Nine Years.

 I have not posted about losing my beloved corgi, Hardy. I have mentioned it, fully and completely planning on dedicating a post to him, but I have not. I could not. Every time my fingers began to type, the lump in my throat would come back and I would have to relive that day over in my head. Even as I type now, my fingers shake and feel as though they might cramp. Blogging is usually so cathartic for me, so therapeutic. There are so many times that the only way I can truly express my feelings and thoughts is through writing. I am hopeful that as I type these, I will gain some sort of relief or release. Because, as of this moment, the knots in my stomach and throat say otherwise.

When I close my eyes some nights, I can still see his little lifeless body on our bedroom floor. After a day of coaxing him from under the porch and trying several suggested treatments, he passed in a place that he felt comfort, a place where he spent so many nights when he would get too hot in the bed with us. He went downhill quickly, and there were no vets nearby that were available after hours. We had taken him to Memphis for another issue, and the lady that saw him was fantastic. We could not have asked for better while he was there, and I emailed her afterward to tell her why we would not need a follow-up appointment. She asked me questions, did some research, and scheduled a phone call with me to tell me what her thoughts were, and to tell me how very sorry she was. She did not have to do that, and it will forever stay with me that she went out of her way to provide me with both information and some sort of answers when I had none. When I had no ideas and no explanations, which I very much like to have (my mother says it is my journalistic intuition...I think that is a fancy way of describing something else).  The doctor's theory (an educated one that fit rather well) was pancreatitis. I had a possible answer, and one that eased the guilt I was feeling that I could have done more, but did not stop the gnawing or the scenes replaying in my head. My mother also had a theory that the reason we could not get into a vet's actual office was that God was letting him pass at home, around his family, in somewhere he loved and was familiar with. This helped ease some of the aches too.

For years I wanted a corgi, and through the generosity of some stock show family members, I finally got one. My full-proof plan of getting the first puppy that comes when I call them, did not fail me with Hardy as well. He was the first dog that was all mine and all my responsibility. He was the cutest little munchkin that grew up into the most handsome boy. He may have had short legs, but he had a big personality and everyone loved him. Me especially. I spoiled him and worried too much if I was a good dog mom. To say that he was a big part of all our lives is an understatement. He went on road trips, show trips, and just trips to town with us, and he loved riding in a car to anywhere he could. In his elderly statesman years, as my aunt calls them, he sort of became a crotchety little old man at times, which was just all part of the personality I adored. He was with me through tearful moments, joyous moments, and a big learning stage in my life (mostly about myself). Through times with family and friends and nights alone, he was by my side, and his little face never ceased to bring a smile to my face.

I could go on and on because I have nine years of material. Nine years I had that boy of mine. Longer, at this point, than I have had my husband. I hope he knew how much he means to me, and how much he always will.  I know it will get easier to talk about him, the memory of that horrible day will slowly fade to the background of the nine years of happy memories I have. It still hurts now, and it is still hard for me to talk about some days. We have Rip, and he is own kind of special and wonderful, but I have even considered not getting another dog after him. I am attached to him as well, and he has been a great comfort since Hardy passed, but saying goodbye is so painful. I know, however, that there will be more dogs, more pets, more animals. I will love them, I will get attached to them, but Hardy will always be special.

I read somewhere that dogs are just a part of our lives, but we are their whole lives. I hope Hardy lived his knowing he was loved and special. I hope he is up there meeting my papaw and getting his picture made by Sally again (she could always get him to pose better than anyone).  I never understand those people that say animals don't have their own personalities and individuality. Hardy was one of a kind to say the least, and he will always have a place in my heart.