Catching Up

When I was about nine years old my grandparents thought it'd be a good idea to get my big brother a dog. Me being a little girl- I was excited and filled with joy at the site if the puppy boxer. But had I known what the future held, I would have forced my mom to take back the innocent pup, before we got too attached.

Fast forward about 5 years; my now really big brother is living out his last year with my family before going to college, and that innocent puppy, now called Ginger, has gained 70 lbs. and earned herself a spot as my best friend.

We had learned lots of things about Ginger (sometimes "Snap" or "Ginger Snap") over the past 1/2 decade she spent with us. We learned that she was the sweetest, most caring dog when it came to the people that she loved. Seeing and being with her brought genuine happiness to out hearts, which doesn't come easily now-a-days. But he truth is, she was consequently vicious and mean to other dogs. Animal Control had been called on her once, and really, she was pushing my mom to the breaking point.

One night my brother and I were watching TV when my mom called us into her room. This was no rare occasion- but as soon as I walked in, I knew there was something wrong. The heaviness was palpable and my Mom's face was drained. All was quiet as I carefully say down, doing my best not to disturb the unbroken silence. After a minute or so of sitting there, waiting for the disastrous news I knew was to come, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Mom, what is it?"

Her eyes were threatening tears as she put her hand on my knee.

"I'm so sorry sweeite."

She apologized to me, yet I was oblivious to what the "sorry" was for. She must've read the confusion in my face because she began to explain to my brother and I that my beloved best friend will not grow old with us, where she belonged. She won't even live to see next week.

The whole room- no, world- seemed to collapse around me, each word my mother spoke hit me like an 18 wheeler. I couldn't believe any of this, how my mother- who was supposed to be the voice of reason- could seem so wrong.

"She just isn't meant to be kept enclosed like she is."

She is MY dog.

"I can't risk having animal control being called on her again."

This can all be helped!

"What if she kills another dog?"

We won't let that happen! You can't do this!

My mom said all these things like she meant them, so why was she crying so hard?

So many emotions gurgled in my stomach and crawled up my throat forming into words. I wanted to say something; I HAD to say something, but as soon as the words hit my mouth, they melted in with my spit, leaving my mouth salivating with feelings that I couldn't for the life of me express.

I left school early when Ginger was out down because I couldn't go a minute without tears spilling all over my paper. I spent the rest of the day lying in bed, waiting for her to come back to me and comfort me on her own death. I couldn't seem to convince myself that she was actually gone. I even found myself calling for her to come- but of course the call had no answer.

Never in my life had I felt so empty and alone. I was truly crushed and each breath I took that day hurt. I didn't know how long it would take for me to repair myself from it. And to be completely honest- 8 months have passed and I still have trouble writing this narrative. But I learned to carry on with my life as I had before, because I know that if I get too behind, I won't be able to catch up.