Not so merry

The little dog was a gift from my parents. I'd pestered them, and it seemed like a good idea. I was going through some rough teenage stuff and was happy to have the little furball.

I remember we picked up a newspaper and did a little looking at ads. For some reason we weren't getting a mutt from the pound, but a gen-u-ine purebred pooch. We thought we'd look at several puppies before choosing. But you know how that goes, the first one you see is the one you bring home.

And that's what we did. I picked the runt of a Pomeranian litter. She was very, very tiny. A little red poof that we called Jazzy. I'd read somewhere that dogs respond well to names with the "ee" sound at the end.

She slept in a tiny basket because we were worried we'd trample her. She seemed to be fond of the baskets, as over the years that's where she chose to sleep.

But time passed and she grew up - so did I. She was still a little red poof. I went to college, moved away, got married. She slept in the basket and became the close companion of my Dad.

I came home last night. She's old now. I know she's over 12. Little dogs don't live all that long (like their large-breed counterparts). She was in a basket, looking poorly. I knew. We all knew. I petted her for a while. We had a wordless talk. After a while, we all went to bed.

This morning she was in the basket. In the same spot - where she hadn't really moved for a couple of days. My parents took her to the vet while I tried to help get things ready for the big Christmas festivities of the morning. We prepared for the worst, and it came a few hours later.

Her heart was huge - pressing against her lungs and her esophagus, she couldn't breathe very well. She was dying. My parents did the right thing. Then they came home, we tried to hold it together. The grandkids were on their way....

Labels: 2003