This is the first morning without my beloved dog.
She came to us about 10 years ago, when we were looking for a companion for our other dog. We chose her from Siberian Husky Rescue, which had picked her up from a pound on the Eastern Suburbs. The only thing we knew of her was that she was an escape artist - assumedly from her initial home, twice from the husky rescue people, and once, just after we got here. Luckily for us, her idea of running away was to run up to the front door of each house she passed, so I was able to catch up with her.
She was very overweight when we got her – so much so, that she had difficulty standing. She would sit at any opportunity. She had jaws of steel, capable of working their way through anything but the thickest part of gigantic raw bones. Despite being so overweight, she was incredibly difficult to walk, as it was like putting a miniature tank on the end of a leash. She would put her head down, and she would just GO.
She was initially afraid of men, however this changed very quickly, as our family and friends embraced her.
She was stubborn, demanding, loved people, loved pats, loved walks, and loved eating. She would perform each night when she decided it was time for her to be fed. She would demand pats and cuddles, often at the most inopportune times – numerous cups of coffee have been spilled over the years, as she hooked her head under our elbows. She would lick our toes, or come up and give my husband a bath on the back of his head. She came to us a cat chaser – luckily she never had to opportunity to catch one, but there were times where she launched herself, and I was dragged, ineffectually flailing along at the end of the leash.She was a tolerant dog – she liked children, and would let them do anything they wanted (within our supervision, of course). She also stoically put up with the many visits to the vet we made over the years, and indeed, became a favourite of one, after an extended stay. This time, however, after all of these years, it was time to go. She became very ill, very quickly. We don’t know how old she was, but based on our other dog, she would be 14 or 15. It really hurts that no matter how much you do, or how much you will it, you simply can’t stop time, or extend life forever.
Our experience is by no means unique – it is one that many, many people will have in their lifetimes. This doesn’t make the pain and grief any less, for anyone involved. When you have loved something daily for 10 years, and received love back, it becomes a part of you.
In the end, we believe she had a much better life than the one she came from, and the memories of the years and years of love both ways are what will help to eventually ease our grief. She died in our arms. Now it is time for us to adjust to life without her.
Vale Cordy, we miss you so.
