Well, the title for best dog in the world is up for grabs. Pearl spent the last night of her 14 years with us. 14 years is the average, even slightly above average, lifespan of a samoyed. But Pearl was anything but average. She was an extraordinary dog, perfect in every way.
She was a family dog. We all took turns raising her when the time called. She went through moves, new homes, new jobs, new cars, breakups. 14 years can contain plenty of change for humans, but Pearl’s sweet, loving personality never altered.
I’ll save money on vet bills, groomer bills, prescriptions, and specialized foods. I’ll have significantly less fur all over my clothes, bed sheets, even sometimes in my food. My life will be more convenient, but so, so much worse without her. I started missing her well before she died. I missed how annoying she was, interrupting me while I worked by forcing her head onto my lap, barking at her food when it was dinner time, hiding under my desk when fireworks went off. The uncontrollable noisiness, sometimes anxious peeing especially when I came back from a longs trip, is what made her so damn cute.
I try to focus on the happy memories, but the last month is so hard to ignore. Seemingly overnight, her health rapidly declined. She got so old, so damn fast. I tried so many things: diet and medication changes, vitamins, dog shoes, a ramp, CBD oil, sleep aides. Every time it looked like I had found a remedy, I was reminded that everything I did, everything I could’ve done, was ephemeral in the face of time.
There’s nothing quite like a dog’s death that will open you up to judgement. I learned that after Shadow died. Yes, I spent that much money on a dog. No, I can’t just get a new dog. No, I don’t care if I’m being a downer. A dog’s death will also open you up to self-doubt. I’m left second guessing decisions. Did I wait too long? Did she have more time? Was there something else I could’ve done? I’m second guessing all the time I could’ve had with her when she was healthy. Did I really need to do that show or open mic? Take that trip? Watched TV or looked at my phone when I could’ve just been laying there petting her.
I’m heartbroken. I wake up crying, go to sleep crying. I didn’t know I could cry this much. Just from a physiological perspective, where I am storing all this water behind my face? There are small things that I didn’t realize would trigger my grief: taking off my monthly reminder on my calendar to give her flea medicine, finding plastic bags inside of my jacket pockets, or merely looking at the floor where she used to sleep. The floor of all things, makes me depressed.
Dogs are remarkable creatures. They’ve purposely evolved to love humans. A dog doesn’t care if you got fired from work, failed your final exam, rear ended another car. They don’t care if you lost money gambling or said something stupid at a party. No matter how badly you fuck up, a dog is happy to see you, even if you are late. Dogs love humans in a way that humans can’t love each other. Dogs just…love.
That’s what Pearl did best. She loved. She knew tricks, had a beautiful coat, incredibly strong in her younger days. But her best quality was that she could deeply and unconditionally love. I like to think she had a full, happy, fluffy life. She got to live in different parts of the country. Got to visit mountains, lakes, rivers, oceans, beaches, mountains, and deserts. I tried to give her the best life I could, but nothing will ever compare to what she gave me. I watched her close her eyes and take her final breaths and I told her I love her. I only hope she knew how much she meant to all of us.
Goodbye Pearl. I didn’t deserve you, but I’m so grateful to have had you. May you finally be at peace.
