Twelve and a half years ago, my family and I drove home from eastern Colorado with a new puppy in our trunk. My dad took a turn on the highway a little too fast, and the crate that he was in rolled over. We propped the crate back up straight, all laughed, and headed to Walmart to get dog food, a bed and plenty of toys for our new best friend.
We put his bed at the foot of the stairs in the living room, where our Christmas tree went every year. My dad laid him down on his bed and told him to stay. Dad then joined us at the dinner table and told us not to look back at him—this was day one of puppy training. We had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.
When Dad wasn't looking, I snuck a glance over my shoulder at our dog, waiting patiently on his bed. He caught my eye and came bounding over, so excited, filled with joy, only wanting to join us at the table. I smiled. Dad scolded him, "Bad dog! I told you to stay!" I felt so guilty for getting him in trouble.
But he forgave me.
Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life. Our puppy, our best friend, our dog, Tommy, passed away. He had watched my younger brother and I grow up—we don't remember life without Tommy. I guess part of becoming an adult is losing your childhood dog; I have countless friends who have lost theirs in the last few years, but I never really understood what it meant until now.
Tommy was the friendly-neighborhood dog. Everyone loved him. Everyone was always happy to see him. He was always happy to see us. I'll miss being greeted by him every time I come home. I'll miss him chasing my car down the driveway. I'll miss him banging his head on my bedroom door as he would try to come in my room but discovered that the door was closed. I'll miss encouraging him to catch the mole, buried in the hole he was digging up. I'll miss watching him roll around in the snow, and nap in the sun in a pile of dirt in the summer.
My family will never be the same without our Tommy Dog. In my mind, we will always be a family of five, not four. Our house is quiet. And still. No one needs to be let outside in the morning, no one needs to be fed, no one needs to be given their evening meds.
I keep reminding myself that Tommy may be gone, but he'll never be forgotten. Life will go on, and the days will become easier for us. There are no bad memories of Tommy, all were happy, and I guess that makes my family and I's grief just a little bit easier. Every memory, every moment, every second was worth what we had to go through yesterday. I'll never forget watching him bound towards us as we finished our spaghetti. We all love you Tommy, see you on the other side.