by Farrah » Tue Jun 05, 2012 12:50 pm
I used to have a pitbull mix named Cassie. She was all white, except for a parchment-colored strip down her back, and she had the saddest eyes. Cassie had run away from home (or so we suspected) and lived in the wild for a long time, avoiding the animal control as well. When she finally got caught, she was sent to the pound. My mom saw her, a cute little puppy, huddled as far back into her cage as she could go, with her sad eyes staring at my mom. She got spayed (i think that's how you spell it), cleaned off, put in a flea bath, and given all of her shots, and then my mom took her home. My sister decided on the name Cassie; it was either that or something like Salt (my uncle has a dog named Pepper). Cassie lived with me from the minute I was born. She washed my ears and feet, and took care of me, accepting me into the family. She was always more wary of men than women (which made for a suspicion that the home she ran away from was an abusive one), and she was extremely patient with me and my brother. The only time I can recall when she warned us was when my brother was tugging on her tail.
Then, when I was in third grade, Cassie stopped barking when the doorbell rang. We didn't think much of it, but it was the beginning of Alzheimers. She began to forget things. There was medicine we could have given her, but it wouldn't have been able to reverse what had happened. My poor sister, my caretaker, my dog, was going to be put down. On a school day.
In the morning, I practically ate outside (we had to keep her there). I sat and petted her, hardly able to believe that this would be my last time to see her, last time to ever see this wonderful dog, who was always gentle and kind. I cried. I didn't want to go to school, because when I did, I would never see my friend again. She just layed there, content and quiet. When I left for school, I was trying really hard not to cry. I almost burst into tears twice that day, and when I got home, I silently prayed that a dog would bark, that my older sister, my snow colored, sad eyed, rescued from the pound, sister, would answer and bark. I knew it wouldn't happen, but I still hoped. She had always hated the vet. And she had died there, quietly, without a fight. It was unfair. Unfair! Why should she have to die in a place she used to hate, without any fight, so unlike her? I cried for months afterwards. I missed my dog. I still miss my dog. I still cry sometimes. We moved the same year, to Illinois. I sang, for the first month that we were there, songs about Cassie. I don't remember any of them. Cassie taught me to always treasure what I have, because nothing gold can stay.
Then, in my second year in Illinois, we looked for a new dog. I wanted a new dog. I would never forget Cassie, but there was a hole in my heart. Our house seemed so empty.
We looked for corgis, because my mom has always wanted a corgi. We decided on Pembroke corgis, and started looking. For a while, we couldn't find anything. But finally, during the time in which my dad left for Pakistan, we found a breeder. And we knew it was the perfect one.
The little corgi that is now my little sister's name was, at the time, Pink. I knew, knew, knewit was perfect. My favorite color was always pink. I knew it was meant to be. When we headed down to the clinic they were at, I couldn't wait to see her.
There were three of them. All were so excited to see new people! They jumped on us, and I was a bit nervous, having never had anything jump on me before. We found out that the three were all related. The biggest was their mother, whose name was Selene. Then there was Kiwi, Pink's sister, and finally, Pink. Pink was the smallest of them all because she had had heart problems and had surgery when she was younger. She has a white diamond on the back of her neck, and no "saddle" (a dark mark on the back in the shape of a saddle.). None of them had any saddles. They are all the same warm tan color.
At first, my mom actually wanted to buy Selene, who was for sale with Pink. Only Kiwi would stay. Her side was that an older dog would be easier to handle. But me and my brother wouldn't hear of it. We wanted Pink. She would live longer, we argued, and, I kept mentioning, she and me fit. Finally, we got Pink, deciding to rename her Emma. When we were walking away, she was so confused. Why were we leaving her family behind? She was sad for the first few days, but now, I don't think it ever bothers her. I love her. She has such a comical face, and shes always so happy.
I knew another dog would help me, and she did. I'm still very sad about Cassie leaving us, but if she hadn't, we wouldn't have gotten Emma. Just a while ago, my mom had a dream that Cassie had visited her with a pack of wild dogs, like a final farewell. Maybe it was just a dream. I like to think it was her checking up on us, and letting us know that she was leaving now, off to go hunt adventures with her friends. Emma is very much alive and with us, still brightening everyone's day with a silly tilt of her head. She taught me that even though sometimes you never think you can get over something, or you never want to get another dog, cat, bird, or horse, you can get over something, and often times another animal is just the thing.
What a view, huh?
Respectful Atheist, avid student, and constant thinker.