7 years...

  Today is Valentine's Day. Is there a phrase to convey contempt of a day that you really don't like? Like for Christmas is Bah Humbug, but what is there for V-Day? I don't really think of it often during the other 364 or 5 days of the year, but then when it gets here I feel sad and sometimes I can't remember why I feel sad. Then I remember. Yeah. Valentine's Day 2005 is a day that has gone down in infamy. That was the day that I gave the okay for my best friend to be put to sleep.

  Some of you can call me an idiot if you want to for loving a dog as much as a person, and I know my husband is one who has no sympathy for me, but I know that there are a few people out there who will understand what I'm saying and where I'm coming from and why I'm still on the verge of tears after 7 years. Do you know what it's like to be an only kid with nobody to play with all the time? Yes. My mom played with me every day, but there is also the fact that she was an adult and I was a kid and there are just somethings most adults can't do or don't think of doing and probably couldn't do believably even if they did think of trying. (Sorry mom.) Sometimes sitting in the grass with a shaggy black dog laying next to you while you read a Nancy Drew book is better than having a human friend.

  Do you know what it's like to have an actual tangible thing around who never holds a grudge even if you are mean to them? To know that they will forgive you every time and give you a kiss every time you ask them to forgive you, even if you don't deserve it? Do you know what it's like when they are gone and you can never again ask them to forgive you and get that wet sloppy kiss and look in their eyes and see that they really do love you so you actually CAN stop feeling bad about every single time you acted like a human?

  Do you know what it's like to have human friends, but they aren't always the most faithful creatures out there and so all through your childhood and teenage years and young adulthood you had the same furry friend there, always ready with a kiss and a snuggle when she knew you felt bad about something? Do you know what it's like to be hugged by a dog? No, she never came up and wrapped her arms around me, but when she knew I was sad she would come and sit as close and possible and lean on me. If I cried she would put one leg on my lap, look up and kiss me. Sometimes I really wished she wasn't quite so comforting, 'cause I just wanted to cry for a while longer and she did too good of a job cheering me up!

  She faithfully helped me corral my cats when they started their silly hissy fits that all good cats must have on a daily basis. She caught rabbits and mice -and squirrels; if they were dumb enough to try to escape by land. She killed a family of woodchucks. 10 of them. She got sprayed by a skunk when she tried to chase it off her lawn. Once. The next time we saw a skunk it was laying dead in the middle of her path around the perimeter of the yard with a broken neck and her tracks going around it's body. She didn't even have a whiff of skunk perfume on her.

  It was that very reason that I waited valiantly for her heart to stop beating that day 7 years ago. I didn't want her to feel bad for ME, when I was the one getting her killed, for Pete's sake! To this moment I remember going back out to the front of the vet clinic and sitting on a little bench in front of the building that was just big enough for me and her. There was nothing wrong with her except for the fact that she had absolutely no muscles left in her back joints and legs. She simply couldn't stand up anymore. I sat with her on my lap while she watched interestedly as people came driving in with their dogs. She sniffed noses with anybody who was polite enough to stop and say hello to her and through it all I rubbed her ears and tried not to cry. She watched a squirrel running around under a tree and I could see in the way she pricked her ears that she wanted to run and chase it but she knew she couldn't, so she was content to sit with me and just watch it.

  When they called us, I carried her in to a small room with dim lighting and a couch where they lay her head and shoulders down on my lap and gave her the shot to put her to sleep. As she gradually drifted off I hugged her and told her how much I loved her and what a good dog she was. They looked at me and told me she was sleeping and I heard her snoring and knew I'd never hear it again and they waited while I hugged her long and hard. When I nodded they gave her the first shot, but she was so old that the vein they used broke so they had to give her another in a different spot. After 90 long seconds, after listening to her heart 3 times the vet said, "She's gone." I said "Is she gone?" She nodded. I said, "Are you SURE?" She rubbed my hand and nodded again. "Can I cry now?" I asked, and when they said yes, I did.

  As some of you may know, her name was Sheba but her nickname was Beebs. Or Beeba. Or Doggy or Puppy depending on what came to mind first when you saw her that moment. Whatever we called her, I miss not being able to get a response anymore when I say the words, and it's been 7 years.