“We Lost A Great One Today”

What can I say about losing a pet?

They are arguably a member of the family, an integral cog in the wheel that is our day-to-day life. They accept our moods, dysfunction and questionable decisions with a complete lack of judgement and a wash of unconditional love. Who else can do that for us?

We lost Querida (Dita) our precious 9+ year old boxer girl last night.
It was sudden, in her sleep, in the back of my husband’s van that doubles as her pimp ride everyday. The back seat of this vehicle looks like the inside of Jeannie’s bottle, lush and cushy, ridiculously cozy with balls and blankets and toys, befitting such a queen.
She exited this life HER way. No fuss, no muss and no drama.
It was the way I would have chosen for her to go, and truth be told, the way I had been begging her to choose –– the way we all want to go –– instantly, painlessly and peacefully. Right?

Then why do I feel so bad?

Ugh. I write this with such a heavy heart, and I know better….I really do. I know in my heart of hearts that she has merged with pure positive energy and is playing a wicked game of frisbee in dog park heaven…yet, I can’t stop the tears.

I’ve grieved cats before. I lost two of them to coyotes ten years ago. But losing a dog feels different to me in this way: Cats are affectionate, and mine loved me something awful, don’t get me wrong, but I never got a sense from them that they needed me. Not for their happiness anyway. Maybe to feed them and an occasional cuddle and pet, but I was quite aware that the human in their life wasn’t Janet specific – it was…interchangeable.

But my dog? SHE loved her mommy (me) and she let me know it every day.
She’d follow me around, especially this last year or so as her health declined, with her big soulful eyes, finding solace in watching me go through my daily routine. She’d peek around the corner if I wasn’t in the kitchen for coffee fast enough, Pssst, you comin’?
And accompany me to the bathroom to drink out of the bidet. She also stood beside the shower every morning waiting for the hot washcloth to rid her of the smeared make-up. As you can see from the photos, she was a bit heavy handed with the eyeliner.
They love routine. SHE loved routine.

Every morning I play the Gayatri Mantra chant by Dev Premal. It wafts through the house for a couple of hours while we go about our morning rituals. It soothes and calms and helps us start the day without killing each other.
Yesterday was no exception, but I noticed as I raced around, that Dita was standing in front of the computer with the most blissed out look on her face. I mean BLISSED.
I even made several comments to Raphael, chuckling, “Dita is REALLY enjoying the chant this morning!”

That’s what I want to remember.
My Yogi girl, with her snaggle toothed face, looking up at me, blissed out on the smell of incense and the sound of ancient Hindu chants.
As a side note, I play meditations at night to fall asleep. They last maybe fifteen minutes and none of us ever hear the end because –– out -we-go. All I had to do was start the intro and she’d hop down into her own bed, and proceeded to follow the breathing. I’m serious.

Breathe in… the tape would say, and as I inhaled a deep breath, I could hear Dita do the same. And…exhale… Which we’d both do, Dita and I, in tandem. It was so endearing that I would even elbow my husband, are you hearing this?

I’m gonna miss that.

Indulge me for a second while I remember her.

I raised her from an eight week old puppy the size of my foot.
I carried her outside to pee in the middle of the night as a puppy, inside my T-shirt, rain or shine, until she got the hang of the doggie door. It was me she came to when she didn’t feel good, right up until last week.
If I would have had a zipper, she would have crawled inside my Mommy suit.

We were a team, the two of us. Not like her dad and she, different –– in an almost metaphysical way.
We got each other. She understood my moods. She understood English for that matter, always freaking me out when I’d ask her to fetch her blue ball out of a box of tens of toys. She would disappear for a couple of minutes and there she’d be, blue ball in her mouth.
I know every mother says it – but she was gifted.

She held my hand at night, slept with me when Raphael went on his far away motorcycle excursions, and was our alarm clock, waking us all at 6 a.m. every morning. I expect I’ll be late for a while.

She was a wiz at balancing a banana on her nose, and then, on command, flipping it into her mouth, with great pride I must add. She also loved to eat ice cubes.

She hiked the canyons with me from the time she was twelve weeks until her legs gave out, loved to bite the sprinklers, was obsessed with balls, frisbee and playing catch, rode in the motorcycle sidecar like a biker bitch, wore a security vest at my husband’s job sites (with full attitude I might add) was impeccably trained, well-mannered and polite.

She was my “shop dog” at Atik, the greeter, the mascot and the resident rascal. She’d wear any hat, glasses, and reindeer antlers that came her way, she even rocked an orange polar-fleece vest that made my husband cringe with embarrassment.
She was game for anything. I loved that about her.

She knew funny. She had the comedic timing of Lucille Ball.
Dita knew how to make us laugh and loved to do it. But she never overdid it – she was a pro.

She hasn’t been too keen on the addition of the boxer-shark puppy this past year. I think our little plan backfired, calling attention to her advancing age, rather than prolonging her youth. I’m sorry baby.

I look forward to the sadness lifting so I can be more receptive to feeling her around me, because I know that’s how these thing work., and I’m looking forward to her visit.

Thanks guys, I needed to write just a small tribute to her – she deserved it.

A class act till the end, she touched a lot of hearts and will be sorely missed by so many.
Fuck…losing a pet…

xox