I believe this stems from my childhood, in which I was blessed to be surrounded by many furry creatures who I loved more than life itself. From surprisingly young until far too old, my pets were (are) my best friends.
Dogs have always been my happiness. Growing up, I had Cocoa and Frisky, two german short-hairs who were my best friends. I spent countless hours running around my backyard with these dogs and loved them with all my heart. This led to some confusion about my species as a child, to which I'm sure my parents initially thought was cute, but eventually became a little concerned that I thought I was a dog until I was almost 7.
When I was 11 and Cocoa (who outlived Frisky) was 13, my family decided that it was time for Cocoa to be put to sleep. I was devastated. I didn't know how to cope with the loss of my best friend and because I was too much of a chicken, ran to my neighbour's house while our Bishop (who was coincidentally a veterinarian) came over to put Cocoa to sleep.
After Cocoa died, I felt a void. and like any reasonable 11 year old, I started what I thought was a convincing campaign for another dog. I needed to fill that void. My dad will describe this period of his life as the best 3 years of his life because for the first time in quite a while, there weren't dogs barking 24/7 in his backyard (my room was in the front of the house and as far as I was concerned, my dogs didn't make a peep).
However, a man can only handle so much and so, after countless petitions and out of the goodness of his heart, my dad let us get Slick. Slick came from a friend of ours whose son temporarily shelters washed-up show dogs. He was 3 years old and from the moment I met him, I knew he was special. There was never a happier dog than Slick. When his humans walked into the room or out to the backyard, Slick was THERE AND HE NEEDED TO SEE YOU NOW. His tail would wag, his eyes would light up, and like the true herding dog that he was, he would push against you until you acknowledged that he was there.
For obvious reasons, Slick quickly became my new best dog friend. He was the first dog that was allowed inside the house (proof that my dad is a saint) and he was the first dog that I could actually take on a walk.
Slick was always my shoulder to cry on. As weird as that sounds, Slick was the best listener. Even though he hated hugs, when Slick knew I was sad, he would stoically sit still while I hugged him until I felt better. I remember one particular moment in which my high school boyfriend had left on his mission. After I had cried my eyes out and felt like I couldn't cry anymore, I went to the backyard and in true fashion, Slick came running to see me. When he realized I was sad, he sat down right next to me and just waited until he could tell I felt better. He was always there when I needed him most.
Until his last days, there were two things that Slick loved more than anything: when you would hold his paw and when he was allowed into the house to be with his humans. Once Slick was finally allowed into the house, he went into Ninja Mode and I firmly believe he wanted us to forget he was there so he could live in the house forever. Often times, he would go 7+ hours, lying quietly on his bed, and praying that no one would notice (unless there were treats or scratchies involved). Slick was such an integral part of my adolescent years that I even published an article in my high school paper about him.
When I left for college, one of my favourite parts about coming home (aside from seeing family and friends) was seeing Slick and he was usually first on my list of things to love when I came home.
Today, Slick is 13 years old and like before, my family and I have decided that his precious time with us has come to an end. And just like my 11 year-old self, I can't imagine my life without him. I'm blessed to have Sadie and Tilly still, but Slick is truly an irreplaceable spirit. Being away from home has made this experience different than in the past because unlike my 11 year-old self, I feel like I'm finally mature and emotionally stable enough to be present when he passes. But rarely does life happen when you're finally ready for it. Although it's sad and real now, this Christmas will be the first one in 6 years that I haven't come home to Slick. And I don't know how that's going to feel.
When Cocoa died, I was an avid journal keeper (those were the days...) and that night, I wrote a special journal entry just for Cocoa. I remember asking God in my prayers that night to have Cocoa come down with an angel so that the angel could read Cocoa my entry and let her know how much I loved and missed her.
Tonight, as childish as it seems, I've written a similar entry and I'll be saying a similar prayer.
To my Slick: thank you for being my friend. I can't describe how much your happiness, love, playfulness, and goodness has helped me in my life. I'm sorry for the times I was mean to you. I'm sorry that as you got older, I wasn't around as much and that I didn't spend the time with you that you deserved when I was home. You are my sweet little love and I'm going to miss you so much. But I know that some day, when I come through those pearly gates, I'll see your ears sticking up outside the kitchen window. Your tail will start to wag and you'll bark until I open the door. And even though you're so excited to see me, you'll sit patiently like you always do so I can give you a big hug.
I look forward to that day and I can't wait to see you on the other side, Old Bear :)
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