Six years ago today The Husband and I got our first pet together.
I remember driving home with her, she sat on The Husband’s lap while I drove and they’ve been pretty inseparable ever since. The first thing we did when we got home was give her a bath, and she wasn’t very pleased. Then we took her to my mother’s house, and his parents house, and from there on out she was by our sides. She’s been on vacations with us, to family parties with us – we bring her with us anywhere we can take her.
During the past year I started calling her my little angel (even though, at 70 lbs., she’s not so “little”). She laid with me the last night, she sat by me stoically while I cried in the aftermath. Never leaving me, just sitting solid as a rock, sometimes staring right in my eyes as if she was trying to send me a message (even if I’m sure at some moments the message was for me to stop wailing and disrupting her quiet time of staring out the window.). At times when I’d lay in bed I’d cling to her like she was my life raft, and sometimes I felt like she was. She gave me a reason to get out of bed – even if it was just to let her outside to the bathroom or to feed her. I’d take her for walks while trying to process everything. She’d lick the tears and sweat off my face, sniff me to make sure I was okay. I don’t know what I would have done without her.
I tell The Husband that I love her more than I love most people, save for my family. At this point in my life I’d choose her company over a lot of other people’s company. If that makes me anti-social, or a hermit, so be it!
I hug her and kiss her every day and tell her I love her. I take pictures and videos because I never want to forget her. I wonder all the time if she knows how much we love her. I think that she does.