One year ago, today, we lost our small dog boy to cancer. He was only ten, many years short of his typical natural life. Over this past year, I have not been able to stop thinking about him. He was my best buddy, and my confidant. I know you will laugh; how can a dog be a confidant to a person? Well, the part that he was not going to repeat, to anyone else, the things that I told him in private, is obvious. The part that may be confusing is how someone could even tell things to a dog, in private. But that can happen. And believe me, when it happens, and when you talk to your dog at those moments of despair, you might see in their eyes that they understand you. And that they are telling you, with their loving looks, that they are there for you. And that everything will be alright.
Munchkin was such a dog. He would talk to me with his eyes. He would sometimes even talk to us by making small noises, like someone is clearing their throat, to grab our attention to something he wanted; a treat; a piece of human food; or just to be held. And he had learned, on his own, to ring his putty bell when he wanted us to take him out for a walk. But the funny thing was that he would go to the bell, stand by it, and before ringing it with his little paws, he would raise his head and would look at us straight in the eyes, as if he was telling us: look I am about to ring the bell, save both of us from the trouble and just get up and take me out for a walk.
And when I took him out, usually along with his brother Tiny Jr, it was Munchkin who would decide which way we should go and where we should stop for him to go putty or just to sniff a plant or something. He was very stubborn, and wouldn’t budge if I wanted us to go in a different direction. He was the boss, and I didn’t mind that. In fact, I was responsible for making him to be that demanding; I used to let him do whatever he wanted to do during our hour-long walks when he was a puppy. So, he was so spoiled and would not take it if I wanted to force him to do something. I know this this does not sound very good, but if you love a being as much as I did him, you wouldn’t mind it.
He had other things too, that made him quite special, and different from other dogs, at least the other four that we have had so far. He would sit in our backyard, gazing at the pool water or the fountains behind it if they were on, for hours, in this is not an exaggeration. Would would jokingly, and lovingly of course, would say that he was a philosopher, contemplating the nature of water and its flow, and may be even the nature of life itself! Of course, these are the words and thoughts of a loving parent about their beloved dog, but you understand, I am sure.
Now Munchkin is gone. I thought it would be getting easier as time went by. But that hasn’t happened to me yet. I still think about him all the time. And if I am alone when those thoughts come to my mind, I may even burst into tears. I talk to him as if he is listening, and tell him how much I miss him. Those who have had dogs know that when they feel sick, they usually start eating grass, and that causes them to throw up after a while, making them start feeling better. During those last few days of his life, and when the cancer had advanced so much that he no longer had the energy to even walk a little bit, I would take him out, wrapped in his little red blanket, and then I would put him down on the grass in from of our house so that he could go putty. And he would sometime start eating grass. That would so break my hear. I would talk to him, and I would tell him: “Munchy, my boy, my baby, I am so so sorry, but this time the grass is not going to help!” The pictures of those days that I have in my mind still break my heart, so much so that I can actually feel the physical pain.
Nazee sometimes tells me that it was a mistake to bring dogs. And to get so attached to them. And to suffer so much when we lose them. I disagree. The best things in one’s life are the loving relationships they have, with their partner, with their parents and their family, with their friends, and, of course, with the innocent pets they might have in their lives. And the worst things are losing those relationships or those loved ones. You see, the best things and the worst things in life come together. You cannot have one without the other. If you don’t want the pain and suffering of the loss of a loved one, be it human or otherwise, you cannot have the joy, satisfaction, and comfort that they could bring to your life, either.
So, yes, I am suffering, beyond imagination. But I don’t regret it. I feel like a part of Munchkin is living in me, and a part of me is gone with him. I don’t know if there is an afterlife. But if there is one, I can’t wait to get there and hold my boy in my arms one more time, feel the warmth of his kisses on my face, look him in the eye, and tell him how empty I felt when he left, and that nothing, absolutely nothing, could fill the void he left behind in my heart.
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