I will never forget the day my family gained another member, the sweetest little dog I have ever seen. I had always wanted a puppy and you were a dream come true. I hardly remember a time in my life when you weren’t present. We were young together, played together, and spent more time together than most siblings. You were so eager to please and tried so hard to be a good dog. Your intelligence amazed me, and I know every word I ever spoke to you, you understood. I never thought of you as my pet, but as a family member, companion, and best friend.
When we got your baby sister, you accepted her immediately. The look on your face conveyed the same feeling I felt when I first laid eyes on you: pure and complete love. Even when Lily was rude to you or got all of the attention, I believe that you never took it personally. You just wanted her to be happy, wanted to watch her grow up and experience all of the things you had enjoyed in your life. I have never met a dog who loved animals as much as you did, and I think loving animals was the main thing we had in common. You played with baby birds, tried to get cats to like you, gently sniffed baby bunnies when a typical dog would have hurt them, and loved every dog you ever encountered right away. The love that I have for you is only matched in intensity by the love that you bestowed on everyone who had the honor of meeting you.
And then you got sick. I was so worried about you, scared that I was going to lose you. But you wouldn’t let that happen. You somehow let me know that something was seriously wrong, communicating without words that I needed to get help for you. I don’t believe that I figured out that you had Cushing’s; I believe that you whispered the idea into my mind when I took the time to listen. I can’t take any credit for your diagnosis, because I could never had thought of it had you not been human enough to tell me. Watching you stumble, not even able to walk down the block, and gradually getting sicker was worse than if the disease had struck me instead. By a miracle and the strength of your love, you began to get better when a weaker person would have laid down and given up. For two years you fought the disease, making it possible for us to go fishing at Dimock Lake, look at Christmas lights, go for stroller rides, take weekend drives to Armour, and finally spend one last Christmas together.
Another quality of yours that I admired was your love for life. I have never met a dog or even a human with such a love for natural beauty. At the lake, you loved looking at everything, wading in the water even when it was ice cold. You walked beside me in the summer to look at the garden, and when you sniffed the flowers, it was not with the nose of a dog. You fully experienced the garden with the eyes and soul of a human. When you lost your sight, I don’t know who felt more devastated, you or me. You lived so much of your life through your eyes, watching me and your other two sisters grow up. You kept on eye on Lily and I’m sure you tried to keep her safe and out of trouble. I swear sometimes you even watched tv with me, understanding it just as well as I could.
When you went blind, my heart broke. You had been getting so much better. Just the month before, we spent one last glorious day at the lake, and you were even brave enough to try following Lily on the rocks. You didn’t want to leave the park that day, and I wish we all could have stayed at that park forever and never let anything change. How could you go from playing in the park to wandering blindly, not knowing where I was? It seemed so unfair, so unbearably painful to know that this little dog who let us dress him in baby clothes and paint his nails was slipping away. You always felt like a little baby to me, and I remember a couple weeks before you passed sitting in mom’s chair, rocking you and watching your little eyes close with sleep. At that moment, I didn’t feel anything but love for you. I would give anything just to hold you like that once again. But now God is holding you in heaven. Your eyesight is restored, your stubby legs can once again run. When you passed, I picture you arriving in a heaven that is a beautiful lake surrounded by all of the animals and plants you loved. I can hear your excited shriek when you found out were at a lake, see you running down the rocks to wade in the water. Although I feel hollow, like my heart has been ripped out, I also feel relief. When you were here, I felt sick to my stomach knowing that you were probably sick to yours as well. Now that you are healthy and happy, that feeling has left my stomach as I am sure it has left yours.
When my phone rang Saturday morning, I knew right away that you were gone. I feel like you and I are so closely linked that I could sense it before Mom even told me. I felt shock that made my whole body weak, but at the same time we both knew this was coming. Seeing your face, I knew you were happier now than you had been in months. All pain had left your face, replaced by the content look I had seen when you were exhausted from a trip to the lake. Indeed, you were exhausted from the life that you had here on earth. I still feel heartbroken, like I will never feel truly happy again, but I know you do not want this. You want me to go on, enjoy the things you enjoyed, and spend time with the people that you dearly loved. I know you are still with me, watching over me, and you always hated when people were sad. You could always sense when I was upset or ill before anyone else could, and I know you are empathizing with me even right now. I know that you had to go; your little body was worn out from illness and age. But it was also worn out in a good way: from all of the walks, rides, and many other things you got to experience in your life. When I met you, I felt like I had known you forever. Now that you are gone, it feels like we didn’t have enough time. But our time together will never be over, because I can feel your spirit everywhere I go and see you in everything I see. I can no longer see your physical form, but that is not all you were. You were so much more than a small, furry body. You were, and still are, a soul too big to be contained in any shell.
Also, I know that I will get to see you again. I know you will not forget me, because you will be watching me always. I also know that you were not afraid of death. You are an old soul, mature enough to know that it was time. You hung around because you loved life and you loved your family. You stayed here for us, for me, because you knew I needed you. But I’m sure you also knew that I would never be ready; I am not as spiritually mature as I believe that you are. You didn’t want me to have to witness your death because you knew that I couldn’t handle it. I think your guardian angel came to you many times over the past few weeks, but you told God to wait. And when you were good and ready, you slipped away. I feel better knowing that your death was not painful; you laid your little head down in the little bed you loved so much, crossed your little feet, and went to sleep.
As a puppy, you easily learned every trick we ever tried to teach you. But the truth is that you taught me more than I could ever teach you. You taught me to be patient, to tolerate all people and animals alike. You taught me that life is beautiful, so slow down and cherish the details. The way you faced your illness, never giving up, taking it one day at a time, and eventually having the strength to know that it was time to let go was an inspiration to me. The love that I have for you was matched only by your love for all of life. I never saw you look at anyone with jealousy; instead, you were happy when something good happened to them and sympathetic when they were down. You enjoyed the simple things in life: a ride in the car, a raw hot dog from the fridge, to sit on your mommy’s lap in the evening watching tv. I could never list all of the things you taught me, because they are so numerous. The lessons you taught me I will never forget, although I am not sure I will ever be able to live up to your good example. Although you are a dog, you were the most caring and inspirational person I have ever met. I’m sure you know that we all miss you in a way that I have never quite experienced before. Your final lesson to me is a lesson in loss and letting go.
It is with a bittersweet smile that I remember the time you chewed the corner off my favorite Harry Potter book. How ironic that I still remember the following quote from this very book, which helps to give me hope and perspective:
“To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
-Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
And I know that your new adventure is just beginning, Howie.
Your sister,
| Howie |
| 8, Jan 2011 |
| Miranda |