Hey Buddy,
I've written this out six times already, and every time, it just sounds like a goddamned story. You're not a story to tell. You're not an entry to write.
You're my dog. You were my dog. But more than that, you were my pal, my confidante, my shoulder to cry on, my constant companion, the one who met me at the door late at night, and someone who gave me unconditional love.
I hope I was able to do the same.
You've been in my life for twelve years, and now there's a hole where you used to be. All night, I've been looking towards the floor, to see if you're sleeping, and all night, I've been reminded that you're not there. That you won't be there anymore.
There are three of us here, but the house feels empty.
We had to remove your table from the kitchen. Mom threw away your dish. I left your leash at the vet's office. I took Mom out to dinner tonight, because I couldn't stomach the thought of having dinner without you sitting on my feet.
Everybody has been very nice to me today, and I've told them all that I'm okay; that this was necessary; that I was doing you a kindness. And I know that's true, but tonight, I don't feel any of that. All I feel is your absence, and I wish I'd turned the car around at the rotary so that I could have you here for just one more night.
That's cruel and selfish and not what a responsible pet owner does, but it's how I feel right now. I can't believe that I picked you up, put you into my car, and drove you to a place where someone stopped your heart. Humans are supposed to know what's best for you guys, but right now, alone in my chair without you at my feet, I feel like I've done something horribly wrong.
All night, I've been trying to come up with images of you from the past; the times you leapt up to the top of the picnic table, the times you and I stood on the bridge watching the train go by, the soft, cool spot you would dig for yourself every summer under the stairs to the deck. But every time I try that, I see you head resting in Mom's lap, feel your breath stop, feel Dr. K. squeeze my hand as everything came to a halt.
You were a dog, I know, but that's like saying that Dad was some guy, or Aunt Sue was a cancer patient. You meant so much to me, and I hope that I let you know that enough times to make you happy while you were with me. During the worst time in my life, you were there at every turn. You'd let me lie down next to you on the floor and scratch your head, you'd sit next to me if I so much as motioned towards you, you'd run around the house with me when I needed to let off some steam.
And you'd let me bury my face into your fur and cry as long as I wanted to. I don't have someone who'll let me do that now. I haven't cried alone for quite some time.
Thank you, Pups. Thank you for being unique; unlike any other dog I've ever met. Thank you for investigating noises in the night and wagging your tail when I'd come into a room and protecting the kids and hiding from the bees on the lawn and playing tug-of-war with Skottie and emptying the trash cans when you were pissed at us and begging for scraps and loving Susan like mad and hating the cat next door and jumping on Chris when he came into the house and escaping to go wherever it is you felt you needed to go whenever the opportunity arose.
Thank you for your beautiful, beautiful face.
Thank you for letting us know you for twelve years.
Thank you for loving me.
I'm sorry you had to go, and I hope you'll forgive me for having to make the decision to let you go.
Officially, I'm not supposed to believe in an afterlife, but I can't be a good atheist right now. Tonight, I want you to be somewhere cool and breezy, with miles and miles to run.
I love you. I miss you. I'll never know any other creature like you.
Thank you.
