You Were a God Once

I was seven years old when we first got Fern. I was told the breeder was a friend of a friend of the family's, or something like that. We were visiting his house one day when he offered to give us a tour of the dog kennel, and that's when my mom saw her. I know it would be magical to say that I was the first to see her, that I picked her out from the crowd, but I was seven years old. I would have taken all of the dogs if I could've.

No, my mom saw Fern first, a scrawny Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that looked a little inbred. She was meant to spend the rest of her life in that kennel as the other half of a breeding pair. My mom wouldn't leave without her. After a lot of back and forth between the breeder, we took her home with us that same day, and she began her life with us.

At first, I thought Fern was a little weird. She had huge eyes that were practically popping out of her head, and weak joints which made her very fragile. But she took to me immediately. Everywhere I went, Fern would be in tow. She followed me up and down the stairs, would sleep on my pillow at night, and waited for me by the door while I was away at school. I wasn't sure what to make of it. My mom, who wanted Fern for herself, was furious that the dog wouldn't give her the time of day. She fed, groomed, and cared for her, but Fern only followed me.

Fern wasn't the most intelligent of dogs, but she certainly was eccentric. She was always eager to be carried around, climbing into my backpack or the basket on my bike. I think maybe she just wanted to stick around me. My dad built a loft in my room for one of my birthdays and he installed a secret ramp so that Fern could climb up there with me - it was the coolest thing ever. She was always finding ways to amaze me, and she was always right there beside me, too. Slowly but surely I began to depend on her as a constant in my life.

When I started going to high school, my world expanded bit by bit. I was thrust into a world of drama, and romance, and new experiences. Without my even realizing it, Fern became a smaller and smaller part of that. I would attend clubs after school, and study sessions, and hang out with friends, and my ever-loyal dog would still be waiting for me by the door, no matter how late I came back. But on late nights where I felt lonelier than anything and I thought my world was ending, she was still there beside me, reminding me I wasn't alone. I think in a lot of ways she saved my life.

Time seemed to fly by faster than I ever could have realized and soon I was getting ready to go to college. In the time leading up to my departure, more than anything I knew I would miss Fern the most. Days before I moved out, I held her in my arms and realized just how old she had gotten. She was much bonier and grayer than I remembered her being. It was then that I finally understood that one day I would come home and she wouldn't be there. This small dog had devoted her entire existence to loving me and making sure I was never alone and I hadn't done anything for her in return.

I was at school in Florida a few years later when my mom called to tell me. Fern had passed away in her arms. She was gone. I couldn't fully process what she had said that day. I went on for the rest of that semester on autopilot, not really believing that Fern was gone. But when I finally came home, there was nothing waiting for me by the door. There was nothing on my pillow as I slept in my childhood bed. She really was gone.

I spent a long time being angry with myself for never truly appreciating Fern. To her I was like a god, her entire life revolved around me. To me, Fern was just a chapter in my life, one that I didn't truly see until it was too late. But I began to remember all the times we spent together, one by one. I remembered how she would keep me company when I couldn't sleep at night, and how I would read stories to her when I was younger, how my friends and I would dote on her whenever they came over, and how she was always right beside me when I just wanted to sit outside and do nothing. I realized that I truly loved Fern just as much as she loved me, and I think, I hope, she understood that in her own little way.