Today while the thoughts of February resolutions, talking about this new semester at school, my calling in the ward, the upcoming nuptials of my roommate, and the "back on the horse" date that is happening this weekend are filling my head saying "pick me pick me! write about me". All I can think about is a tribute to a little someone I love.
It was a rough day, between dealing with some school drama that came right out of left field (which includes a complete perception change of one of my teachers) and the massive pile of clean laundry that needs to be folded and sheets that really need a wash, I found time to head down to Brigham City today. My little pup Sparky was being put down today. Now for those of you in the know, I have had Sparky for about 16 years. That's like 65 percent of my life. It's pretty much the longest commitment I've ever held up my end of.
Now Sparky was a pretty great dog. She was always there when I needed a good cuddle, always cute and soft and furry and fun. Even as she got older she still had that puppy twinkle in her eye, just not in her legs, or her back, or anywhere else. She had a sixth sense (like most dogs do) to come to me right when I needed her. If I was crying she's come lay on my bed and listen. If I was sick, she would lay in front of the couch and guard me. She was a really great dog.
It was extremely hard to watch her go today. The cry I cried today was different than any cry I've experienced. It was almost all tears, not a lot of nose blowing, not a lot of sound. The skin under my eyes is rubbed raw. I think that's a soul cry as opposed to a body cry. I mean, I was saying goodbye to one of my oldest and best friends in the whole world.
In a way, I understood how Harry Potter felt when he was burying Doby. I felt like the whole world should be sad that my little one was gone. But no, the world kept turning. The vet clinic we were at kept working I could hear laughter and banter with the girls up at the front desk through the door. It was both off putting and comforting at the same time.
But she was old (longer than most dogs live) and had a lot of dementia. She couldn't understand the right place to go to the bathroom, really wasn't eating or drinking, couldn't navigate doorways, and would just pace the house. It was her time to go and she's right now probably enjoying a good long run on legs that aren't sore and are plenty strong. Plus she's glowing in the adoration and love from the One who made her. There are plenty of people to throw things for her to fetch and plenty of chopped up hot dogs for her to eat (her favorite). I just know she'll be the first to say hello when I come to stay with her.
My little one and I posing for one last picture.