Contributed by: Amit
Goyal
They are but two
simple words that are easily spoken. I have heard them over and over
again in my mind for the past eight months. I struggle each day to
find the courage to speak these words out loud. Each time that I have
tried, a lump appears in my throat, my eyes get misty, and all that I
can do is barely whisper the words 'She's gone.'
Eight months ago, I
lost the best friend I ever had to cancer. Her passing left a void in
my life that I have yet to fill. It all started some 14 years ago.
Something was lacking in my life.. I was married and had two childre
n, but it wasn't enough. It was an ad in the paper that caught my eye
and brought us together. I answered it the same day I read it. She was
very young when we met. She was friendly and kind, and we took to each
other right off. I wanted her more than anything else in the world.
There was just one problem though: What about the wife and kids? I had
them to think about. I could not keep something like her a secret,
could I?
I started to walk away
from her and forget the whole notion. I was just about to open the
door when she grabbed me by my pant leg and started pulling and
biting. I then stopped and picked her up. Looking into those big brown
eyes I knew this Springer spaniel was going home with me.
It was a new
experience for us all-the wife, children and Norma, the new puppy.
Through t he years, we learned from each other. At times, I lost track
on who was really training who. As a dog, she taught me about
compassion and patience. As a friend, she taught me about love. The
kind of love that is unconditional. The kind that makes you sacrifice
more than you thought you could for anyone person or animal. It was
her human characteristics that really made her shine. Without a doubt,
this dog had more compassion than some of my closest human friends.
The week after, my dad's death, I walked out to her kennel and let her
out to play some fetch. I was feeling pretty low and thought this
might cheer me up. When I threw the training dummy, she brought it
back just like she had been trained. Dropping it at my feet, she
waited. I bent down to pick it up. Then she did something very unusual
for her. She jumped up at me. I stopped and scolded her. Seeing the
hurt in her eyes, I dropped to one knee and began to say I was sorry.
Norma then jumped up again.
This time, she put her
paws on my shoulders and rested her head there, as well. I brushed her
off and said, 'You goofy dog.' She repeated the motion. This time, I
did not brush her off. This time, I embraced the hug she offered and
said thank you. We shared many moments like that during our time
together. Norma could always sense when I needed a friend.
I think I marveled
most at the way she saw the world. We have two cats in our house; one
is a calico named Shak, and the other is Socks. Although she was
friends with both, Norma developed a special bond with Shak. In the
winter time, I always Brought Norma in from her kennel and she'd sleep
in the laundry room. One morning, I awoke to find her sleeping there,
curled up in a ball with her paws gently wrapped around Shak, who was
sound asleep. What lessons the world could learn from our four legged
friends if only we paid more attention.
Two years ago, she was
diagnosed with cancer, and the vet did surgery. The vet excised what
she could, but she couldn't get it all. The vet told me Norma might
live a year if she is lucky.
Almost a year later,
she developed a cough. The cancer had spread to her lungs. On Jan. 25,
one day after her 14th birthday, I took Norma to the vet for the last
time. We spent the better part of the day together. Just before we
left, Norma came over to the chair in the living room.
Putting her paws up on
my lap, she tried to getup. She was too ill, and I had to help her. In
typical Norma fashion, she put her paws around my neck and rested her
head on my shoulder. Then, she let out with a deep sigh. I wish I
could tell you that I hugged her, and held her, and told her it was
going to be all right, but I can't. Truth is, I cried like a baby for
the better part of an hour. I was searching for the courage to finish
what needed to be done. I hated myself in the worst way for what I was
about to do. Why must I be judge and jury? I loved her the most, I
cared for her the most, w hy me? Then it hit me, the answer, and when
it did, I felt ashamed. Instead of asking myself 'why me?' I should
have been asking 'why not me?' The courage I was lacking then suddenly
swelled up inside of me. I kissed her and hugged her, and told her it
was time. I took her to the vet that afternoon not as a pet owner, or
a guy who had a hunting dog. I took her down there as my friend. After
the shot was given, I held her in my lap. It was then I gave her one
last command. I told her to hunt. With that spoken, she was finally
set free. Then, she slowly closed her eyes and went to sleep forever.
Death has a way of
affecting my mind for a while, and I seem forever falling short of
finding a way to take it all in and make sense of it. That evening, I
walked outside on my back porch and watched the day give way to the
night. As the evening star appeared, I did something I hadn't d one
since I was a kid. I made a wish. The only difference between then and
now was that I was wishing for something I really didn't want, because
it wasn't really right to wish for things like that. But I did any
way, and I think you know what I wished for.
Walking back inside
the house, Shak the calico cat wandered from room to room. It seemed
that she was looking for something or maybe someone. Being a pet
owner, one thing I have learned through the years is that love knows
no boundaries - two-legged, four-legged, or those that
fly.
When love comes from the heart, it is
felt.
Source: http://reachstories.blogspot.
com
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