A tribute to Dom

    Written on February 20th, 2023 

     Life can change very quickly. Life can end very quickly. In 24 hours last week, life went from totally normal to having lost our best little dog and friend of 13+ years. If you're the kind of person who thinks it's silly to talk about a dog with affection, skip over this post.

     Domino came along when I was 13. He lived in our house for all of my teen years and over half of my twenties. As one of my aunts commented on Facebook, "He has just always been there." I don't remember his earliest days, beyond seeing a little ball of fluff on the floor. As time went on, he developed a personality that was sort of feisty, sort of grouchy, sort of pompous, and usually hilarious. He hated certain men and most children but he loved us. And before any nieces and nephews came onto the scene, he was our daily dose of cuteness and entertainment. 

     As the years went on, the family shrunk. One brother moved out, then another, then a sister. Who was still here? Little Dom. Guys have come and gone, too, and he has been right by my side or at my feet as I sat in my chair or curled up on the bed, cried, and tried to pick up the pieces. Many years ago he stared at me with those big black eyes as I cried about something and then put his paw on my leg as if to say, "it's okay." In some ways, he was the best comforter. 

     When he started coughing after family dinner last week, we thought he would surely come home once he was better. And when we were told that he actually had heart failure and there was a 50/50 chance of him pulling through, we thought that surely he would. And when we had to leave him, we thought that we would definitely see him again. As I said goodbye to him through the little opening of his incubator, his big eyes stared into mine. He looked tired and sad and like he loved me. I held his head and told him I loved him back. And that was the last time I saw him. 

     Dad went to the ER the next day to get his body in a little cardboard box and we buried him after church. I carried him from the backseat of the car and he felt so much heavier than he had while he was alive. It's extremely painful to carry your little best friend in a cardboard box. 

     Especially in the first few days after his death, it was truly terrible. He had been in every inch of the house every hour of the day. He was nearby, underfoot, peeking on you through cracks in doors, asking to join you on the couch, letting you know when he needed water or food, asleep in every sunspot and on every rug. I still look for him everywhere I go, instinctively wondering what he's doing or wanting to lean down and give him a pat. His death was sudden and for several days after, all I could think was, "I can't believe he's gone." It was like he had been snatched up in the night; fine at dinner, gone by morning. 

     He loved us and we loved him. Maybe it sounds a little silly to say about a dog, but I miss his love. It was constant, faithful, and pure. He lived the heck out of his life. He must have chased hundreds of squirrels and delivery trucks, always sure that he would catch up to one. As someone said to me when I told her that he died of heart failure, "he used up every beat." 

     Since the tears have slowed, we've been reminiscing on his personality and laughing at memories. I'm so thankful that we had a dog who lived so much life with us. He witnessed the aftereffects of family marriages, deaths, births, and hospital stays. He lived thousands of ordinary days with us, too. He was just always there. I knew that no matter what was experienced out in the world, whether at work or in a different state or country, he would be there when I got home, and I always so looked forward to seeing him again. 

     I miss him, and I feel a little lonelier without him. But every day, the sadness - whether it lessens or not - is accompanied more and more by thankfulness that wow - we got to have a dog, the best dog, to go through life with for almost fourteen whole years. What a rare thing! There is no way that could have been replaced or replicated. Those years of youth and all they held are long gone, and what a happy, extra bit of kindness from God for giving us Domino. He made my teens better. He, without a doubt, made my twenties better, too. And that is a gift.