I have thought for days about how to put the love I felt for my companion dog into words. But there are no words that will be able to describe the love I felt for him and the grief I am enduring. He was my rock living with indolent systemic mastocytosis (SM).
We bonded the instant he came home to me when he was just a baby, and for seven years, he took care of me and met my emotional needs like no human being could. He knew when I was sad, sick, depressed, happy or having a good day, and he adjusted his day around mine.
Sergeant was the best listener. I could tell him everything that was bothering me. All my ailments that people tire of hearing. He never cared how long I would talk about the pain and suffering I was dealing with. He was right there beside me through all of it.
I called him my “Velcro dog.” I could not even take a bath or visit the restroom by myself. He stood there at the door protecting his Mama. And no one could stand over me if I were sitting down. He would jump in my lap and guard me. Goodness, if he saw my suitcase and knew I was leaving him he would throw a fit. And he would hardly eat or drink until I came home, even with my husband coaxing him. He just laid at the back door waiting for me.
I have had dogs all my life, but this is the first time I was given the blessed opportunity to bond like this. He is sewn into the fabric of my entire life. I do not know how to move on without him. I am alone. No one talks to me about my feelings. I’ve heard one too many times, “It was just a dog, you can get another.” No, he was not just a dog to me.
Saying goodbye
My Sergeant was a beautiful piebald dachshund. Eight months ago he hurt his back, and was diagnosed with intervertebral disc disease (IVDD) — painful damage to his spine. I paid to have him hospitalized and prayed for healing. He came home, and after about six weeks he was back to his old self. Until the other day, when out of nowhere he became paralyzed completely in his hind legs.
The veterinarian took more X-rays and decided that Sergeant could not even use the bathroom anymore. I brought him home on steroids, nerve pain medication and pills to keep him sedated so he would not hurt his back worse while I prayed for another miracle. But over the weekend I knew I could not keep him like this. I loved him too much for that.
Even in pain all he wanted was to be by me. He had to be on me or near me, and even heavily sedated he would know if I moved.
I had an hour of private time before the end, and they brought him a pup cup from McDonald’s filled with ice cream. I hugged him tight and kept telling him how much I loved him and thanking him for being my loyal companion who always knew what I needed from him.
I held him in my arms while the kind and compassionate veterinarian did her job. I looked him straight in the eyes until his little body went limp. He was gone.
They gave me the sweetest framed impression of his paws with a beautiful saying on one side. I am waiting on his ashes to get home.
Grieving my lost friend
It’s been almost two weeks and I am still grieving. This has taken a very heavy toll on my disease, and my symptoms are going haywire. Symptoms that I haven’t had in years are back now. Losing him has made my condition worse.
I know that I need to focus on trying to regain my composure and my health. And I am trying my best to do that. But the problem is everywhere I look reminds me of him. His favorite spot on the couch. It is the same with everything I do. He was always with me. Taking care of me. He was my emotional support animal, and losing him, I lost part of myself.
Grief is horrid. It is gut wrenching. I don’t know what stage I am in the process, but I think I am doing somewhat better. I had a good day with two of my grandchildren watching one graduate from kindergarten and then going with them to the trampoline park. I have so much to fight for, to heal so I can get better and get my rare disease back under control.
And I am doing just that. Every day I work hard on my mental state and physical activities. I got my pool ready and I can go outside and tolerate the heat while swimming.
I know many of us have companion animals and have felt what I am going through. I hope you have been able to heal.
Like I said at the beginning, I cannot put what he meant into words that will ever do him justice. He was just an exceptionally good boy, and I miss him. I am also thankful for every second I had him in my life.
In loving memory of Sergeant Keith. September 2019–May 2026. My absolute best friend. Gone but never forgotten.
