Thank you for breaking my heart
A letter to the dog who was there for everything
You were the fluffiest thing I’d ever seen, romping around in the backyard with your brothers and sisters — the spitting image of the Cottonelle puppy. A couple of old hunters had decided to breed their labs for a summer whelping so they could have more bird dogs, and there you were: unpapered and perfect.
The couple who let Daddy and me in their home had seen our young faces (I was still a teenager), my swollen belly, our ringless hands, our shitty car parked outside, and they gave you to us for a discount. Then you rode home on my lap nestled next to your little brother, who would be born a few months later. I wrapped you in a cocoon of love and sang a soft song so you wouldn’t be frightened.
Looking back at that time of uncertainty, we were crazy to get a puppy only months before having a baby. Looking back now without you here, I’m so glad we never knew. I’m so glad we didn’t let our good senses convince us to miss out on you.
We lived in a tiny apartment with one window that faced four lanes of commuter traffic. But across the street was a large dog park where you met friends and humans came to know your name as though you were my human child, not the dog born in the summer heat of a Stockton backyard.
