Monody

Black fur collects in every corner of the house.

Six brown, stretchy monkey toys sit in a toy box

waiting to be whipped around.

A half-chewed bone from the Christmas prime rib

sits on a stone by the fire pit.

A cat, annoying as can be, ready to pounce on a wagging tail.

Pattering paws following room to room.

Comfort knowing everything will be ok.

These are the things you’ve left behind, but...

My broken heart is the worse.

I was a junior in college when a Facebook post containing three pictures of you appeared on my newsfeed with the words “Free to a good home.” I wasn’t looking for a dog.

Sure, I wouldn’t mind having a dog. In fact, after the recent diagnosis of depression, a dog could actually help with my treatment.

I also couldn’t just let some random stranger collect on your smiling face. I reached out to the person who posted – a high school senior. Her mother just had to go on disability service, and they had to move into Section 8 housing, which didn’t allow dogs. They had a relative who took their other dog – a small poodle mix, but they were not prepared to also take the 50-pound beagle-lab-shepherd mix, so they were looking for a home for you.

While it was not requested, I provided the information for the family vet my family has used since I was in elementary school. We set up a visit two days later.

When I came for the visit, you walked right up to me and fell onto your back and looked up at me for a belly rub. It’s like you knew me as some old friend. I was smitten. They explained that you were a rescue about 10 years old. Based on the coloring of your fur and demeanor, though, I suspect you were likely only five to seven years old.

We said goodbye, and I gave my contact information in case they ever wanted to see you – they never would.

That very first day, I took you to Petsmart to get you some food, toys, and other supplies to take care of you that I hadn’t needed to buy after my beagle, who died of old age at 16 just two years prior. We discovered some things very quickly about you.

You didn’t like other dogs. You didn’t like men. You also had separation anxiety (that would be the last time I’d leave you in the car for a minute to go run in to grab take out). Also, upon going home, you hated the vacuum.

While these were traits that would leave my grandfather and mother wondering what I got myself into, you would quickly capture their hearts as well. My boyfriend, you didn’t like at first, but you warmed up to him in a matter of an hour. You had this ability to sense when somebody needed your attention versus the other way around. In many ways, you also became my first child.

You would help me get through some very rough transitions – a friend group falling out, a fight with a mentor, the stresses of student teaching and job hunting, and eventually the move to another state.

You hardly asked for anything. You never begged at the dinner table. You didn’t jump on us for attention. Instead, you only calmly requested our presence as you’d follow us around from room to room before laying down in eyesight of us. Then periodically, you’d get up, move next to us, and sit in front of us staring up at us. It was often in moments where stress was oncoming. It was you basically saying, “Ok, time for a break.”

There were a few times where you demanded absolute attention calling out to us with your bark. You often stopped my boyfriend-turned fiancé fights. The minute our voices raised verbally, you jumped to action – it was those moments you would jump up on us and bark your deep lab-shepherd-like bark. You reminded us often that it wasn’t worth fighting over whatever it was that we were fighting over.

You didn’t come without your own challenges. Within the first week of having you, we discovered that you had a bladder infection, something that was a bit chronic as it would pop up a few more times in your life with us. Also, a week after we had your teeth cleaned, you decided to eat a third of your large memory foam dog bed – that was a very expensive $3000 for a teacher salary and, at the time, unemployed marketer.

We felt terrible that you were bored at times, and fueled by my secret love of cats, we researched cat breeds that did well with anxious dogs. We were worried by how you badly wanted to play with my family’s elderly cat. We weren’t sure how you would do with a cat, so we specifically researched breeds of cats that would do well with dogs. We settled on a Tonkinese – Tonkinese cats don’t just pop up in pet shelters, though. So, we worked with a breeder to get a cat that you would get along with, and that’s how we ended up with Catsby. You surprised us, though; you knew it was a kitten. You were so gentle with him.

You also were gentle with children. We were worried about how you may act around my four-year-old and one-year-old baby cousins, so when we went home for a weekend in the summer, we kept you separated in the laundry room behind the baby gate. But my curious four-year-old cousin came up to you wanting to see you. You just sat nicely and allowed her to pat you. You, like you’ve done many times for me, rolled over onto your back, looked up at us both, waiting for a belly rub.

When it came time for my fiancé and me to move out of our rental townhome and into a house, we specifically shopped for a place with you in mind. We wanted a big, fenced-in backyard. We purposely moved to a home that would be about an hour commute for me to work but came with the tradeoff of a 0.4 acres yard for you to play. When we closed and moved into the house, we took you to the backyard. It was the first time we ever let you off leashed (since you didn’t like other dogs, we couldn’t go to the dog park). You ran out into that yard so happy. You plopped onto the grass and immediately began to roll around. Then again, as any male dog, you proceeded to mark your territory everywhere.

We had our lives mapped out with you in mind. We were set to get married that summer. We planned to take engagement and even wedding photos with you (if we could). I envisioned taking pictures of you lying in our future children’s nursery.

Those moments wouldn’t come.

I’m glad a pandemic allowed me to work from home. For the last year of your life, I was home with you every single day. It was also, unfortunately, what led to me discovering your downfall.

You came to me, like you knew, and looked up at me as I finished teaching a lesson virtually. I thought perhaps you were asking to go outside, but the whites of your eyes were not white. They were yellow. I knew it wasn’t right.

I called my fiancé, who was working at a manufacturing factory at the time, who quickly raced home, and we went to the emergency vet. The prognosis wasn’t good – kidney failure. They said they could try some treatments, but there was no guarantee that it would work. It would cost us close to $6,000 for essentially a gamble. They recommend euthanasia.

We brought you home to say goodbye before driving to our regular vet that stayed open an hour later for us. On the drive home, my writing music playlist began playing and TheFatRat song “Monody.” I never really knew what the word “monody” meant, but I quickly learned, because to distract my brain and heart from the overbearing heartache I was experiencing, I listened to the lyrics…

Summer in the hills

Those hazy days I do remember

We were running still

Had the whole world at our feet

Watching seasons change

Our roads were lined with adventure

Mountains in the way

Couldn’t keep us from the sea

Here we stand open arms

This is home where we are

Ever strong in the world that we made

I still hear you in the breeze

See your shadows in the trees

Holding on, memories never change.

The upbeat music could not prepare me for the song about death. But then I realized it was about you. I am overburdened with your death, but even as we approach a year later, I am forever appreciative of the memories and purpose you served in my life. I wouldn’t trade the five years you were with us for anything.

So, Toby, this is my monody to you.