megdanielle

You were my soul dog. From the moment I met you, I knew. While Fred assessed the different temperaments in the litter, focusing on the well behaved and attentive, I spotted you in the flowerbeds. You were fully unconcerned with your remaining brothers and sisters. You could not have cared less about us. I was enamored, watching you thrash through petals.

Fred tried to catch my attention, standing up from a docile white pup he had deemed acceptable, but in the same way you had no interest in us, I turned fully from his suggestion.

“I want that one.” I said, pointing across the yard. Your head bobbed up and down, peaking out through disheveled blooms.

“Are you sure?” Fred asked.

Winston, you know how much Fred loved you. We used to joke about whose dog you were (an obvious joke, because you were always mine). But that first day, he didn’t know the way that I did that you were destined to be such a deeply ingrained member of our family.

You were my first dog but you were so much more than a dog.

I have cried so much over the past several days. The tears of goodbye, of “not yet,” and of “why now?” don’t even skim the surface.

I lost it when I found one of the hairs from your undercoat stuck in my nail the morning after you were taken from our home. I sobbed when Fred took the dog aspirin from the kitchen counter and placed it in the cupboard where we hold your treats. I had just purchased it on Thursday. By Friday, you refused to take it, even as you cried.

I cried as I wrapped up in the blanket you laid on in your favorite spot on the couch, desperately trying to commit your smell to memory.

I didn’t see it, Win. I didn’t want to see it.

Fred knew. He’s always been such a good caretaker. After your surgery in February, he knew you wouldn’t see another birthday. He saw how your weight dropped. He saw how your legs failed. While he broached the subject with me, I bought runners for our floors and little rubber bands for your nails that you didn’t wear for a full sixty seconds before you bit them off.

When he gently asked if I noticed how much you’d been falling lately, I bristled and I snapped and I shut down the conversation.

I didn’t want to see it, but I see it now. You were so tired.

After the doctor wrapped up your sweet, frail body and took you away, we sat down as a family. We looked through our pictures and videos of you. We laughed at your silly antics and I remembered you as a puppy, tearing up flowerbeds. We talked about how much you loved to swim, how high you could leap to catch a frisbee, and how you loved to jump on our beds just to rough up the covers.

We talked about how loyal you were and how well you protected our babies. We remembered when you were well enough to greet us at the door and to drop that soggy, slobbery ball on our laps again and again.

Thank you so much, Winnie. You filled our home with so much love and laughter. When Fred traveled, I slept better with you by my side. When our babies were born, you watched everyone who interacted with them. You vetted friends and family and then you loved them all deeply, tail wagging in greeting when they came over. You were a friend to so many. You were one of a kind. And you were mine.

You were my soul dog, Winston. Thank you for spending your life with me. I will love you through mine.