My Dog's Last Thoughts On The Hardest Day Of My Life
"My Girl"
Written as a creative nonfiction piece
I'm laying on the soft, beige pillow—the one that belonged to my dad.
My body aches and my eyes are heavy, but I catch her walking towards me out of the corner of my eye.
She is the same as she always was. She kneeled down in front me of me, her soft hands stroking the sides of my face, always paying special attention the spot behind my right ear. Her eyes were the same beautiful hazel; a dark, forest green on the outside, with a rustic brown on the inside…both containing specs of gold.
However, today those beautiful hazel eyes are completely filled with tears. Her nose is running slightly and she wipes it with the green sleeve of her shirt. Her cheeks already tinting pink, and her ruby lips are quivering. I'm not sure what to do at this moment. I've comforted her all throughout my lifetime. But this was different.
I can barely hear what the two women behind me are saying—they keep poking me in the leg with something and it kind of hurts. My attention turns back to her. She lets her tears fall, they crash down onto the cool, tile floor beside me.
I remember the first time I had kissed away her tears, doing my best to get the big, wet drops to stop falling. It was my job. She had fallen off of her cotton-candy-blue bike and scraped her knee. Another time it was after dad had yelled at her for trying to make me what she called "cereal"—Laken, dogs don't eat cereal! You cannot waste his food!—I would've gladly eaten the cereal.
She used to make me do completely ridiculous things; jumping obstacle courses, put pink nail polish on my claws and even make me jump onto her bed at night (as long as mom and dad didn't see). But I would do them ten-times over just to see the excitement on her face.
I haven't been able to do her obstacle courses for some time now. I don't think she expects me to. My graying face, a slight limp in my right leg, and the lack of time that she is home prevent it from being possible.
She spent a lot of time away from home after he came along. But she smiled when he was around. He's not around anymore. She smiles much more now, and even bigger when she lays with me.
She isn't smiling right now.
I remember one special night in particular, the one where she was wearing the dress. The black top and mint green bottom. Her usual straight hair was now curled, my other sister put weird colors on her eyes, but it looked good. My girl looked beautiful. I watched her run over to me in her black heels, the ones that made her feel "grown up," she crouched down and wrapped her arms around me. There were many protests from mom—You're going to get hair all over you!—but dad snapped the picture and I smiled wide.
She hasn't changed a bit, besides being slightly taller and she puts those weird colors on her eyes all by herself now. It's black today. Although I couldn't hear what they were saying anymore, and my eyes were getting even heavier, I took one last look at her and her hazel eyes, ruby red lips—I love you more than anything.
I only blinked for a second, but here I am, someplace completely new. I stood, sniffing around before I saw Him come out of the light—Hey there, walk with me, won't you?—He looked familiar. I think she talked about Him quite a lot, especially when there was a new, weird-smelling plant in the house, decorated with sparkling lights and a star at the top of it.
I walked beside Him, telling Him every single detail about my girl.
