A Open Letter to my Childhood Dog,
I was only five years old the summer that we got our collie, Jenna. Although I was young, I remember almost all of it vividly. We went to pick her up a few hours away from home and learned that she was to be a show dog, but her tail curled wrong so she was rejected. My family didn’t mind. I remember the first moment I got to hold her in the car. Jenna would soon grow, but for the time being, I loved having a dog that would fit on my lap.
Jenna became trained very quickly and her love for my family was evident. She got along well with our other dog and loved to go for walks. Jenna grew up into a full-blooded collie and taught me about a kind of love I didn’t even know I was capable of having.
I was an anxious kid and if I’m being honest, being anxious isn’t really something that I believe I have outgrown. Every night, Jenna nestled herself into my carpet and slept alongside my bed until morning. Her being in my room calmed me down and she never made me feel alone. Not only did she lay with me on good nights, but on bad nights, too. My chronic asthma caused me to use my nebulizer a few times a week. My “machine” as we called it clicked on and Jenna woke up to sit with me. There’s something about the compassion that comes from animals that just cannot be compared to humans.
Just like people, dogs don’t live forever. When Jenna’s collie sister, Brooks, died I never thought Jenna would be the same again. Instead of showing her grief for losing her best friend, she worked hard to give my family and I double the love. It seems to selfish for me to say this, but my life consists of so much more than Jenna but her whole life is centered around me. She sleeps when I sleep, she eats when I feed her and she plays when I let her outside.
Jenna is now almost 14 years old and doesn’t look the same as she used to as a sweet puppy. Her face is gray, her hips are weak and she can no longer walk up the stairs. She doesn’t chase rabbits in the yard and she is too fragile to go for walks. She is nearly blind and almost entirely deaf. Her body has changed but her heart has not. Jenna still perks up when we come home, still is eager to get ice cubes for a snack when someone opens the freezer and is always appreciative when someone takes the time to sit with her and give her the love she has given me for almost 75 percent of my life.
Like I said before, I know dogs don’t live forever. I know that someday I will have a family of my own and I will have more dogs in my life than I will be able to count on my 10 fingers, but Jenna will always be where my love for animals began. Jenna will always be a fond memory of my childhood and someone who taught me to love without limits. Dogs teach us about happiness we don’t even know we’re capable of having.
