There should be sirens, whistles, cymbals crashing, the sky
should burn and the moon shed tears. But there is just a big empty hole in my
heart where my dog used to live.
I have been preparing for his sister’s death since she was
six weeks old. Every vet that listens to her heart turns away from me
grim-faced.
They give her three years. But today when I returned home from a short
shopping
trip it was Captain my big Golden Retriever male lying in the back yard.
Tongue
blue, heart not beating. I could hear myself screaming, “No, no, not
him. Not him!”. My husband and I totally frantic, not knowing what to
do. His body still
warm, we called and shook him, tried to check to see if he had swallowed
or
choked on something. Carried him to the car. Drove to the nearest vet
only to
be told what we knew. He was dead. He was three.
I wanted to blame the neighbor. Maybe he poisoned him. Or
the breeder for a bad breeding. Myself for having gone to the store, not being
there, not knowing more dog first aid. Just about anything that would give some
rhyme or reason, an excuse to be furious. But the truth is – it doesn’t matter.
He is gone. One of the joys in my life is gone. No matter how much my brain
tries to explain it, rationalize it, understand it - my heart knows nothing will
make this better. In time I will learn not to look for his big head pushing up
my hand for a petting. Or his little happy dance when it is time to be fed. Or
his running back to check on me when we are hiking. In time the pain will be
less but today, in my world, the sky is burning and the moon is shedding tears.
