My dog died today.
In the unluckiest of circumstances, my husband hit her with his truck this morning while leaving to take the kids to school. We've tried, OH, how we've tried to teach her not to chase cars. For the most part, she listened. It was only us she would chase, especially when the kids were in the car. I think it was her way of saying goodbye. Except, God rest her stubborn little soul, cars are big. Big, and very unforgiving.
Mercifully, her death was instant. It was hard enough on the kids as it is. I don't think any of us could have handled dealing with our sweet puppy feeling any pain.
Wrapping her up in her favorite blanket, we buried her in the backyard, in a shady spot under a tree. The kids picked a smooth, flat stone to mark her grave, and used Sharpie markers to note the date of her death on the front.
And we cried.
She was an obnoxious little thing. She went ballistic when we had visitors. She barked at her own shadow. She whined and whimpered for table scraps relentlessly. But she was mine. She was mine, and I loved her.
This morning, she ate the fallen Apple Jacks off the floor, then scratched at the front door to go out. She ate her breakfast, barked at a cawing crow overhead, then raced into the woods. I never would have imagined as I shushed her noisy barking and shooed her out the door that it would be for the last time.
And so, we're sad. I know that losing a pet is but a shadow of the kinds of tragedies that life often brings. So we're okay... just empty. Today is an empty day.
