Almost 14 years ago my mom directed me to her briefcase to retrieve her some papers. When I opened the lid I saw a small white puppy snoozing contently inside. My mom laughed and cried out “Happy Birthday!”. Eventually I named him Pronto and he was the best gift ever.
I’ve owned pets all my life and I’ve loved every one of them. But on rare occasions, if you’re very lucky, a pet arrives that is truly a kindred spirit. It seems an extension of yourself and becomes part of your identity. You think of yourself as that guy with that pet. Pronto was all these things as well as a constant companion. Someone to take walks with. Someone to snuggle up with for naps. Someone to travel with. In his prime he seemed to distill all the good things in life: energy, bravery, adventure, and a sunny disposition. Even as he aged and mellowed we just seemed to mesh so naturally together and I loved him dearly.
That’s what made yesterday such a very, very hard day.
Nine days ago Pronto had been fine. We’d been out to see Mike and Scott and he’d been barking and playing with their four big labs without a care in the world. By Tuesday he was feeling blue and beginning to vomit. He stayed the weekend with my brother who’s two little girls love him, and then on Monday he looked so bad I took him to the vet. By the time I got back from work on Tuesday the diagnosis was grim. A massive tumor in his chest was displacing his heart and blocking his esophagus. He was concurrently suffering kidney failure that could not be treated. The doctor was shocked that he’d been so active with such a large tumor. A dark decision had to be made. By 6:30 that night I was cradling him in my arms as the doctor administered the pink injection. I’ll always remember feeling his heart stop. Seeing his eyes go dim but never close. Tears and irreplaceable loss.
Today these black thought press heavily on my spirit but I know they’ll fade. It may take time but they’ll yield to all the good memories. His pertinacious attacks on halloween toys. His endless annoyance all the men I’ve dated. His refusal to sleep anywhere but in the bed. All the funny stories, warm recollections, and striking photographs that mark a great little life. A grand little life. And one I was lucky enough to share.
