Princess

Is it easier or harder to tell a tale at the time it happens or years later? If I were to guess, I would say that every situation is different. For me, this tale is easier said many years later. Loss is something we all deal with in our lives. I experienced it before I lost her and after, but losing her had such an impact on me it changed my makeup forever.

As an almost middle-aged woman, I think I have a handle on my life. There has been a lot to deal with, situations in my youth, a divorce, and emotional traumas that follow me. Over the years, I have dealt with all of that, and I won the lottery with my second marriage.

My husband is my best friend and the love of my life. We can talk about and deal with everything that comes our way together. The life we are building together is better than anything I could have imagined me living and I love every second more than any other in the past, without question.

We work. He has a child; we have two dogs, which are my babies. Life isn’t perfect, but it’s the closest thing to perfection that I have ever seen. One night we plan a date night at home. I make dinner; we snuggle on the couch, and I pick a movie for us to watch.

It’s about dogs, which I love but never know what is going to trigger my emotions. Before committing, we watch the preview, which is funny and engaging. Since I see nothing sad or upsetting, I smile and look forward to watching it. Thinking I can handle it.

Out of the blue, the movie punches me in the gut and brings me to my knees. During one scene I hold my breath until my lungs ache and tears I suppress leak down the back of my throat, threatening to choke me.

Holding my emotions in check as best I can, I look at my husband and say. “Be right back, the bathroom is calling.”

As soon as the door shuts, I sob, mopping my face with tissues to muffle the sounds. Sitting on the toilet, I put my head in my lap and one name repeats in my mind repeatedly. One that chokes me and makes me cry until I can’t breathe.

“Princess!”

After almost eight years, I have forgotten nothing and still have not forgiven myself. This is a surprise even to me, not forgetting. I will never forget about her. But I thought I had forgiven myself, dealt with, and gotten over the decision I made. I am sadly mistaken.

She was sick, and I had to do it. Her vet told me it was time. Thinking she knew best; I agreed and went along with the plan. I prepared myself the best I could. That is what I have to live with but can never fully deal with or forgive myself for.

I imprinted her last day on my mind. Maybe it will be there for the rest of my life. Part of me thinks it should be. I got up and went to work. The biggest problem was I couldn’t stop crying. My older self does not cry as easily, but what does age matter when you talk about matters of the heart. The two of us had a special connection that does not happen every day.

If you are lucky enough to form it in a lifetime, it is something to treasure. The two of us spoke to each other. From the start, she ran up to me and spoke using words that only I could understand. She was my child in every sense of the word. If I had given birth to her, my love would be no greater than it is.

They did not mean for her to be mine. From the moment we saw each other, she became my beating heart, and we forged a bond. You can’t stop fate. Our eyes locked, and that was it. I was her mom from our first contact, the first meeting of the eyes.

The life we shared happened over twenty years ago, but to me, it is like yesterday. I remember everything, because she is my heart, and was my world, my everything.

I walked into the room that had a football rug on the floor, and there she was. A soft fur ball baby, sitting in the middle of the floor. She was a toy fox terrier, so tiny she could fit into the palm of my hand. Her coat was snow white with midnight black ears and a tiny pointed nose.

Our parents got her for my little sister. Before we even met, I was already jealous. The moment we do, it was love at first sight. Sitting on the floor, I made myself small and opened my arms.

She looked up at me with her soft warm brown eyes that had black rings around the outside. We communicated from that first moment. She wiggled and wagged her tail, tripping a few times as she made her way over to me. I picked her up and held her close.

“You are the prettiest, smarties puppy there ever was, aren’t you? My Princess?”

Her response was to give me kisses, sighs, and snuggle up on my neck, so that I held her close and rocked her like a baby until she fell asleep. Even after she was snoring, I kissed her soft face and rubbed her ears.

The bigger she got, the more our love grew. It got to where I could not wait to get out of school or work, just so that we could play and learn together. She was the smartest, potty training, was a breeze with her.

Her love for life and me grew every day. She loved to run and jump over fences and into my arms with equal enthusiasm. It does not matter what she did; she was the best at it. She was mine, more than anything else in my life.

She caught birds and dug holes like nothing I have ever seen on top of her jumping. Free time was the best time in both our lives. We would walk together and love each other.

No matter how many times they said she was my sister’s, not mine, it did not matter. That never stuck. We belonged together from our first moment.

My experience with dogs was very limited. Before my Princess, I never get involved. Looking back, I know my younger self and the older one would not agree with everything. But one thing I am sure of is that she is the best dog that will ever come into my life.

Even now, my older self yells at my younger one. She was not a dog, but a child. There will be others, that is for sure. I love dogs, the love we share, and the bond we form.

With her, it was something on another level. Our connection, the love that we shared, was so special I can never duplicate it, nor do I want to. She was ten pounds of toy fox terrier love.

No matter how busy I was, there was always a special time for the two of us. Then the day I was avoiding came, I graduated, and it was time for me to leave, to join the military. It was a plan I had set in place for months. Just the thought of leaving her behind broke my heart.

When I leave, will she remember me? My worst fear is that she will think she did something wrong that made me go away. The day I left, we hugged, and I held her close, smelling her, absorbing her into my being.

She followed me, and when I shut the door, blocking her path, she threw herself against it, barking and crying. With tears streaming down my face, I forced myself to walk away. The first couple of months are the hardest.

For the next four years, I traveled back and forth treasuring every second I got to spend with her. She was always in my thoughts, and I made sure our family included her in my phone calls home. Back then, there was no face time, which would have been wonderful for us. Just hearing her made me cry and my heartache.

My time away went both quick and slow. Serving for my country is something I am very proud of, and I loved every second. If we could rewind time, I would have stayed in longer, but would have made sure that Princess lived with me.

