushed her to the animal hospital, the day after Thanksgiving.
She was panting at an alarming rate and hadn't been eating for at least two days. I remember when we got there, the vet didn't even know how she was alive. She was running a fever, and unresponsive to injections that were supposed to regulate her breathing. My parents left work early and raced to the hospital after we told them the news, my dad in his suit and tie and my mom in her navy blue scrubs.
We were all crammed in the examination room just to be with Dolce, that's when we were given our options, which, honestly, weren't very promising. Ultimately, we decided it best to put her down, and we never found out what she was suffering from.
I remember being with her on the floor of the examination room at the animal hospital, watching the heart monitor illuminate erratic rhythms, not really knowing that we'd be going home without her that night. How could I ever thank her for being there for us throughout everything our family had gone through? How could I ever thank her for greeting us when we came home, sitting next to us on the couch, licking the tears from our faces, making us happy?
What killed me most was the injection, hearing her whimper before it took its course, and then finally, her chest ceasing to move.
Did you whimper because you weren't ready?
I would give anything to bring you home one more time. The house was so lonely after you left. It was so hard coming home the next day and not having you welcome me, sniffing my jeans and wiggling your body. You'd been through so much with our family. It was hard on all of us, but Mom took it the worst. The night we came home from the animal hospital, she fell asleep on your bed. No one could take the place of you. Thank you for taking care of us, and for letting us take care of you.
Scrappy was the second dog we brought home, Kahu's brother and playmate. My dad called him an escape artist because he always found a way to run away. He's getting old, so I suppose maybe he's become content with what's beyond our blue fenced home.
The curiosity has dissipated.
About a week ago, I had a talk with my dad over the phone. He told me that my aunt had visited the island and stayed at his house. "Having her over was nice, but when she first came over and saw Scrappy, she had said the same thing as everyone else, that maybe it was time. Sure, he has the look of an old dog, but he still smiles every day and eats his food.
I know full well he eats his food because I clean up his poop!" He laughed over the phone, but then his voice got serious. "I know maybe it's coming close, but I just don't want to rob him of his time if he isn't ready yet.". That part really resonated with me. How do we know when it's time to let our animals go? What happens if we take them too soon? If they weren't ready? I think about this most with Dolce. She left us so suddenly, at least it felt sudden because no one saw it coming. I don't want to have to say goodbye if it's not time, but maybe that's just our human tendency to be selfish and hold on to something far longer than we need to.
Nonetheless, I think with the presence of these magnificent animals in my life, if they've taught me anything, it's to not take my time with the people and animals I love for granted. I repeat this lesson most with the remaining time I have left with Scrappy, and our puppy Vlad. I make sure that each moment with them is something that I want them to remember. My dear pups, you were not just good dogs. No, you were some of the best.
