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ForeignThoughts

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Livestreaming!

1 min read
I'm finally drawing the first part of my two part art trade with Neara-works <3
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This is Goodbye

8 min read
On Tuesday, March 12 2013 my world stopped.

'Great.' I thought as I got suspended for wearing improper shoes. 'Now I'm going to have to walk home in the rain in horrible shoes'. I followed my repulsive principal to Room 1 where I was to remain for the rest of the day. I had nothing to do, only paper and a pencil, so I decided to draw a little. I looked up after what seemed like forever, proud of my drawing, when the teacher supervising me tried to start a conversation about god knows what. I was only half listening because I could not help but think about how lonely this woman before me was. She had no family, and not really any friends to talk to. 'A dog. She'd be so happy with a dog.' Then I think about my dog, who had been battling a hip injury and pneumonia for the past two weeks or so. I'd started to think that she wouldn't get better, but had quickly dismissed the thought thinking to my self 'She's survived Parvo, two pit bull attacks, cancer twice, she'll be fine." I was called to the office with my sister saying that Jen (my housekeeper) was here to pick us up early. They said it was an emergency.

Jen had been working with us for the past four years and had grown very attached to our little poodle, Princess. Jen had just lost her sister in a car accident and my dog sort of helped her through it. My dog was like that. Princess was one of the most amazing dogs. She always knew how you felt and always did as she was told. When we first rescued her she was a four year old pup that had obviously been beaten by a man (she was very afraid of men in caps when we first got her.) She even once sent a guy to the hospital because she'd bitten his leg to the bone. She used to bite me too, I have a tiny batman shaped scar on my thumb. I love that scar.

My sister and I were confused as to what the emergency is. We waited in the office till Jen came and when she did she was uncontrollably sobbing. She rushed up to us and said "She's gone! Princess she's-" Jen couldn't finish her sentence for a sob made her choke on her words. But that was all I needed to hear. All of a sudden my eyes clouded with tears and I too began to sob. My dog, my wonderful little poodle was gone. The dog I'd known since I was five years old was gone. I had reached out to hold the railing of the stairs to my school as my knees went weak. It all seemed to happen so fast, we were out the door and headed home. Once home, my legs seemed to stop working all together. I walked through the hallway, past the bathroom, to the living/dining area, to the spot by the table where Princess' bed was. There she lay, still, quiet. I began to sob again as I knelt down to touch her face. She was still warm. Jen came in after me and knelt down and sobbed into her fur.

I walked across the room and sat down in the slip-covered chair that Princess had so loved to sit on. Then I wondered 'When does the crying stop? When do I get over loosing my best friend?". At the time it felt like I'd never stop crying, that I'd just keep crying for days on end. But that is not the case, after a while you collect yourself, and try not to think about what's troubling you. Throughout this whole ordeal, I noticed that not one ever referred to the dog using past tenses. There was no 'was' there was only 'is'. I can only think it was because we couldn't let her go.

My mother arrived home in tears. I ran to the door and hugged her. It was the only thing I could do, for at this point my whole mind and body were so numb with pain I couldn't speak. She came in and had her own time with Princess. Stroking her face and saying how much of a goo dog she was. She was saying how it would be alright now, she didn't have to suffer anymore. Now we had to take her to the vet for the last time. My sister couldn't look at the dog, because she had a fear of dead things. Jen was crying too hard to do anything, and my mother as driving so it was me who had the task of carrying my beautiful dead dog to the vet. Rain soaked my hair as I shuffled out of the car and onto the sidewalk holding my dog wrapped in a towel in her bed. Her face had been left uncovered as if she still needed air to breathe. I pushed open the door and took a seat. The young hispanic woman at the desk looked to my mother for an explanation and my mother explained that we were here to drop Princess off. She told us to wait, that the doctor would be out soon.

As we waited two a family came in with their freaked out dalmatian. Then a woman came in to pick up her pomeranian with her two children. I couldn't help but think that these people would all have to go through this. That every dog owner that brought their dogs to the park across my street every morning would have to go through what I was gone through. That my best friend who'd just gotten a puppy, would one day have to go through this. i couldn't bear that thought. Jen came over to where I was sitting and started kissing Princess on the cheek and sobbing. I had to turn away so that the people in the waiting room could not see me crying.

A young man came out to talk to us about the dog. He asked us if we wanted the ashes or if we were okay to have her burned with a group. My mother sad that we didn't need her ashes, and quite frankly, I was okay with that. I didn't want to have to walk past her ashes everyday to remind me just how hard it was to loose her. Keeping her collar was enough for me. Then Princess' doctor, the same man who had saved her from Parvo, the pit bull fights, and cancer came out to give his condolences and to explain that there was nothing that we could have done. That might have been one of the hardest parts, but definitely not the hardest.

The hardest part was handing your dog to the young man to be taken to a back room, and to never be seen again.

As we climbed back in the car to go pick my father up from the train, I hung my dog's collar around the rear view mirror. My father hoped into the car and I hugged him as I had hugged my mother. i sobbed into his shoulder and him into mine. "I loved that dog." he kept saying. We reached home and as we walked from the living/dining area to the kitchen, I couldn't help but look at the spot on the floor where her bed had been. As we entered the kitchen her food and water bowls that read "P" still sat there, untouched. After a lot of crying and just general sadness we reconvened in the living/dining room where my mother proceeded to say "She got through cancer, parvo, and pit bull attacks! I thought she was going to get better! I thought she would recover from this!" and buried her face in her hands.

Later that night I had a similar moment to my mother. In the kitchen I ran over to her and hugged her and said "I just feel like we con go back to the vet and pick her up and she'll be okay. She'll see us and start barking and jumping up on us and waging her little stumpy tail!" But no, that was not the case. She was gone and she was not coming back.

When I was little I used to think clouds that looked like animals were clouds for that particular deceased animal. I would think about that animal and in my head make up a story for that animal's life, it was a fun way to pass the time in long car rides. So, today I saw a cloud shaped like a poodle and I hoped that she was in a better place. That her suffering had finally ended.
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Livestreaming! by ForeignThoughts, journal

This is Goodbye by ForeignThoughts, journal