Elegy for Kaylow

My dog of seven years is reaching the end of his rope. All of the sudden, yesterday, he wouldn’t eat anything. His back legs were paralyzed, and the vet couldn’t tell us why. He just kind of lay there. He breathed fast, with pleading eyes. I pet him longer than usual.
I remember when we first got him. He was a rescue, and the shelter was going to put him down. We saved him, and he came home excited to live with us. He was a crazy fireball of energy, and when he ran his tail went in circles. We brought him home on Valentine’s Day – his new birthday for the next seven years. I miss then.

Now, we’re going to put him down tomorrow. It will be during school, so my sister won’t know - like it never happened. Ha! She’ll figure it out sooner or later. Hiding the truth just procrastinates facing it. She loves that dog. We all do.

Don’t ever listen to what people euphemize about death. It sucks. It stabs you in the lungs. It steals everything you love until it’s all just a memory. And before you know it, you’re a memory too. One day you are breathing, and smiling, and living, and loving, and blinking, and touching, and making a difference. The next, your name is in an ancestral file.

Is that all life is? Of course it’s not. But that’s what it feels like sometimes – like when a family member dies, or a dog.

I love you, Kaylow. I hope I can see your furry tail wagging in heaven, revitalized with newly-found energy. I hope to see your deep, beaming eyes hunt around for adventure again. I will really miss you. Happy Valentine’s Day.