Our sweet dog is gone
by Cheryl, posted on December 30th, 2011 in Parenting
The tears finally came for the eight year-old boy.
He lied in bed, the light blue comforter with the fighter jets on it pulled up to his chin. And he cried for his friend, the one who’d been here even before him.
Garbo.
Our sweet, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks dog. A pit bull mix of some sort whom David and I rescued from a local shelter when she was eight months old, to join our other dog, Gable. That was 10 1/2 years ago. Before we had kids. Before we were even married.
The two striped animals were instant best friends. They raced around the back yard together when they were younger, and even in the past couple months, Gable bit at her back legs, urging her on into one last chase.
But she wanted to go inside. She was sure one of the kids was eating something, and if she just stuck fat black nose into their laps or followed them around, they would drop a crumb or two.
She was never wrong about that.
If you put your face on top of her wide head and sniffed, you’d be greeted with the most wonderful, musky smell. Sometimes I’d sit next to her on her favorite perch, on the landing of our stairs. I’d hug her and rest my head upon hers and inhale.
Last night, when David carried her 90-pound, limp body from our home, I wished I’d stopped him to get one last whiff of her unique self. But I was in a hurry for them to get to the emergency vet, to see if something could be done.
I knew she wasn’t going to make it, though.
David heard her take her last breath just as he pulled into the parking lot of the clinic. He closed her eyes for her, and a gurney was brought out. She was taken into a private room where David could say his goodbyes to her, even though she was already gone, and he buried his face in her head and took a last sniff for all of us.
Sage cried when we told her this morning. She had lots of questions: where was she? How come people get sick and don’t die but dogs do? Was it because she kicked her the night before when Garbo was trying to get into her lap as Sage ate her dinner at the table?
She didn’t remember when she made Garbo wear a hooded Little Einsteins’ rocket towel to match her own. Garbo loved the attention. Sage does remember Garbo wanting to be near her, though.
Xander simply said, “I miss Barbo, Mommy.” She made an excellent recliner, and I think I have similar pictures of all the kids with her.
And Sawyer, well, when we first told him, he had no reaction. But as the day went on, he wanted more specifics about exactly what happened. What she had done. How we knew she was sick. He eyed Gable suspiciously, wondering if he, too, would die in the night.
Then, at bedtime, he finally cried and said how much he missed her.
I told him it was okay to be sad. That we’re all sad. And we all miss her.
She gave us 11 years of unconditional love. She always found a way to be right in the midst of everything.
Here she is in her usual spot: under the table and dreaming.
Now she’s gone, begging table scraps, rolling around in the grass and chasing rabbits in heaven.
Goodbye, Garbo. We love you.
Tags: death of a dog, death of a family pet, explaining death of a pet to kids
Gramps Says:
Kelli/Plangirl Says:
Claudia Says:
Cheryl Reply:
December 30th, 2011 at 12:42 pm
Thank you so much, Erin. It’s been a tough go so far.
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