It was the end of a drive in what had become a series of visits to the vet’s in our dog’s battle with the collapsed trachea that made it painful for him to breathe and even more painful for us to hear.
But this trip would be the last. This time we would have to say our goodbyes. Stroke him as he drifted peacefully into a chemically-induced final sleep. Hold each other and cry. Drive home in aching silence.
It wasn’t until we pulled into the garage and opened the kitchen door that it really hit me, though. That was the moment I realized we were coming home to an empty house.
Never again would we open that door and find him waiting there to greet us, wagging his tail and running around in excited little circles. Demanding a treat as his reward for being left alone forever, even if forever had been just long enough for us to go the grocery store.
Never again would I lean back in my recliner and have him jump up, burrow between my legs and fall asleep.
Never again would he perch on my wife’s lap, exuding bliss as she brushed his hair and told him how beautiful he was.
Now we would be free to say the word “cat” out loud, because if you said that in front of him he would growl and run to the window, certain that there was a feline trespasser on his property.
Corky was a little dog, less than nine pounds, seven of which were fur. But it’s amazing how something so small can become such a big part of your existence.
For eight and a half years he didn’t just participate in our lives, he dominated them.
Walks were obligatory twice a day, even in weather that was fit for neither man nor beast. The limits for out-of-town trips were determined by whether we could find someone to take care of him while we were gone. If dinner wasn’t in his bowl at exactly 5 p.m., we heard about it in persistent yips and whines. Even our sleeping positions were determined by what part of the bed he chose to allot us.
Corky never caught a rabbit, scared away a burglar or ran to us to bark out the news that Timmy had fallen into the well again. Mostly he just lounged around, looking cute and demanding attention. But that was enough to make us love him unconditionally.
More than enough to make our house feel so terribly empty without him in it.
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