The day I came home was the best for the two of us. I was back and promised her I would never leave again. The two of us went for three walks every day. The more time spent with her, the better off I was. I poured my heart out to her. After suffering heartbreak and too much sadness, she was the best medicine in the world for me.

Is there any better way to get over life’s heartbreak than walking on the beach with the sun setting and a fantastic loved one by your side? She was older and bigger after having too many litters. Of course, her puppies were the cutest ones ever made. Picturing them makes me smile.

She was a wonderful mom until she got jealous. I would lie on the carpet and they crawled all over me, licking and biting. For a few minutes, she would sit and watch, to make sure that they were all fine. Then she would gently nudge them out of the way, so that she could sit in my lap and be the center of my attention.

I laughed and hugged her close. She was my heart, and I wanted her close to me. But I worried about her. How many more litters could she have before it affected her health? The toll every litter had was something I thought of often, but as much as we belonged to each other in my heart. We did not legally.

She was not mine yet, but belonged to my parents. Bouncing from place to place, I worked and spent as much time with her as I could at first. When the two of us were together, I was truly happy. My goal was to find a place where we could live together. Then finally, she would be mine truly.

Being young and carefree is something to treasure and regret. The next two years were a different time. I rarely saw her. I became wrapped up in my world and forgot how much I enjoyed our time together.

Eventually, I got my life back on track, and we were together. The day I got a phone call from my mother was one of the best in my life.

“If you want her? She’s yours. Just come and take her.”

“Yes, and yes!” I said.

Before she changed her mind, Princess was living with me. The home the two of us had been waiting forever for finally came together. I could call her mine and mean it. She slept curled up by my side with my arms wrapped around her. Wherever I went, she was there.

Stepping out of the shower, she was on the mat. If I was cooking, she sat in a chair and watched me. When I took her out, we needed no leash or collar. She stayed right by side. After she went potty, she would climb up my leg, and I would hitch her on my hip and carry her like a baby.

She was my baby. No matter how happy we were, there was a constant worry in the back of my mind. With her having puppies since before she was a year old, and now she was seven, is it too late to get her fixed? There were risks on both sides

When I talked to the vet, they told me. “If we find cancer, we will put her down.”

That made my decision for me. I was not willing to risk her having surgery if they were just going to put her down at any sign of the big C. No way, no how. We were happy together. We had our special language.

She would bark a certain way and I would know what she was saying. Her hungry bark differed from her I have to go potty mom, or I just want some attention bark. Our connection goes beyond owner and dog it is more of a mom and daughter bond. She is the only child I will ever have.

As soon as she was home, she knew it. She was comfortable and bossy all at the same time. Hercules, the boxer puppy I got, never stood a chance with her. She bossed him around and trained him in a matter of days. He was so much bigger than her, but always did what she told him to do.

Years passes as they do, and we were a happy family until she started bleeding. My stress and worry grew. After many visits to the vet, it got worse. Antibiotics stopped working. Something was wrong with her uterus. Knowing I could never face losing her, or decide her future.

I told her veterinarian. “When you think it is time, let me know. This has to be your call. I can’t make it.”

Looking back, has there ever been a more ridiculous statement? I will leave the fate of my most beloved family member in an almost stranger’s hands. Just because it was a doctor, it was and is unacceptable. But that is exactly what I did.

Her last week was hard. One day, she was running in my bedroom, where there was a cream carpet, and from one end of the room to the other was a trail of red. From her. I still don’t know what happened. She just exploded with blood.

The next morning, I called the vet and said. “She was bleeding terribly. What can we do?”

“It is time. Bring her in on Tuesday.”

With tears in my eyes, I agreed. The next couple of days are a blur for me. She was eating, sleeping, and going potty. How can she be that sick? I kept telling myself doctors know what they are talking about. But do they? Or don’t they?

The morning arrived, and I went to work. Why did I? Because I was on the schedule, and I never missed work. But I could not stop crying and finally confessed why. As soon as I did, they sent me home.

On our last day together, I pulled her into my lap and smothered her with kisses and love. I hugged her close to my heart and breathed her smell into me, willing it to soak into my nose so that I can never forget it.

I even forced her to take pictures with me. I have a puffy red face and swollen eyes. She did not know why mom was acting so strangely. Until we went to the vet. The second we walked in, she was on alert. She hated that place.

Before we went in, I put her collar on, which she never wore, and snapped her leash into place. I lead her into the small room and saw a man we had never met before. Her regular vet had not even bothered to show up for our appointment, but got a stand-in to take her place. My Princess sniffed the floor, wagged her tail, and headed for the door.

Looking at me and saying. “Mom, I don’t want to be here and am ready to go home now.”

Ignoring every instinct firing in my body, I went along with the process. Doctors know best, right? Wrong! They barely gave her any sedative, and her eyes watched me as they gave her the last shot.

She continued to stare at me, even after she left me. I lost a part of myself that day, that I will never get back. Princess was a huge personality stuffed into a small body. I will love and miss her for the rest of my life.

I walked out inconsolable and hysterical. There was no way for me to get away from what I had just done. Even in sleep, I wept and reached for her, calling out. Sitting up, my tear-soaked pillow stuck to my face.

“Princess, come back, I’m sorry.”

Another time machine moment. If I could go back, I would spend every single second with my Princess and make it count. You can’t change the past, but have to deal with the consequences of every decision you make. Time spent partying, having fun, and worrying only about myself, nothing else.

Never go along with someone else’s decisions. If you feel it is not the right time, then say no. And wait for the right time. Was she sick? Yes. Could we have had another week or month together? Also, yes, and it would have been our choice, not a vet that couldn’t even show up for such a monumental appointment.