The Loss of a Dog is a Real Loss

THEN

December 30, 2021, the eve of the final night of the year, another day, another second

A blog post titled “What Not to Say Regarding a Loss People Tell You is No Big Deal” was fresh on my keyboard and in my heart. I was writing, processing, and mourning. I was ready to write. Figured it was time.

Until I wasn’t ready at all.

While the loss of a dog is a real loss, I couldn’t share. Rather than see the draft status of my post as a challenge, I closed my laptop.

I was going to write, but…

PRESENT DAY

August 12, 2022, a night I again host Finish the Sentence Friday – the first in a long time 

The post on loss I wanted to write but never published remains in my drafts. On this night, I plan to write. Too many moments, months, and seconds have passed. Or, possibly, not enough of any of them. 

I miss writing, although saying so feels too simple. Maybe it’s enough to say that tonight, I feel ready to write. I want to write about this loss and know I need to.

Sometimes, for a second? I forget she’s gone. I walk into the house, and grief slashes and slays me all the way through.

Writing is like shedding tears. It hurts like hell, but it helps. 

THEN

September 16, 2018

On this day, we were delivering on our promise. The promise to get Tucker a dog once we started to consider moving back to Colorado and then went through with it.

He misses his friends, his school, and the view from the only bedroom window he’s known until now. I’d been hesitant to get another dog after Chief, who was so much more than a dog. I didn’t think another would ever be as perfect. A promise is a promise though, and there’s a lot to be said about a boy and his dog.

We’d been trying to find a rescue puppy for a while.

We met Nugget at an adoption fair on a warm fall day that felt more like summer.  We’d hung out with several older dogs, and some seemed like they might be a good fit. Until they didn’t. We’d given up for the day and were on our way out.

While leaving, we noticed three puppies wriggling in the grass. College students played with them in a circle. They were smiling, admiring puppy paws, ears, and warmth. From the looks of it, I figured each puppy had been adopted and the people playing on the grass were waiting on paperwork.

Bummed that today’s mission wasn’t successful, we sat down anyway. Who doesn’t have time to stop and admire a puppy stagger at an adoption event on a random Saturday afternoon?

So, we sat. Asked the circle which human was waiting on which puppy, prepared to wish them years of joy.

“None of us are adopting,” one of the girls said. “We’re just playing with them. Our next class is over there,” she said, pointing to a campus building.

And then we knew.

The adoption event volunteer came over as the girls stood to go to class. Robert asked about the puppy’s stories. Three sister puppies came from Mexico. Their breed was Australian Cattle Dog and Sneaky Unknown Daddy Dog Breed.

“Which one is the calmest?” Robert asked.

“That one,” she said, pointing to the one Tucker was holding.

She was ours and Tucker named her Nugget. I asked if maybe her name came from a video game character or something, but no.

“Just like a chicken nugget,” he said. “Except cuter.”

Whatever day, in the pandemic; when school was online 

“I just need my dog,” Tucker said. Online learning wasn’t going well. That’s putting it mildly.

Snuggling Nugget was Tucker’s therapy during online learning and often life. I think that Nugget snuggles held us all together here, but were especially important for Tucker.

November 21, 2021, REFLECTING

I once read dogs have no sense of time. It makes sense, especially given my super-scientific proof that whether I’m gone for eight hours or 30 minutes, each dog I’ve been lucky enough to love has been excited to see me.

November 21, 2021, four days before Thanksgiving, a million years into the pandemic

Maybe it’s true that dogs have no sense of time. But I do, and tonight, I can only think of Nugget. She’s at home in her crate. We have human-only places to be, and she’s recovering from her third treatment. 

I can’t wait to go home, and ask her whether she killed a dinosaur.

November 23, 2021, two days before Thanksgiving, a million worries and wonders and pride – our girl Nugget is a fighter

“What do you think Nugget’s thinking now?” Tucker asks. We look at her, warming our feet on the couch after playing ball until the sun became pink and then orange and then a shade of light that only she could see or hear. 

While people say dogs have no sense of time, Nugget knows the difference between moments alone and ones spent playing and snuggling with her humans. Certainly, nighttimes spent with a young boy and his dreams are cozier than the seconds or hours she waits for her two-legged family members to return home. Or the ones when she’s at that other place, getting a treatment that makes her feel better or worse. We only know that she seems better once it’s been completed. And so we continue.

October 31, 2021, Halloween night

She’s a little wobbly, but good, and so proud to be able to carry a dinosaur on her back. 

Random days in October and November 2021, when frustration, tears, vet appointments, and hope mingle together, each floating randomly to the surface like the letters in alphabet soup

Nugget wasn’t eating. It was obvious she didn’t feel well, and I figured we were looking at surgery for swallowing too many pieces of a rope toy. I knew more than one person whose dog had been through it, and it seemed obvious.

Except, it wasn’t a problem where she ate a rope toy, and needed surgery. Once, I thought that surgery was bad, but this time, it’d be welcome.

I just want her to feel good. To be her occasionally annoying self, waiting on me for fetch, or whatever. Her googly eyes and expectant ears drew me to the yard pretty much every time.

November 26, 2021, the night after Thanksgiving

Nugget’s fetching, and playing, and not at all wobbly. She’s eating and happy, and we joked about our Million Dollar dog. Her treatments are worth it. We see her as she’s supposed to be, and she, in this moment, forgets to see herself at all. 

Maybe that’s the most important lesson of all that we can learn from a dog.

To forget to see ourselves at all.

 

November 27, 2021, two days after Thanksgiving, a Saturday morning

Last night, Nugget was doing well. 

This morning, we had to say goodbye. 

She was 3-½ years old. It kills me that she looked afraid. That she looked at me like I knew what to do when I had no idea. 

Now, tonight, right here, back in the moment of Finish the Sentence Friday, er… almost. After all, I was going to write, but…

I miss Nugget. She was uniquely herself. She was sweet and would have chewed a dude’s face off if they messed with Tucker. She was the best dog in the world. 

Now, tonight, right here, back in the moment of Finish the Sentence Friday TAKE 2

We recall the minutes and hours that shape us. They are so powerful and unique that words can not describe them. While these moments feel like too much, and too powerful to write about, it seems like we should try. 

After all, it’s important to remember, even when it hurts.

I was going to write, but, I didn’t. 

Until I did. 

 

 

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday Post. Issues with the Link company resolved. Please link up here. Love to you all.
-Kristi