A Love Letter

Dear Cricket,

The year 2006 had been a rough one. It started with the death of my grandmother, finding out I had a tumor (non-cancerous) in my brain that messed with my body, totaling my car, and breaking my back off of a very large horse. This was all capped off in November by having to put down the dog and best friend I had grown up with for 17 years: Brandy girl. My life had become a sad country song. A broken back, a broken spirit, a broken heart- these were all words that described me the day I met you.

After Brandy was put down, I would go to animal adoption days at the pet store to get a dog fix. This was when various animal rescues would bring in the adoptable dogs. I would gingerly sit down, and let wiggling, warm, furry bodies surround me with their incorrigible positivity and excitement. I was still in so much physical pain, but puppy dog energy helped abate the mental pain.

One of these days, in March 2007, was when we first met. There were tons of dogs from the shelter there that day. Everywhere I looked there were wagging tails and energetic pups looking for their forever homes. Then, there was you. There you were: tiny little runt of the litter, 13 weeks old, a beagle mix of some sort called "Pistachio." The other dogs were like a bubbly roiling ocean. You were sitting there calmly. Soft brown eyes just taking it all in.

I picked you up. You immediately snuggled into my neck and let out a contented sigh. It was like you knew you were home, and so did I.

You chose your name. I knew "Pistachio" was NOT going to work. How do you shorten that? "Pissy?" No. That wasn't you. I looked at you and compiled a list of names. We went out into the backyard and I said them to you one by one. When I got to "Cricket," you did that little head cock that dogs do to show that they are listening. I said it again, and you did it again. You became Cricket from then on.

Even as a baby you had such capacity for love and empathy. It was like you knew and understood that my back was hurt. When I would go to pick you up, you would stand on your hind legs and push off to help me. You loved EVERYBODY. If I pointed at somebody and said, "Go say hi!" - you would.

You would play hard and snuggle hard. One of your favorite questions was: "Do you want to go snuggle?" Your happy dancing feet would tap out in Morse code "YES!" Then you would run up the stairs and hop into bed.

You slept at the foot of my bed. There was always a part of you touching me. That little patch of warmth was of such comfort- I cannot even put it into words. I would have trouble sleeping if you were not there. I have trouble sleeping now.

"Good morning!" I would say to you when I woke up. You would come crawling up into my arms from the foot of the bed for pets and cuddles. You would have what I called your "happy ears" on. You had such big, soft, expressive ears and would tuck them just so when you were happy. Running those ears through my fingers and giving them a good rub while you laid on my chest wagging your tail was our tradition. Those were our mornings, almost every day, for 15 years.

You were not a barker. People would meet you and say, "Oh I bet she has that beagle bay!" They were wrong. You were so quiet. EXCEPT when I came home from being away. I could always expect precious excited whimpers as you greeted me and I got down on the floor with you.

I remember clearly the few times you did really bark.

Once, was when I had stayed way too late at school working. You had come with me of course. It was about 10:00pm. I was walking out to the parking lot and you tore off ahead of me to the car barking like crazy. The parking lot was vacant except for my car. There were 3 strange men in hoodies standing around my car. They immediately backed off and kind of huddled together as your 24 pound self came hurtling out of the darkness. I was concerned, most definitely, but I was also amused because they were intimidated by my sweet marshmallow of a dog. I am not sure what their intentions had been, but because of you, they moved on.

The second time was years later when we were sleeping in the mountains of North Carolina. We were right up against an open screen window. In the middle of the night, you lunged at the window barking like crazy. I fumbled to put my glasses on so I could see what you did, but I was too late. You never barked like that again. You saved your bark for when you really needed it.

I could trust you implicitly whether it was with other animals, babies, or even my students at school. For four years you came to school with me everyday. You were so amazing with my students. I had first graders and kindergarteners and every single one of them fell in love with you. You taught them so much empathy.

I remember one little boy who had serious separation anxiety from his mom. He came in one day, sat down on the carpet and cried. I started to approach him, but I swear it was like you said: "I got this Stace." You went over, sat next to him, and leaned into him. He put his little arm around you and cried for a while longer, but then got up and joined the class. Another little boy got hurt. It was a big enough goose egg that I called mom in. Until she arrived, you lay next to him. He put his head on you and ran one hand through your fur, while he held ice onto his bump with the other. I had a particular student who was rough around the edges- broke his mother's arm- but he would turn into pudding around you. Sometimes, you were the only thing that got him through the door of the school in the morning- even after he switched grade levels. One year, we had a student that was allergic, but she loved you so much that her mom bought her gloves and you a little jacket so she could pet you and you could still come to school. You were even tolerant enough to play the lamb in the school Christmas play. You were special, and everybody knew it.

