Your Pet Loss Diaries

May 24, 2011

by Benji

I miss the way you used to tease me with your toys.

The way you'd gather your favorite squeaker from your basket, run to me as if you wanted to play, and then run away when I reached for the toy.
The entire time, you'd be wagging your tail in pure joy.

To you, it wasn't being mean.
To you, it was a game.

I miss the way you used to squeak your toy late in the middle of the night.
It was loud, and sometimes it kept me up.
But it reminded me that you were only one room away.
It reminded me that I'd wake up in the morning and you'd still be there, waiting for me.

I miss the way you would always lay in the most awkward places.
You were our biggest dog, and yet, you were always the one that would place yourself right under our feet.
I can't count the number of times I almost tripped over you upon waking up at five o'clock in the morning to get ready for school.
I can't count the number of times I DID trip over you upon waking up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water.

I miss the way you'd lay your head on my lap when I was feeling sad.
There was always something comforting about the way you'd stare up at me with your sweet, honey brown eyes.
Even on my darkest days, having your head upon my lap would make me feel pure joy.

I knew that no matter what happened,
no matter how hard I fell,
no matter how sad I was,
you were there to comfort me.
Always.

I miss the way you'd play peek a boo with me.
To you it was a game.
You'd sneak between my knees and look up at me with your sweet eyes.
It was fun to you, it was a way to play.

I miss the way you'd stick your butt in the air while playing with the little dogs.
Almost every dog has done it at one point or another.
But none of them ever did so the way you always did.
You'd keep it there for minutes at a time while waiting for one of the little ones to accept the play invitation.
Their decline never upset you.
You'd still stay there in play bow position, waiting for at least one of them to return the invitation.

I miss the way I always found your fur everywhere in the house.

On the couches.
On my clothes.
On the carpet.
On my bed.
In the shower drain.
In the sink drain.
... While I was cooking.

I miss the way you walked me whenever we went for a walk.
I should have trained you to perform a decent heel.
But I never did.
I trained you not to pull too hard and that was good enough for us.

You enjoyed your walks as long as you got to walk at least an inch ahead.
And that was good enough for us.

I miss the way you'd climb on my lap while I was sitting on the couch.
You were by no means a lap dog, but you made a darn good one.
You might not have been small like our other dogs,
you might not have been a Chihuahua like our small ones,
but Cinnamon,
you were my ugly Chihuahua,
and my beautiful Shetland Sheepdog mix.

I miss feeding you in the evening.
You were always a finicky eater.
There were so many brands you wouldn't touch.
I could spend fifty dollars on a bag of kibble for you, and you wouldn't like it.
But when I found something you did like, it felt like an accomplishment.
And when you happily ate, it gave me a feeling of joy.

I miss your gentle kisses.
I miss your sweet eyes.
I miss the feeling of your soft, cinnamon colored fur.
I miss watching you happily chew on a treat.
I miss buying toys for you.
I miss taking pictures of you.
I miss watching you play with Meepster.
I miss watching you gently bathe Precious with your tongue.
I miss picking you up as if you were twenty pounds lighter than you really were.
I miss taking you to the vet.
I miss struggling with you to give you a bath.

The thing I miss most of all, though, Cinnamon, is the way your name was always spoken with joy when you were with us.

Even when you did something you shouldn't have been doing, there was a bit of joy in my voice when I spoke your name.

Because I was filled with so much love for you that even your misdoings couldn't take that joy out of my voice.

Now, though, when I speak your name in the middle of the night, that's longing on my tongue.

I long to be able to gently kiss your head again.
I long to be able to stare into your sweet eyes again.
I long to pet your soft, cinnamon colored fur again.
I long to give you a treat again.
I long to buy you another toy.
I long to take one more picture of you.
I long to see you play with Meepster again.
I long to see you gently bathe Precious again.
I long to pick you up as if you were twenty pounds lighter one last time.
I long to take you to the vet again.
I long to bathe you once more.

But most of all, I long for the day when it hurts less than it does now.

And I only say less because I know it will always hurt, but I also know that one day I'll be able to think about you without crying. I long for that day.

But for now, whenever I speak your name, that longing will be there.

And I miss when it wasn't, because that's how much I miss you.