I just had a wave of emotion about my pets. I used to have two dogs, a parrot, and a turtle. I loved them all, so much. They made every hard morning a little easier.
Here’s how I lost them.
I lost Squirtle, the turtle, when my mom gave her away. Last I heard, she’s doing well. She was the most recent loss…despite her angry nature, I thought she was beautiful. Of the pets I lost, hers is the only one I’ve healthily accepted and am not torn up about.
I lost Sophie, my beagle, in a house fire. She was part of my life from 2004 to 2014. She died by asphyxiation. My mother tried to find her and get them out before the firefighters forced her out. When we finally found her body, she was laying down, eyes slightly open. I carried her from the car to the humane society when we got her cremated. I said goodbye to her there, but the only words I could actually choke out were “I’m sorry”. Sorry I wasn’t there, sorry my last moments with her alive weren’t as long as I hoped, sorry she left this world the way she did. I will never forget your eyes. They understood everything. They contained a wisdom that transcended humans or dogs. I’m sorry, Sophie.
I lost Gracie, our white poodle mix, in the same fire. She entered my life in 2006, and left in 2014. She died by asphyxiation. My mother tried to find her before she got forced out, too. She was laying down on the couch upstairs, both eyes closed. My sister carried her from the car when she got cremated. I said goodbye there, but the only words I could choke out were the same as for Sophie. “I’m sorry”. For all of the same reasons. I’ll never forget your energy. When I was sad, you cheered me up by being so happy. You didn’t give me a chance to be sad if I ever was around you. It was always play, play, play. That playful innocence helped someone who felt like he lost his way too soon. I’m sorry, Gracie.
The first pet I ever lost was Sam. He gets a little more here because I haven’t written much about his death. He was an African Gray. He was beautiful, in every sense of the world. I fell for that damn bird as soon as I saw him. His awkward waddle, his defensive nature. He’d bite before he’d cuddle. He died in April 2013 when he fell off his cage and snapped his neck. As I understand, he died on impact, no pain. I buried him that day, about an hour after I found out. I cried like a little bitch, reader. Of my entire family, he only was civil with me. He would walk across my house just to flap up to my shoulder while I worked in my room. He did that only for me, reader.
Some mornings I’d hear a scratching at the door, and he’d be there when I opened it. A loud and extremely happy “GOOD MORNING HELLO” would escape his little frame and he’d grab on to my leg and climb his way up, with his beak and two feet. In death, he looked serene. After burying him, I sat there and just…I just sat there. I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what to say to you. You were with me for less than a year, but you were so wonderful despite your cold exterior. You made me happy. I’m sorry, birdie.