I Don't Want to Poop Alone

The title may seem funny, but the purpose of this story isn’t. I needed to make the title funny, perhaps in a way to undercut the sadness that I’m feeling. It’s been a few weeks since the loss of Ellie, and I think I can finally say that I have exited the denial phase. This happened. She’s gone, and she isn’t coming back.

You don’t realize how much something is weaved into your everyday life until it’s gone. I didn’t realize the amount my life would change when she passed. And the sadness that hit, to quote Miley Cyrus, “came in like a wrecking ball.” It hit harder than a slap shot from the point. I could go on making more metaphors, but it will only distract me if not for a moment in time.

There wasn’t a person who met Ellie that didn’t love her. She had the personality of 1000 dogs into one. She was bratty, sassy, loving, dramatic, playful... just to name a few. Some days we swore she was a cat. Others she was more like a loaf of bread, or as it came to be in her later years, like a potato. She was by my side through twelve years, being there for the best times, but also the worst of times. Though sometimes I wondered if her loyalty strayed (like when Grandpa was going for a drive in the car, perhaps), her final choice was to be wherever I was, sitting and snoring beside me.

Through the tough times she seemed to always know and had the best comedic timing of any dog out there. She loved people, and people loved her. Other dogs though, when it came to taking attention away from her, she was indifferent on. She loved being the center of attention and would always make sure she made an entrance. She would often trick me into taking her for walks when I was feeling low, or paw at me to pet her because she knew it would help distract me from whatever I was feeling. Despite what people said, she was the smartest girl who always knew how to get what she wanted.

We were lucky enough to have her through so many of our life’s milestones. She helped break the tension on the first date my now husband and I had, even being present for the photos at our wedding eight years later. She was there for the purchase of our first home, making memories in the short few months she got to have her very own home and yard. Our nightly routines would soon become the highlight of the day; seeing how excited she got to get her favorite treat. How she knew upon coming inside to head directly to the bathroom, because she knew that’s where I would be, waiting for her to trot in.

In the last two years of her life she became exceptionally attached to me, which made her loss even harder to bear. She needed to be in the same room as I was, even if I was only going to be there for a moment. Go to the bathroom without her? No chance. Need to head upstairs to grab something and come right back? Forget about it. Nothing made her happier than the hand motion towards the front door, car keys in hand. You’d swear you’d never seen her walk faster than when she knew it was time for a walk, or as it was in her later years, time for a drive. She would grunt and groan each morning before I dropped her off at Grandma and Grandpa’s, before trotting herself down the hall and towards the bedroom, to hop into bed and get a nice snuggle. Though she would be happy in that moment, I could always count on seeing her head peak through the railing of the living room at exactly 4:38pm when I would walk in after a day’s work. She knew my schedule, and even if I was running late would being staring at the door, waiting for my arrival until I finally arrived.

Things have been hard without her, and admittedly I’ve been struggling to cope with the loss. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been putting these words into the universe instead of stuck in the walls of my non-stop thinking head. Trying to cope in a healthy manner has been tough, but writing of all the good times we shared has been therapeutic. She left a hole in not only my heart, but to those who were close to her. She left an impact in her twelve years, and that impact will never be forgotten. She was the best girl and got nothing but the best; I hope she felt the same.

The day-to-day tasks have been hard to handle without her presence. There’s no rushing home after a workday because she hated being left alone. There’s no little pug sitting by the glass sliding door, anxiously awaiting my arrival. Instead, I open the door to see nothing but empty floor. There’s no little girl dancing around my feet as I cook supper, hoping to catch a piece of whatever it was I was cooking. There would be no “dropping” food on the floor anymore, it just lays there until being swept up. No more waking up in the middle of the night to take her outside, feeling the night chill as she took her sweet time deciding where the best spot to take the world’s shortest pee would be. No more staring up at her perch, ears pinned back, waiting to be let up to look out the window and bark at the traffic as it raced by.

I always would leave the door ajar when heading into the bathroom, knowing if I took too long, she would come looking for me. It wasn’t too often she didn’t come in search for me. Hearing her little footsteps on the hardwood floor, followed by a little scratch, and eventually, her tiny head poking her head through the small crack in the door. She would always let out a sigh before sneaking her way into the bathroom, taking a seat on her favorite mat in the house, the bathmat.

For showers, for baths, or whatever I would be in there for, she needed to be there too. Now anytime I find myself in the bathroom, an extra sense of loneliness flows through me.

I don’t want to poop alone.