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Saying Goodbye

The death of a pet is never easy to endure, especially when the animal was your best friend, greeted you at the door ecstatically night after night, shared your supper, charmed you for treats, and left no blade of grass unsniffed from one end of the block to the other.

I lost my best friend, Buddy Joe, last Tuesday. He died in my arms wrapped up in his favorite blanket, with peace and dignity at the age of 18.

He came into my life during an epic season of loneliness, when I was sure nothing was ever going to change, when hope was noticeable for its absence, and when my world seemed flat and without color. He was 10 years old, and someone brought him into an animal clinic in New Jersey to be put down. The vet told the person that she would not destroy a healthy animal and would find a home for him; four months later, my sister's parakeet got sick and she looked up vets specializing in birds. When she carried the cage into the animal clinic, she saw the sign, "Do you have room in your heart and home for an older dog?" She gave me a call and I picked up the mystery dog that afternoon. I didn't know if it was male or female, big or small, friendly or fierce I just knew that a dog needed me, and I knew exactly what it felt like to be cast aside, unwanted.

Through the door came Buddy Joe, a golden cocker spaniel, happy and hopeful, bringing the two things I needed most peace and love. Suddenly, here was a creature that depended upon me and was overjoyed to see me each night when I came home from work. Every pay day I would buy a roaster chicken on my way home and share it with him.

Two years later, I accepted a job offer in South Florida and Buddy Joe retired to the Sunshine State. I believe the move added a few years to his life. I also added a canine analgesic to his diet because I figured as he aged, he was probably pretty achy. Our walks became shorter, and I began leaving newspaper on the tile floor in case he couldn't make it through the night.

I asked the vet who had treated him for a long time when would I know it was time for him to go? The answer: "When he no longer wants to get up in the morning." That day came about a month ago, but my pal rallied, and then the next day he lost ground. And so it went. On his last day he seemed confused and I had to lift him into the car. Tucked in my purse was a half pound of sliced ham, Buddy Joe's favorite. While waiting for the vet, I snuggled with him on his blanket and he enjoyed every bite of ham. He was so tired; he really did "just go to sleep."

I trust that when it's my time to cross over, Buddy Joe will be there to greet me and I will run to him. Until then, I will miss him every day.

Learn more about this author, Virginia Galfo.
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