"Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest...it's about who came and never left your side."

Dear Oliver,

I miss you. I feel like a weight is sitting right on my top of my heart.  Sometimes, I feel like I can’t breathe and that pain takes me by surprise. I knew it would hurt, but I didn’t expect it to hurt this much. Your absence is everywhere. And the silence is so loud.  Can silence scream?  Because I feel like it is. That silence, that absence is the loudest thing about you; and you were anything but a loud dog.  I feel like this whole house is mourning. The walls, the floors, even the woods outside.  Everything is in agony, waiting for you to come back.  But, you won’t.  And I know somewhere deep, deep, buried in my heart that you are where you need to be. 

I was 22 years-old and returning home from college when gg and Poppy finally said I could get a dog.   I had begged and groveled since I was five years-old.  On every birthday, on every Christmas I asked for a dog.  I remember driving down Route 152 with gg the day we rescued you.  We were on our way to Baltimore to pick out a chocolate lab pup, when our car just sort of veered left onto Connolly Road. We could not stop thinking about that beagle/hound puppy (seriously, we will never know what you were, but it didn’t matter) that we had visited the day before.  You stole our hearts.  Your mom was heartworm positive, you had mange, and a wrinkly body that had just started growing back fur; and you needed someone to love you.  And it was impossible to do anything but. You needed us.  And we didn’t know how much we would need you.

It kills me that I can’t remember every second spent with you.  Only snippets.  Flashing memories that make me laugh.  You jumping, bounding, LEAPING off the front porch or back deck when we would let you outside.  I swear you were the fastest dog in the world.  We could only describe you as a bat-out-of-hell.  Taking off in the woods to chase the squirrels and the birds.  You never caught them, but it didn’t matter.  The fun was all in the chase.  You loved dirty, smelly diapers.  I don’t get it and I never will and boy, did it make us mad.  But, now I just laugh.  When we moved into our first townhouse years ago, you peed in almost every single room.  Multiple times.  It was like you were staging your own sort of protest, exchanging picket signs for urine.  You wanted to move back to the country with woods, and acres, and grass that you could ruin, and squirrels!   How about when we lost you in Rocks?  You were only a puppy, barely 6 months old.  Five days you were gone.  I probably made 50 colored posters emblazoned with your poor puppy face, posted everywhere in northern Harford County. We got daily calls about Oliver sightings, but they never panned out.  And we lived in state of agony, losing hope each day. Then, on the 5^th day it was a like a miracle.  We were driving through Rocks looking for you and we got a phone call from your Uncle Ben.  He was screaming and saying that your Pop Pop had just spotted you on a road right next to us.  And then we looked up from our car and there you were.  Standing right in the middle of the road.  I got out to get you and of course you ran, again, like a bat-out-of-hell.  You were so scared.  gg took off after you in her car, throwing dog food out the window, yelling “Puppy treat!” (This reenactment always makes your sister laugh and laugh).  Somehow you stopped, and you got in the car, with your bloody paws, shaking like a leaf.  Of course, you always shook.  All. The. Time.  You were scared of something that haunted you.  I will never know what happened to you before we rescued you.  But, whatever it was shook you to the core and part of you never recovered.  But, I know you’re not shaking now.

It’s been an excruciating 4 weeks, maybe more, of watching your body fail.  We tried, buddy.  God, did we try.  Daddy thought it was “time” a week ago and I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t let you go.  I close my eyes and picture you going batshit-crazy in the woods, having the time of your life.  But, that’s the thing.  You haven’t been “that” Oliver in a long time.  When we took you last night, the vets were so busy and we waited for what seemed like forever in that little room with you.  We could have got frustrated but, we didn’t. Because in those 40 minutes of waiting, you were at peace.  It was the first time in 11 years that you didn’t shake.  Not once.  We held you and you were somehow telling us that it was ok.  I thank GOD that those vets were so busy last night.  That time spent with us loving you, giving only you attention, brought you a peace that I am so grateful for.  My hands are shaking as I type, buddy, because I have never felt such truth in a statement before.  And then you went. Just like that.  So quiet into the night.  And at that moment, I knew: we did the right thing for you.  Because now you’re in a better place, in a better state than what you were four days ago, four weeks ago.  Are you chasing that mythical cat that you could never find?  Are you running like a bat-out-of-hell chasing those squirrels that you could never, ever catch?  Or are you laying out, stretching all your limbs, and basking in rays of golden sunshine? That’s what I like to think and what I will believe.

Oliver, I pray that you know how much you meant to our little family.  When “life” and your sister and brother came along and stole your spotlight; I hope you know that we never, ever stopped loving you.  Not for one single second. We never will.  Thank you, Oliver. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You were a good dog.  You were a best friend. You lived a great life.  And I will love you for the rest of mine.

Love,

Mom