Eleven and a half years ago, my mother brought home a little wrinkly creature. At first I thought he was ugly but the moment I held him, he fell asleep and the rest is history. Today he died. So in honor of his life I thought I would share some memories with him:
When I had no friends and everyone ignored me, you were always there with a wet nose and a kiss.
When I needed fresh air, you forced me out of the apartment and begged for walks around the neighborhood.
When Mom’s husband tried to attack me, you always stood in the way willing to sacrifice your life in a way that neither of my parents would.
When Mom died, I cried a thousand rivers of tears in your fur and you closed your weary eyes in solidarity for the sick lady who always fed you Twizzlers.
When Dad drank so much that he became hostile, you made me feel safe. Like it was just me and you against the world.
Together, we made it through constant chaos, barely getting enough sleep or space to heal our wounds. And we survived and at the half mark of your life (in a new space), you began to thrive.
Emp, my dear wrinkly little Sharpei, you were the best protector that any scared twelve-year old girl could wish for. So although my heart hurts, I take comfort in knowing that you are finally free.
Here’s to you, my first best fur friend.
P.S. Tell Mom I said hello.