In the middle of the night one very cold in January 2010, I was abruptly woken up by what I came to know as the unmistakable sound of my dog having a seizure. My ex and I jumped out of bed, and immediately rushed my beloved dachshund to the emergency vet. Confused and shocked, we left several hours later with a valiumed up pup and told to monitor his behavior. That was just the beginning.
Over the next five years, there were many, many seizures and late nights, vet visits, pills, and treatment options. But there were also countless amounts of snuggles, kisses, giggles, and love. I’ve always known the day would be a “when” not an “if,” and that it would come sooner rather than later.
Unfortunately that day came on Monday, March 23, 2015.
Knowing what I knew didn’t make it any easier. I always promised myself that as long as he was happy and healthy most days, then I’d do what I could to give him the best life I could. He probably would tell you that adopting Tally completely goes against that, but that’s just how boys treat their little sisters.
He would probably also tell you that I’m the meanest, worst mommy ever because I found great amusement in embarrassing him through outfits.
He was so mad at us that day. But it was just. so. funny.
The past week and a half, I’ve had so many friends, family, and loved ones reach out to me to share their condolences. There have been flowers, cards, notes, emails, texts, pizza, wine, and chocolates (I have amazing friends, y’all. Seriously. They’re the best). It’s been overwhelming and heartwarming to see how many people’s lives my sweet little weeniecake touched. I’m grateful for all of the years I had with him, for the joy and laughter he brought into my life, and for the comfort he provided in my times of need.
May he rest in peace.