All Dog's Go To Heaven

My dog died yesterday afternoon.

She got sick Sunday night and she died around 4pm the next day. She was around 75 years old. But like all of us in the family, she got the young genes and looks around 40.

She was a really beautiful animal. I've had her since I was 13 or 14, I can't really remember when. I know I tried calling her Scott, since I was obsessed with the name Scott, but since she was a "she" my parents insisted on naming her Bambi.

I kept calling her Scott and they started calling her Bambi. She got a doggie identity crisis after a week and I just...called her Bambi.

She was just...the best.

It seems silly, talking about a dog. But she was really important to us, we really loved her, and she loved us too.

Yesterday, I was in full crisis mode: my mom and I fought, the dog was sick, and I'd never felt so lost in my life.

She was still walking around, and I got up to constantly check on her. My mom went to visit my aunt, and when she came home she immediately went to see the dog before sacking out, drained from her visit.

Mark and JP dropped by to get the cable from my camera--which Mark borrowed--and to do some hand-holding during my crisis. We talked about my goals--or lack thereof--and about having a plan, what the hell was wrong with me, and just my general restlessness.

Bambi always sat next to me when they were around.

When the three of us had just started hanging out, they used to come by my house on the excuse of seeing Bambi. She was such a beautiful dog that their alibi seems wholly believable.

She didn't go to us yesterday, but she got up and lay down where she could keep an eye on us. JP and Mark called out to her and said "Hi", as was tradition, and went to discern my impending breakdown.

As soon as they left, my dad arrived and asked about the dog. It was time for her meds and I told him she was sleeping. My dad thought it was better if we waited but I went to check on her again.

Dead.

I went to see her and she was just...dead.

It wasn't really such a surprise anymore. We had this feeling that she was going to die, just like how I had a feeling that my grandfather was going to die when we raced to hospital.

When I told my mom, she immediately went to the living room and just sat down. My dad was getting some of his things from the car and I just went "she's gone."

I've never seen my dad more expressive. Usually he's so stoic. You can see it in all the Vengua's. When my uncle--their brother died--they were very much like British Armed Guards. They were upset, but they kept much of their reaction.

I just sat down on the sofa while my dad started pacing around, unclear of what to do or feel. My mom called my aunt's help to ask if they could call the handyman because our dog died and we needed help in burying him. It was rather amusing when her voice cracked when she said Bambi's name, but it was...

Well, she was dead.

My mom kept breaking down through the evening. Bambi usually sat next to her when she gardened or stayed outside, wanting her attention or just keeping her company. I don't think she saw a lot of my mom when she was working, so when she retired two years ago she made for lost time by just tagging around her every time she was home.

When the handyman came, my dad helped him dig a grave in my mom's garden. In the middle of her bermuda grass. We didn't want to just get rid of her, and my mom wanted her close by. So my dad and the handyman broke though the packed ground and started digging a grave, while the dog cooled on our backyard, looking like she was just sleeping in her usual hangout beneath the kitchen windows.

he could have just watched, but I think my dad needed to dig just get rid of his frustration. His sadness. She was his dog more than any of us. She was his favorite among all of us.

I think my mom even wanted to have her cremated, but we thought that was a bit overkill (pardon the pun) It really made us feel better that she was just there, quite near us.

Last night, I kept looking out my window and watching the mound of dirt outside.

Every night, Bambi would sit by my window and keep watch. When I transferred rooms, farther down from my parents, she moved with me. Sometimes, before I went to bed at two or three in the morning, i'd take a peek at her. I never called her, but she always woke up and walked to my window, wagging her tail. It's like the two of us saying goodnight.

It was so weird, waking up this morning and knowing she wasn't going to be there. That I didn't have anyone to give the leftover bones from lunch. To see her empty collar.

My mom told me she cried again when she woke up this morning. She said that she'd never cried as hard or felt as bad as when my grandfather died. That's how much she meant to us.

Tonight, as I was locking up, a cat walked past and my first thought of the movement was my dog. Second thought was "Oh dear, Bambi's going to kill that cat." Then I remembered that she was dead and that sort of set me off again.

My mom is the worse. She still breaks down. Today, i've caught her and my dad just walking past the grave and...staring. But it's nothing I can call them on because I've looked out my window several times today to just stare at it too.

So my life changes yet again.

On of my best friends is dead, while i'm trying to sort through this feeling of lost and apathy in my life.

And i'm just starting to miss her.