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Broke Wife, Big City
Welcome to my dog’s Irish wake
By Aprill Brandon
Attention! Attention, everyone! *tings whiskey glass*
First, let me just say thank you all for coming. As I’m sure you know,
we’re here to celebrate the life of my beloved and dearly departed
Buffy. To toast to his memory and give him a proper sendoff.
Now, there are many myths and legends surrounding that ridiculous old
mutt. All of them true, I can assure you. His was a very Dickensian
beginning. A small orphaned puppy found shivering in a snowy field.
Abandoned. Dirty. Hungry. The only thing missing was a tiny tattered
newsboy cap. How could we say no? Even if he did smell like dumpster
fire.
Right away we knew we were in trouble. That first night, we made a
makeshift kennel for him. He immediately escaped. We added
reinforcements. He immediately escaped. We added more. This time it
took him five whole minutes to escape. After that he slept in our bed.
And, of course, every single night thereafter.
That outsized personality only grew bigger as he did. I mean, I live in
a house swarming with screaming redheaded children and yet, without
him, it seems empty now. Everywhere I look has a Buffy-sized hole in
it. And there are crumbs now. I haven’t seen crumbs in 15 years…
Oof. Sorry. Got a bit misty-eyed there. Where was I? Ah, yes, clearly
Ryan and I were far from model dog owners but Buffy, to his credit, did
do his best to train us. In fact, it only took him about three months
to teach us to never let the bottom of the food bowl show and that if
he was straining on the leash we needed to speed up, not the other way
around.
That was the thing about Buffy. He was smart. Much, much smarter than
us. And stubborn. So stubborn. When I dared to buy him a fluffy new dog
bed this winter, he would stare defiantly at me as he walked toward it
and then plopped painfully down beside it on the cold, hardwood floor.
That dog was so stubborn that when he showed the first signs of decline
on Christmas Eve, my husband laid with him on the floor and asked him
to try to hold on through the holidays. For the family.
He made it until January 14th.
Wow. Sorry. No tears. No tears today. Today we celebrate his life.
Speaking of which, I’d like to give a shout out to my mom here, who
taught me that you love a dog for his entire life. Beginning to end.
From soup to nuts, if you will. Which is funny because Buffy lost his
pretty early on. I finally apologized to him for that, by the way. The
last time I saw him. He was laying on a blanket at the animal hospital,
my own body wrapped around him, his eyes in so much pain I’m not even
sure he recognized me.
It all happened so fast.
He probably would have made beautiful puppies.
Ah. Again. With the crying. Sorry. This is all just so...Hey! Did I
ever tell you guys how Buffy ended up with his name? It’s a great
story. Ryan and I were just getting to know each other and joking about
how any future dog we get should be named after the show that helped
bring us together. It was only a few weeks later that he held up a
smelly, wet, filthy ball of fur with giant brown eyes and said “can we
keep him?” And I replied “only under one condition.”
I tell you, no one ever really deserves a dog. And yet, they still walk beside us every step of the way.
I never asked to be loved like that. I don’t even know how it was
possible. He consistently saw me at my worst. My most flawed and human
self. He saw that, day after day, for 15 years, and still loved me.
And then he had the nerve to die.
You can’t love someone unconditionally like that and then just leave
them. How dare he? What do I do now? Just live without him by my side?
I don’t know how to do that anymore.
I mean, what kind of ridiculous creature let’s you cry into his fur
when you’re sad and yell at him when he doesn’t deserve it because
you’re mad about something else and forgives you every single time you
walk out that door and he has no idea when you’ll be back, and is
never, ever not happy to see you?
A stupid dog, that’s who. A creature so damned wonderful that I needed
to write up a fictional wake for him after his death to help me process
the devastating loss I just experienced...
Oof. Again, I apologize. *chugs fictional whiskey* A wake, even a
fictional one, is about celebration. And when it comes down to it,
Buffy had a wonderful long life. One that deserves to be honored and
remembered.
He deserves better than this. But let it be known I tried.
And so, everyone, if we could, let’s all raise a glass and take a drink
to help that gorgeous puppy of mine on his way over the rainbow bridge.
To Buffy!
Slainte!
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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