My Guardian Dog

I miss my dog. I miss her more than I let on as I go about my daily agenda, and the tiniest little things make me think about her. Yesterday, when setting out my tv tray, I paused before setting down my food, thinking my milk was still in the kitchen, so I would have to go back to get it. I was still used to thinking that I had to be careful where I left my food, thinking Charlie might come from the next room, jump up, and eat my supper before I had a chance to shout, "No!" When I get home from school, it takes me a moment to remember, no, I don't have to put the dog right out. There aren't any elderly puppy messes to pick up in the house. There's no blonde-turning-white hair on my favorite black sweater or scattered throughout the house. There's no clatter of the metal tags on her collar or clipping of her nails on the wooden floors as she walks through the house. My first dog, the only dog I've ever had, is gone.

Of course, I know it was her time. She was in pain. Remembering that last car ride with her is painful and brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. I remember petting down her fur in a desperate attempt to bring some comfort to the warm, loving creature who had brought me so much comfort throughout the years. I wanted to give back to her some of what she'd given me, but the truth was there in her small, weak frame. Charlie wasn't going to be with me much longer.

I think that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Standing there in that small room, watching my dog lay on the metal table in front of me and waiting for the veterinarian to come back into the room will always be a memory hidden inside of my mind. But I have to focus on all the good times. I have to remember how she looked bounding through the snow with childlike joy even through her older years. I always called her my puppy. I don't believe that Charlie ever really knew her true age, and if she did, she never let it hold her back. She will always be a puppy at heart 

She's looking over me now. Although I can't see her or hold her to me or pet her head when life gets hard, I can still talk to her in my prayers and dreams. I can still think of her when I go out for a walk or refill her old water bowl for Boo. It's okay to miss her. It's okay for me to find myself in tears at times when I realize that she's gone. It just means that I loved her, and I did. I still do, and I always will.