It’s still hard to believe that barely a month after I last posted to wish Roxy a happy fifteenth birthday, she was gone. Even though she was old and very fragile, there’s no real way to prepare for that kind of loss. She was truly a special little girl, the joy in my life, and I miss her immensely. A few years ago, I blogged about my wee diva, and if you care to, you can read that post HERE. And another post when she broke her leg HERE.
As the reality of Roxy’s imminent passing became painfully clear to us, Hubby and I started talking about what it’d be like to not have a fur baby in the house. We’ve both had pets for most of our lives, including the eight dogs and cats we’ve raised throughout our marriage, but Hubby insisted he didn’t want any more. I, on the other hand, couldn’t commit to that possibility.
I’m mostly housebound now. With my impaired vision, I can’t work, I can’t drive, and I struggle at times to find a purpose in my life. Roxy had been my purpose. My trusting little companion who loved me as much as I loved her. Knowing she was patiently waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, every single morning, gave me a reason to haul my butt out of bed and get on with my day. Her morning kisses were the best antidepressant on the market.
After Roxy passed, we agreed to get one last pet. I wasn’t in a hurry, but I wanted to keep my options open so I began to peruse the classifieds. I soon came across an ad for teacup Chihuahua cross puppies. Apparently the tiny mama died delivering her pups, and the surviving puppies were brought to a rescue group. We liked the idea of a rescue dog, and that these were young puppies. We especially liked how the adoption fee went back into the rescue operation to help more animals find homes. And coincidentally, their probable birthdate is January 8th, same as Roxy’s.
It was all so perfect, it almost seemed too good to be true. And turns out, it was, because two days before we were to pick up our new baby, the foster mom texted to say the puppy became sick after getting her deworm meds. After a long, stressful day of exchanging texts, I got the horrible news I’d dreaded. My beautiful puppy had died. How could this have happened? It was so unfair. Unfair for me to go through something so awful right after losing Roxy. And totally unfair to that tiny puppy who’d already overcome such a rough start to life.
My feelings are raw, and a part of me is afraid to ever open my heart to another pet. But I’m a dog lover, so I likely will get another one, sooner or later. Meanwhile it’s important to remember Roxy as the unique and special little character that she was. That three-pound scrap of preciousness enriched my life in so many ways for fifteen amazing years, and she deserves to be remembered with smiles, not sadness.
And I mustn’t dwell on what might have been with that other sweet puppy who captivated me completely in just one short visit. My tiny rescue puppy who never got the chance to rescue me.