good boy

I miss you.

I'm glad I was home, and not still in Chicago.  I'm glad I got to sit with you and scratch your ears.

I still can't really believe you're not around.  I still feel like I'll walk in the door and there you'll be, your ridiculous, adorable stub of a tail wagging visibly.  Like if I sit on the floor, you'll try to crawl into my lap, even though you're really too big to be a lap dog.

I want to throw plastic bottles around the yard for you to chase - I even want to hear you crunching and squeaking them to pieces.  I have no idea why you liked them so much; you were such a loveable weirdo, and I think that's what I miss most.

The worst part is that I wasn't prepared to say goodbye to you.  I mean, no one ever is.  But you were supposed to have another good ten years.  In that last week, I wasn't even seriously worried, because I just figured you'd get better.  That's how it works.  You were young and otherwise healthy.  You'd get better and live a long happy life.  I'd get to see if your one still-floppy ear would ever stiffen up.  I'd get to see if you ever lost your soft puppy fur.

But I guess that's not how it always works.

Part of me thinks it's maybe a little bit silly to get so worked up and heartbroken over a dog.  That's the part that tries to be sensible and cynical.  The stupid part.

Because you weren't just a dog.  Well, okay, you were - but you were one hell of a dog.  And you deserve every tear and honest, un-self-censored pang of grief.

And no dog is "just" a dog, because dogs are loyalty and love made flesh.  No matter what terrible things humanity has done or ever will do, we can point to dogs and say, "Well, at least we made one good and beautiful thing."

You were no exception.  I miss the way you'd sit on my feet, or crawl under Nick's legs when we were sitting on the couch, because you wanted to be as close to us as you possibly could.

We didn't do a good job training you - you never did learn to stop pulling on the leash - but you always wanted to please.  It's a silly thing, but you even ate nicely.  You didn't gobble your kibbles, and you always waited for me to put a treat in your bowl before you tried eating it.  You'd leave the kitchen when we told you to stop hunting for scraps while we were cooking.  You always came when we called.  You didn't like baths or being brushed, but you stood still and let us do it anyway.

I can still see you lying on the cool tiles by the front door, belly up and legs splayed in the air, the very picture of relaxation.  It broke my heart in those last minutes, saying goodbye, when you scooted off the blankets at the vet's office so you could lie on the smooth linoleum.  It was so much harder saying goodbye knowing you were still there.

If someone said I could go back and relive the two years with you, but that it would always end this way, I would do it.  Because even knowing you for too short a time is worth all the heartache and pain I feel now.

I'm so glad I got to meet you.

I wish we'd had longer.  I don't think I'll ever stop missing you.

You were a good dog.  The best.