Peanuts, fresh green grass, and snow were your favorites.

You learned to love peanuts from Pip the baby squirrel you found. In between cuddling or chasing each other, he showed you how to crack the shell of the peanut to get to the meat within. You were the ultimate peanut huntress and would do a zoomie happy dance when I threw you one.

Lush green grass was your happy place. We could NEVER pass a patch without you needing to slide out on your belly like a seal and rub your face in it. If you happened to be on a hill, you would roll over and over again down the hill like little kids do.

Snow was your playground. Opening the door for you for the first snow of the season was always a bright spot in my year. You frolicked, rolled, and ate the snow until your great heart was content.

We went on many road trips. You were the absolute best car companion. Always content to be where I was. As soon as the engine started, your little eyes drooped into a restful sleep. You would only perk up when we hit a dirt road because you knew what that meant: adventure! You were a very well traveled pup because you were so easy to travel with!

You started to age. Your little back legs didn't work as well as they used to because of the way your body was put together. "She is built going downhill," somebody once said. My dad always said you had a "hitch in your giddy-up." Your back legs were longer than your stubby front legs and it caused issues in your spine. That did NOT stop you.

If we did not go on at least one walk a day and a few big hikes a week you were so bummed. You bore it silently, but I could tell you were disappointed. You would look out the window at the fading light outside, then look back at me questioningly. Talk about a guilt trip! I always tried to make sure you got your walks- I hope you know that!

You were quite the adventurous pup. You rode on a 4-wheeler, in canoes, and on paddleboards. You were always so accepting. You trusted that if I was doing something and including you, then you would be OK. Until that one time we paddle boarded at Navajo lake! You happily hopped onto the paddle board and off we went. However, the wind picked up, and the chop was pushing us away from where we parked. So I had to sit down with my legs in the water to get us back to shore without tipping. I heard a splash-a wave had knocked you off the back of the paddle board. That was when I learned you could not swim. I circled back and grabbed you up. You were shivering between my legs so badly and I felt so awful. Some people stopped in a boat and gave me a life jacket for you. I'm still super thankful to them. You did NOT like paddle boarding after that- and I couldn't blame you. I felt like I had let you down. I'm sorry bud.

You were a light to me at some of my darkest times. You were a light to others too. You taught me that no matter how many times life smacks you down, you just have to keep fighting. Sometimes it is all you can do.

When I had to get ankle surgery, you were right there like a cheerleader. I had to crawl up the stairs to get to bed, and you would go ahead of me, one step at a time. You would stop and turn to me at each step to make sure I was doing alright behind you. If I was in bed with my foot elevated, you were in there too nestled up to me. Such a faithful girl.

When you started to get older, you showed what aging gracefully means. You accepted another rescue pup into the house- though she was like a gremlin on crack. I hoped your zen-like nature would rub off on her... it didn't. You were so patient.

We would go out in the front common area and watch sunsets. You would sit next to me quietly just taking it all in and sniffing the air. I would pet you and the gremlin as we sent off the day.

In spite of back pain, you wanted to hike as much as possible. Your second to last summer we did an 8 mile hike and you refused to let me carry you. You had such an indomitable and fierce little spirit. It was as if you, like me, did not want to acknowledge the inevitable...dogs do not live as long as their people.

You had your first seizures in 2021. Scared me to death- I thought that was it. There was NO WAY I was going to let you continue that after I watched your little body twitching, soiling yourself, and your mouth open and eyes squinting in what looked like a silent scream. I remember weeping, but getting it together because I wanted to be calm and strong for you- how you had always been calm and strong for me. The vet said that your blood pressure was too high, but nothing in your blood work indicated cancer and your organs were still functioning well. I hope you were not in a lot of pain and that my choice to put you on blood pressure medication so that you could be around for longer was the right one. You seemed like you wanted to keep fighting, so I felt it was my duty to help you do so!

You kept hiking, kept fighting, kept inspiring me. It was amazing how my love grew even stronger for you as your little body got frailer and your face got whiter. You could no longer hear me, but you would still whimper excitedly when I came home from work. You were beyond beautiful to me.

That last summer, we went on our last big road trip. Eighteen hours to South Padre Island where a friend had a beach condo. I wanted to soak in every second with you. We woke up every morning at 5:30 am to watch the sunrise over the ocean. It was so special that you saw the ocean for the first time, in your last summer.

