Friday, December 21, 2007



Low: So today, after a trip that was completely disastrous except for the fact that Britni went through it all with me, I called my mom as I walked off the plane, and she said she was here. After picking up my luggage, I looked around baggage claim, where she said she'd be, and I couldn't find her. I was hoping she'd bring Dooby since usually when our family picks one of us up from the airport, we bring him because we don't want to leave him at home alone. Twenty minutes later, she appears (without Dooby). On the way back home, we just talked about college and stuff. Finally, I asked casually, "So Dooby's at home by himself?" My mom got really quiet, and I knew no good was in the future. She started telling about how he's gotten really aggressive since I left my mom, my dad, and other people. The last straw was when he bit my brother so hard that his fingernail almost fell off. Of course, Dooby had to go, so they gave him away.

The whole time she was telling the story, I knew what the ending would be, but I just denied it to myself. Even after she told me, I was simply stunned and angry. Why did they give him away? (The answer is obvious.) Why didn't they tell me? (I didn't ask, but I'm thinking it's probably because they didn't want to distract me from schoolwork.) Then, when the realization finally hit me, I started crying for the first time since I left home. My mom was definitely teary too, but she told me not to think of all the cute things he did and just think of how dangerous he was now. This made sense in my head, but I couldn't help it! I just remembered all his little idiosyncrasies - how he looked ashamed when he knew he done bad after we caught him chewing up tissues from the trash can, how he runs to the bathroom when we tell him "timeout" and is supposed to stay in the corner but sometimes leaves and when we crack open the door and catch him he'll sneak back to the corner, how I taught him to shake, high-five, super-high-five, and guess which hand the treat was in, how he ran around the house in a perfectly predictable way and we would chase him, how he loved to play so much, how soft his fur was, how he would sigh and flop on the couch...but I knew if he was that fierce, we would have to part with him. I just couldn't stop crying until I realized that I would be visiting my high school in an hour and how I would be all red and disgusting, so I'm holding it in right now. Still, when I walked in from the garage door, there was a little tiny hope that this was not real and Dooby would be in the bathroom, whimpering and scrabbling on the door to get out. I think I put him, or at least my love for him, on a pedestal, which half-blinds me to his faults. I still can't help it though!

I walked through the house and saw his little doggie house with his bed inside. My mom's letting me sleep in her room, and when I walked in, all I could think of was how in the mornings, he would jump at the side of her bed, asking her to pick him up. I know, when I walk to the front door, I'll think of all the times I took him out and complained about having to pick up his poop and wish I'd done it more often and less begrudgingly. When I walk to the kitchen, I'll think of his little water dish and food bowl in the corner and how he only ate from them when he was reeeeally really hungry - he always begged for our food otherwise. When I walk into the living room, I'll see the mantle by the fireplace where we put his toys in a box and he would be smart and get the ones he liked and where we cracked open the treats that were too big for him and make him do tricks for them.

I can't believe the one thing I missed most while I was gone isn't here anymore and will never be.

High: I'm home, I guess.


Blogger Chuan said...

RIP Grace


1:33 AM  
Blogger y said...

aww grace I'm so sorry... :(

9:32 PM  

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