The Loss Of My Dog

Even after three years, the loss of my dog still hurts quite a bit. I have lots of photos of him in my computer and a large black and white photo on my desk. On this particular photo he's lying on my bed, beams of sunlight washing over the side of his face, chewing on his favorite toy at the age of eight. His look is intense and he is very focused on the business at hand. I've had this photo on my desk since the day I picked it up from the shop and wouldn't dare take it down. Although it sometimes brings tears to my eyes when I look at it, it also brings me great comfort.

Troy my boy, as I called him, was 11 weeks old when I picked him up at the breeders about 2 hours away from downtown where I live. I was so anxious to get him that I didn't sleep all night and dragged a friend with me so I wouldn't be alone for the big occasion. I have always loved dogs, and had a special love for Cocker Spaniels since I was a little girl - now I was finally getting my own.

My love for Cocker Spaniels started when I met a beautiful little Cocker for the very first time. I was only nine years old at the time and was visiting one of my aunts; Aunt Jacqueline (as she liked to be called) was my mom's first cousin and a very wealthy widow. Coming from a middle-class family of divorced parents, we didn't have much money growing up - my mom, my grandmother, my brother and I lived in a very modest apartment in an unassuming area in old Rio de Janeiro where I was born. Owning a dog, any dog, was out of the question in those days.

Visiting Aunt Jacqueline was usually a big event for us, mostly because my mom made it a big deal. My mom was a proud woman and not having money didn't mean we weren't 'royalty' as she said. My mother made us wear our best clothes and be in our best behavior for those visits. Aunt Jacqueline had no kids, did not regret it, and had little patience for children. And we were painfully aware of that. She took the old adage, 'children were to be seen, not heard', very seriously. Aunt Jacqueline would make it very clear how she felt by simply telling us so, in no uncertain terms. Being an 'active' child, I had often been in the wrong end of her berating looks and tongue lashing. So the rules were clear: we were not to speak loudly or yell, no running, no speaking with our mouths full (no speaking at all during meals), no interrupting when the adults were talking, well, you get the picture. It was not a fun time really. But I had mixed feelings about those visits. Aunt Jacqueline had a dog named "Bells", the cutest most beautiful dog I had ever seen - she was a blonde American Cocker Spaniel, and she and I had a special connection. I loved that little dog and spent most of my time with her even though my Aunt didn't seem to approve - she never said anything but would often call Bells over when she saw us playing... Whether my aunt approved or not, Bells always found me when I was visiting and I loved her for it. I grew up knowing that one day I would have a dog just like Bells. I couldn't wait.

And so for 15 years, Troy, my own American Cocker Spaniel, was in my life. He was there during my University days, keeping me company when I stayed up all night writing an essay or studying for an exam. He was there when I met my first love and when he dumped me. He was there when I cried myself to sleep every night for one week, watching me with that grave, intense look of concern he had. He was there when I got my first real job, when my mom passed away from cancer, when I felt so lonely I thought I

would die. Troy was the constant in my life. He was my best friend and my companion. Whenever there was upheaval in my life I would sit down on my couch, overwhelmed and silent, and he would eventually come over and just sit beside me, quietly, looking deeply into my eyes. Those big brown eyes of his always brought me comfort - there was a certain intensity and intelligence behind those eyes, like he knew that I was sad and wanted to give me consolation. In those moments I always thought to myself, "What will become of me when my boy is gone?", I would then wrap my arm around his neck, pull him close to my face, and cry until the fur on his neck was wet from my tears. He was getting older and one day he would not be here to bring me comfort. I was starting to realize this with a great sense of sorrow.

By the time Troy turned 15, his walk had slowed down quite a bit. He struggled to get up on the couch and could no longer jump up on my bed. I watched all of this with a heart so heavy sometimes it was hard to breathe. But I had always told myself that his comfort was more important than anything else - 'He must not feel pain' was my motto. And true to that motto, I would rush him to the Vet whenever I 'sensed' he was sick, never mind had any real proof of it. Yep, I was one of those dog owners (or mothers as I like to call us). I couldn't stand the thought of him being in any pain whatsoever and paid regular visits to the Vet. It was about the quality of life, not 'quantity'. I knew I could never be selfish when it came to him. I would make the decision without blinking an eye. And when the time came I did.

In early 2007, after a battery of tests, he was diagnosed with an enlarged heart and water in his lungs. I got all the prescriptions he needed, continued to cook his meals, something I had been doing for about 1 year, and spent most of my time with him. I was mostly working from home which was a God-sent in those days. Unfortunately even love can't keep at bay the tides of life - Troy eventually started to get worse and the new diagnosis, after running another battery of tests, was that the medication that he needed for his heart, was damaging his liver. His heart needed it and there was no alternative medicine. So it came down to the hear or the liver; Either way, it did not bode well for my boy. Nevertheless, the Vet assured me he was in no pain so I didn't have to think about any agonizing decisions then. In truth, I thought about it every day...

I continued to research his condition and found a supplement program online that sounded very promising - after spending about $500 on it, it was clear that it was not working. He slowly got worse. The reality I had to face was that he was now 15 years old and the "potion of youth", which is what he really needed, was not for sale.

By mid October, he was having a hard time walking and I would often carry him outside to do his business - we lived in a condo. One day he couldn't get up on his own; I took him to the Vet and she told me I needed to make a decision. We had finally arrived at the moment I had dreaded for so long, and even though I had thought about it so many times in the last 5 years of his life, my legs felt unsteady. As the saying goes, reality sucks.

There were four of us in the room when the moment came. It was good to have the support of friends - I'm grateful they were there. My eyes were so puffy from crying I looked like I had gone three rounds with Mike Tyson. Troy looked so tiny lying on that table - so fragile. I just held him in my arms and cried on his neck like I did so many times before while caressing his little face. When we were ready, he just looked deeply into my eyes like he always did when comforting me - comforting me.