That fall things got really rough. You were pooping yourself at night, and pooping all over the house during the day. The little pup that had never had so much as an accident was struggling to hold it in. I would have to bathe you almost daily. Getting home from teaching all day to huge messes was definitely not our high point. I would get frustrated, but I hope you know it was not directed at you. The frustration stemmed from fear. I knew the time was coming, and I knew my heart was not ready and never would be. I would try to soothe you and bathe you gently in spite of my stress.

I remember one night, I had to take a comforter out at midnight to hose it off in the backyard. I had set you in the empty tub while I did this because you had poop on your little body. As I was hosing the comforter, I heard this awful sound. You were desperately crying for me- I had not heard that one before and I immediately went upstairs so that you knew I had not left you. It ripped my guts out. I was only leaving you in there for a second. I would never just leave you.

Halloween 2021 we went camping in Moab. It was for a friend's birthday and I remember being so exhausted after teaching all week. I was trying to soak in as many memories and experiences with you as I could. We went, cuddled in the tent, and had one last peaceful morning waking up camping.

That week, when I went back to school, in the mornings when I left you had this sense of "don't leave me today," everyday. I was so stressed. I remember looking at you and saying: "PLEASE girl, I have to be there, and you HAVE to make sure I know it is time- otherwise there is no way I can make the decision!" My worst fear ever was that you would be alone, scared, and confused when the time came, and wondering where I was. My heart would NOT have survived that after the years of love and devotion you showed me. I wanted to have you in my arms. I wanted you to know you were so so loved and safe as you made that final journey.

You listened. Faithful until the end.

That Saturday, we went to the dog park and you got lots of pets from people. When we got home, you were walking across the family room and collapsed. You tried so valiantly to get back to your feet, but something had happened in your brain. You only calmed down when I got you in my arms. My tears dripped onto your fur as I told you that it was OK, and I would make it stop. You threw up all over me. I called the vet hysterical for an emergency visit. She said it was probably no big deal and that sometimes older dogs have balance issues. I told her NO, I know my dog. You were making it clear- thank you for that.

A good friend came over to help after I called her crying and barely able to articulate what was happening. She stayed with you while I changed out of my vomit covered pants. I remember coming back down the stairs and seeing you there: my sweet, loyal, loving, precious old puppy. The most awful soul-crushing feeling came over me. We were going to leave together, but I was going to come back without you.

You may not have known it, but you were my rock. No matter how bad of a day, or how much pain I was in, you were there for me. You could make me smile and give comfort and unconditional overwhelming love. I wondered if you knew how much I loved you. I wondered if it were even possible for you to understand the depth of my love for you. You weren't simply a pet- you were family. You still are.

I held you in my arms as my friend drove us to the vet. For the first time ever, you were calm at the vet's office. Completely calm. She took your temperature and said you were a little cold. She then gave you a sedative to help you sleep. I held you and cried. This was going to be the last time I was with my best friend. The last time I would stroke those long soft ears. The last time I would hold you in my arms and feel the warm comfort of your furry little body.

When the time came, your head was in my arms and I put my hat in front of your nose. I wanted you to have the scent of a thousand thousand adventures as you went on your biggest one. I wanted you to know I was there, and would not leave you until I knew you were gone.

When you took your final breath, I still couldn't leave you. If there were even a chance your little puppy consciousness lingered on for a while, I wanted you to know I was there for you the way you had been there for me. I brought your sister in- the gremlin-dog you patiently adopted. She curled up calmly under my chin and laid her head on your still body. She knew. I stroked those velvety ears for an hour. I did not leave until you started to get cold. I hope you felt me. When I got outside, it was my turn to throw up. Leaving without you felt so wrong.

My best friend called me in the middle of the night, and we cried together. I cried myself to sleep. Waking up the next day was awful, because for a second I forgot the awful truth: you were gone. No more "good morning" snuggles. I sobbed and did not get out of bed.

Your sister got me moving. She was sad too, so I wanted to take her on a walk. We went to the dog park, and I will always remember as clear as day: I FELT you. As we walked, all of a sudden, it felt like there were 2 dogs with me again. It felt like you, as your younger self, were frolicking along with us- as if to say: "I'm still here Stace! The love goes on! I will be here when you come one day!" My heart instantly lifted. It was crazy! I FELT you. My faithful little buddy came to say goodbye and let me know she was alright.

I still miss you so much sometimes it feels like my heart will explode. I am so thankful you were my special puppy. You were truly the rescue dog that rescued this broken woman. You were the best girl. I thank God for you always. I will love you forever. Thank you, for being wonderful you. The love does go on- it is just transformed. Until we meet again...

Love,

Your Stacey