An Old Mutt

I...don't really remember my dog that much. I've had a couple over the years, but unfortunately, they've either died or run away.

The oldest dog I remember having was one that we had named Duke, although we tended to call him Dooku, like the Star Wars character, for no real reason other than the name similarity.

We just enjoyed Star Wars at the time.

My dad says that we called him dookie, but I distinctly remember Dooku.

Or at least, I think I do.

He was a brown dachschund mix, although we didn't know his parentage. Funnily enough, I don't even remember when we got him, only that we'd had him for the longest time.

I remember having to chase after him after he would escape into the street, chasing after him as he ran around, dodging me and my dad.

I remember heading out into the cold nights, giving him warm food, sometimes leftovers, along with some hot water for his frozen bowl.

We made sure that his house was nice and warm though.

And I remember playing with him, coming back home from school, and greeting him.

And of course, who could forget cleaning up after dogs...

And I, I remember his last night with us.

I didn't notice it, but my dad did. Duke was old and was starting to get slower, but it was worse when he got sick. He couldn't keep his food down and threw up a lot.

We couldn't afford a vet, and there wasn't really a point at his age, so all we could do was make him comfortable.

We had a basement, and my dad took him there, made bedding with some blankets, and let him rest.

I remember me and my siblings heading down there, my dad just knew that it would be the last night, although he didn't tell us at the time.

And we said our goodbyes.

I think...I was the last one. I honestly don't remember that much. But I remember giving him a big hug and taking one last picture with him.

That night, we all went to sleep.

The next morning, he was gone. Just like that.

My dad didn't let us see him, my siblings were still a bit too young, but we held our own little funeral and buried him in the backyard. We'd bought some cut stones, little bricks really, and laid them over his grave as a memorial.

Just like that, a little piece of our family was gone.

...

It's been years since that day, and I'll be honest, I've rarely if ever, thought about him. Sometimes I can't even remember what we used to do.

Everything seems so far away some days.

But I loved him, he was such a big part of my childhood.

I've been meaning to get my dad a new dog, he loves English bulldogs, says the wrinkles add to their appeal.

I admit I love them too.

But most importantly, when one day I have a family of my own, I want to get my kids a dog that they can have memories with.

All the time we hear about man's best friend and all that, but I don't think that all of us truly appreciate it.

At least not until we look back I guess.

Nostalgia, am I right?

Now that I think about him, I wish I could go back, and have spent more time with him. Taken more pictures to remember him better.

But even during the days that I forget, I know that he'll always have a piece of my heart and memories.

He was an old mutt for sure, but he was a good dog.

I like to believe that he loved me just as I loved him.

And I think that's all that really matters.