by Rose
(Montana)
My Hettie girl, on April 21st, 2015 I lost you.
Seven and 1/2 years old, four with me. My own fault; you didn't know about cars. I had always made sure you were safely out of the way. except this one last time. And I was supposed to protect you. I failed you. The pain of my mistake will be with me always.
I miss your spins (translation: yes, Mom, I want that), and how you would help carry laundry as best you could, and how you would always wash your face on your little towel after you ate, and especially how I would hold you, cheek to cheek, and whisper, "Momma loves her Hettie girl", and Love, love, love Hettie" and other sweet things.
You would press your cheek even closer to me and listen, holding your breath so as not to miss a word. Seven pounds of rescue dog, abused, starved, ignored, caged in something so small your back was hunched. I had you for 4 years and you blossomed into a loving, happy, excited honey bubble that trusted me with your life. I failed you. I am so very sorry. I should have taken better care with something so precious.
They say, “You can’t take it with you” and that is partly true. The soft little sheep, the food dish with the angel dog stamped in the bottom with the words “Angel in Training” (little did I know), the cans of Science Diet Gourmet Chicken Entre in the cabinet, her muddy paw print on the deck, and the fleece blankie covered with Hettie hairs – they all remain here along with the bloodstain on the highway.
My breath catches each time I see something of hers. But it is also true that she took the sweet little kisses, the excited barks, the cheek hugs, the warm breaths, and all the joy, love and happiness she brought into my life. Yes, she took those things with her. In spades. In return, she left me with a paltry number of memories that will never be enough, a broken heart and an infinite number of tears.
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