*If you remember, last February my dog Cheyenne fell down the stairs, hurt herself terribly (the vet's best guess was a broken back) and we had to put her down. I originally wrote this the night before we put her down, and after I came home from letting her go I couldn't handle posting this.
This week I'm super busy with some crazy awesome plans and just don't have time to do as much writing as I'd like. I figured since apparently I'm not ready, willing or able to be too forthcoming about the emotional mess I've been navigating my way out of for the last month or so that I'd give you this piece.
An ode to Cheyenne, who taught me what unconditional love means, written when I was still holding on to hope that she'd be ok, for just a little while longer. (I've held on to a lot of lost hope this year.)
I happen to be very lucky in having two of the most amazing dogs in the world. The one I live with, Jethro (also: Pooperpants) is a gorgeous Brittany Spaniel who lives with Bunny and I. At some point, he's supposed to be a stud dog and he's also a total little snuggle monster. He's given us a scare once or twice with seizures, and we love him to death.
My other dog is Cheyenne, an Australian Shepherd we brought home, unplanned, from the pet store on my sixteenth birthday. My mom had long ago decided that if we ever got a dog, as she kept promising, we would call her Cheyenne. That was the name on the window, and my mom asked if I wanted to see her. The poor thing looked like a little rug. At four months old she was timid as a mouse, scared to make any move and desperate for love.
I couldn't leave the store without her, and my mom couldn't either. Home came the dog. When my brother got home to the quiet scruffy thing in the back yard that night his stunned reaction of what the hell just happened was hilarious. Oddly, he'd always wanted a dog and I'd always wanted a cat but we'd bonded with opposite animals. That dog loved me like nothing else, and I loved her back. She cuddled me through some of the roughest times in my life.
Tonight my mom called. Cheyenne has had a fall down the basement stairs and isn't doing so hot. Either she's hurt her leg or her hip, my mom's not sure which. She won't walk on her own. Then again, she's old and has had walking problems for awhile, so it's probably no big deal.
She's eating, though, and drinking. Which are all good things.
One of the lovely things about being off all the time, though, is that I can just hop a bus up north for the hell of it and go see her. So I'm doing that. I get a day cuddling with my first puppy love.
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