My whole body is numb with pain.
My dog, Fanciful, or Fanci, has been put to sleep. She was eight years old, and yesterday, July 15th, she got ran over. As some of you may know, or have read on this blog, my family and I live on a street I like to call The Lane, because, well, it is a lane... it looks like a big driveway. We all know each-other, and we all get along (for the most part-- I'll save that for another post).
One of our lovely neighbors-- he really is quite lovely, went down the street (in his car), and out darts my dog. Meanwhile, I am over at our neighbor's house feeding their dog.
My brave Princess came and told me about Fanci being ran over. I sprinted for the gate, saw that The Mother was on her hands and knees with a towel, and my dog. I stood there and sobbed. I was in shock, my dog was dying.
We all piled in the car and drove to our local-- and trusted vet, who, by the grace of God, let us in. The nurses led us to a room to sit down, while they took care of her.
They took x-rays, and there was nothing they could do, because she was so tiny. (She was a tea-cup poodle and weighed only eight pounds.)
We had to put her to sleep.
I sat there and sobbed and sobbed.
(I am crying just thinking about it.)
I told The Mother things that I wanted-- like the camera for instance, that was back at the house. The Father drove back to get the camera, and I asked him if he could please take pictures of the dog-- I needed something. I asked The Mother if she could please have the nurses cut some of her fur off, and while they put her to sleep, if I could please hold her.
The doctor was more caring than I had expected, she let me hold my precious dog before, as long as I wanted, and after, as long as I wanted.
After ten minutes of holding her (before she was put to sleep), I asked The Mother to get the doctor, it was time. I could feel it.
The doctor kindly explained what would happen, so that I would know. I held her the whole time, until the end. I stayed with her, and told her how much I had loved her-- even when I said to get back inside the house before I killed her-- and yes, I actually said this. I told her that I loved her with all my heart, and that she had left an imprint on my life.
That's all that mattered to me.
My dog taught me so many things, and blessed me in so many ways. She loved me when I was Mormon, when we changed churches, when I decided that I didn't believe in God, and when I got my First communion. She loved me when I yelled at her, she loved me even when I thought that no one else did. On Sundays, when I would (normally) clean my room, she would follow me around, all the time, just to see what I was doing. She was so curious, so full of life, I wanted to be like my dog. We had tricks, we would play with the broom, and we would dress her up. She was so cute.
When the doctor told me that she had passed, my mom left the room so that I could be alone with her. My little girl opened her eyes, and opened her mouth, and it scared me. I later told this to The Father, and he said that her soul just wanted one more look at me before it left for heaven.
And I believe him. Not just beacuse he is my father-- the one I look to for guidance, but because I remember the room got a warm feeling to it when her mouth opened.
I did not believe in heaven (or hell) before yesterday night. I believed in God, but I thought that when we die, our bodies stay on Earth. But now, I think I believe in heaven.
And yes, it is hard, I can barely keep it together for an hour. I am sitting here crying as I type this, and it will take all of the strength I have in me to even post this.
But, I will be strong. I need to be strong. Her memories will always linger in this house, and I will always miss her... I will no longer have my little dog, the first dog that was truly mine. The house is quieter, there is no more barking when someone arrives home and when someone is at the door.
I loved it when she did those things.
She will always be in my heart.
Fanci, I will miss you.