On February 2nd I awoke to a text message informing me that my dog that my family has had for 11 years had passed away. That whole day was a blur but I somehow convinced myself that he was still right where he always had been.
a week later, today, my mom gives me a small bottle on a string with beads and a wire wrapped around the bottle filled with his ashes.
that was it for me, as soon as I held it in my hand and realized that this small bottle with.. dust was my puppy. The dog that has been there for more than half of my life, I would never be able to hold, hug or kiss again.
I hung the bottle on my bulletin board next to a picture of him when he was young and every time I look at it I get a lump in my throat. There he is, all I have left.
I feel so guilty for not being around him more. I know he waited for me.. and I just didn’t come. Too busy with whatever.
I just expected him to live forever and it’s so depressing now because that little bottle symbolizes the reality of it. I can no longer pretend he is just over there being his normal goofy self because there he is.
meh. I’m glad to have it though- that little bottle, I will cherish it forever, I don’t know if that’s weird or not. But I don’t care. He was the best dog, and he had so many good qualities and anyone who knew him can agree with me.