Goodbye, Little One

I lost my dog this past Wednesday. She had been sick for about the past week leading up to when we had to put her down, and she'd had arthritis for a while, so I suppose it was for the best. But . . . it hurt to let her go.

I know it's a little silly that I care so much about her, because after all, she was only a dog. But I grew up with her running by my side during my elementary years, and then about a decade later she was still with me in high school listening to me rant about anything and everything. I always knew someday she would die, but I never really saw it as a real possibility.

Until now.

My parents came home after bringing her to the vet, and two words from my dad reduced me to tears. "She's gone," was all he said. I couldn't control myself. I burst into a mess of tears and mascara, sobbing. I spilled tears on part of my homework, but at that point I didn't care. She had been my best furry friend for most of my life, and now she was gone. There would be no one I could share my secrets with or cuddle with when it was cold. And I felt hollow for days afterward. I couldn't talk about it without my voice threatening to break or tears brimming in my eyes. I was a mess, to be honest.

I slapped on my brave, smiley, cheerful face that I've always put on in the past, which helped a little bit, but not completely. I know it probably sounds a little stupid to some of you, but I miss my dog. A lot. So if my posts during the next while aren't up to snuff, this is why. I'm suffering from post loss-of-dog-syndrome and I don't know the cure.

Her name was Zoie.

That is all.

Cheers,
Seana