We came here as a family, all five of us. No sooner than Eugene got his official marching orders for Asia, I was on the phone arranging travel for Inca. And when he got word of our early return to the US, much of the same. But as the clock ticked through this summer and fall, I began to notice oddities in Inca, things that were just not her norm. So those thoughts began to creep into my mind, was Inca's time drawing near? There were days when I was sure of it. She wouldn't be able to see or smell the doggie treat on the floor, was fearful of taking the step down from our bathroom back into the bedroom, and woke in the morning just to sleep in a different room, in a different position. It's easy though to sweep those thoughts away, blame old age. For the love of pete, she was 14 years old already! Cut the old girl some slack.
But her behavior when the movers came from the air shipment last week caused me to take her to the vet immediately. She was so lethargic, never once raising her voice, as she was known to do, to the commotion inside our house. Never even getting up from the spot on the office rug she had planted herself on earlier that morning. I was afraid she wouldn't get her health certificate to travel and if something could be done, let's nip it in the bud sooner rather than later. So we talked, the vet and I, about Inca what her days and nights were like. And when we were done, he gently suggested that perhaps the best thing for Inca was a well-deserved sleep. Along with old age and having gone blind, Inca exhibited signs of kidney failure.
Every night Inca slept on our bed, her furry body huddled against mine. The past week, knowing that this day was coming, has been agony. I found myself waking in the night, trying to capture the sensation of Inca sleeping at my feet, trying to memorize the little sounds she made while sleeping. I'd reach down and scratch her head or rub her little belly and in the morning I'd tell Gene once again "I didn't sleep well last night".
After we had our good byes with Inca this morning, Gene and I walked the quietest walk through Stanley Plaza together. "Do you think you'll get another dog?," he asked me. "No," I tell him blotting drippy tears from my eyes, "I won't get another dog, but maybe the kids will." Because you see even though Inca became the family dog, she was in all honesty my dog first and foremost. She joined us as newlyweds just six months into our marriage. It was this little Yorkie that kept newlywed me company as Gene sequestered himself, studying to become a CPA. It was her silky fur that caught my tears as we sped away from the shores of Lake Erie in 2001 to live in North Carolina. She snoozed in slivers of sunlight in the dining room of our first home, walked the block with us as we chatted about the new life we discovered in the south. When Mia was born, it was my little dog who paced the floors with me and my terminally ill child. I will never forget the sight of her perched on the arm of our sofa, peering quizzically into the empty bassinet after Mia had passed. She joyfully welcomed both baby Reagan and Tripp and endured countless hours of tail pulling, dragged about the house by chubby toddler arms, being thrown into doll strollers, wrapped up in blankets. But after the adventurous or down right torturous day, she happily spent her nights asleep on my bed, cuddled together, me and my furry baby.
So maybe when all this raw hurt passes, and I know it will, the family will welcome another animal to live in our home. But it won't be my dog. It will be the kids who choose their pet. It will be that dog who absorbs the tears of Reagan's first heartbreaks, comforts Tripp when his team doesn't get the big win. That dog will play fetch with the kids and their friends, walk with them to the ice cream stand, lay at their feet while they study. And of course I'll love that dog too but it won't be my dog, because after my Inca dog, nothing can compare. Lots of people have dogs and lost dogs, but I assure you, really, nothing can compare.
Good-bye sweet girl. You are so missed.
