It was a terrible death, she suffered long and every time the vet shook his head and readied the saline tube,  I died.

One of my friend’s dog slipped into a coma the other day, “He’s serious,” she told me, grabbing all her belongings and ramming it into her bag and behind all the love and care, I saw a sadness that had taken root. Being an adult meant getting attached to a lot of things, be it your friends, your job or even an intimate item. You care, maybe just a little too much and that’s what makes it harder, harder when you lose that something that meant a lot to you. Seeing my friend worried to death about something she cared so much about, made me think of my dog, who loved me more than it loved itself.
Silence can come in many ways; it can come as love between two lovers, as anger between two friends and as death between two worlds. Silence came to me heavy with death, clogging every breath I took with sadness unbearable with memories. I kept reminding myself of how she would be the one, waiting for me just outside my door, every morning, wagging her tail as furiously as she could. It reminded me of how she would bark her life out every time I went away and how happy she seemed when I came back. How she would sense my sadness every time and come cuddle next to me, how she followed me around when I first brought her home, like I was the one who’d protect her. I miss her now, more than I’ve missed anyone, I miss her. I hate coming home and not finding her barking, wagging her tail, waiting for me. I hate spending silent nights in my room waiting for her bark to sound, but it never does and all that keeps me company is the silence in my room and the hole in my soul.

It was a terrible death, she suffered long and every time the vet shook his head and readied the saline tube, I died. I held her paw, dirty with last night’s puke, while the clear liquid entered her blood stream. From time to time, she would suddenly stand up and puke out what little liquid we’d managed to feed her. I would whisper how she would be better soon but she never did and I don’t even know if she understood what I had said. There was a terrible cry of pain one night and then she was gone. I was happy that her pain had finally ended and she finally disappeared into the light but it hurt me more to realize that the best friend that I really had wouldn’t be there for me anymore.

I live with the silence now, and with the hole that never seems to heal. It just seems to widen every time I see another dog, every time I blurt out, “that one looks like her” even though I was the only one who’d actually known how she looked. I have a picture of her on my computer, her white fur ghostly and her eyes full of warmth. A picture is the only way I guess, to remember her now. To recall her in a mind that wanders so easily, a picture to remind me of what used to be. A dog is a man’s best friend, they say, a friend till the end.