When I was a little girl, my parents took me to see Black Beauty at the drive-in. I cried for a full day after that movie. I have distinct memories of being so upset
when Black Beauty’s friend died (I think that horse’s name was maybe, Ginger?)
that I crawled into my mom’s lap and cried harder than I had ever cried
before. After that, my mom started
making the guys working in the video store fast forward the movies to make sure
that all the animals were still alive at the end of the film.
There’s a video on YouTube of a little pug watching the end
of that 80’s movie Homeward Bound, and
it is one of the most delightful and yet heart breaking things I’ve ever
seen.
A) Because I know exactly how that little dog feels as he
anxiously waits for Shadow to come over the ridge to find his family again.
B) Because I believe that little dog actually understands
what’s happening in the story, and
C) Because even though I only watched that movie one time
from start to finish, watching this 4 minute video of the last moments of the
movie are enough for me to be a blubbering mess of tears.
I just can’t do sad animal movies. Or books. Jesus, reading the end of Marley and Me I thought my heart would
stop I was crying so hard. You want to
kill off a person? Go right ahead. You
want to kill off or hurt an animal? Nope. No way. Not gonna watch or read it.
Not in a million years. I will google
search the end of movies now to prevent any surprises. I will read the last pages of a book before
reading the middle so I can stop myself from connecting with the dogs before
it’s too late.
Sometimes I look at my little dog and I want to cry because
I know she’s going to die. I started
reading this book called The Dog Stars and
there’s a section in it about how we have genetically altered dogs to be hypo-allergenic,
and changed their DNA to adjust their size or sound or style, but why haven’t
we been able to extend their life expectancy?
Having adopted a small dog, she’s probably going to live to be 15, 16 if
I’m lucky. But that just doesn’t feel long enough.
When my family had to put my childhood dog to sleep, she was
12 (a wonderfully sweet golden retriever who never asked for anything but
treats and more treats). My mom and dad and I were in the room when she took her
last breath. I remember thinking how
quick it all was. They carried her off
to get her IV put in (because at that time her hips weren’t working very well
so she had trouble walking on tile) and they wheeled her in on a cart. She looked like a lioness; so beautiful and
calm. The vet asked us if we were ready
and then injected the medicine. Maybe
one minute later she was gone. Our barking,
un-disciplined, love bucket of a dog was gone.
My mom and I went to Kohls afterward, and spent $300 on who
knows what. I carried around a throw pillow for a while, but I can’t remember
if we bought it. It’s been more than 10
years since and there are still moments when I go home that I open the door
from the garage and expect that sloppy kiss and “scratch me” full-body
lean. Those moments don’t last long,
maybe half a second or two, but a decade later and I still miss that dog. How in the hell will I manage losing my long
little odd-ball dog, that is only mine?
She has rescued me in every way and I am so grateful to have her.
And since this post was such a downer I will leave you with
this anecdote. My cousins’ had a
leader-dog puppy for one year when we were all in high school. They also had an adult golden retriever and
this puppy – whose name I think was Josie, terrorized their older dog. She was adorable, and ate everything. I have one very specific memory of being at
their house and both dogs were in the back yard. The older one was pooping and little Josie
followed right behind eating the poop as it came out. I have never been more delighted or disgusted
watching Nikki waddle/walk-poop while trying unsuccessfully to escape the
gaping jaws of the poop-eating puppy.
Dogs are the best.
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