RIP Rosie
1997-2007
I remember the first time I saw her. I was five; young and carefree. I saw her in that plastic little wadding pool, and instantly fell in love with her. There were probably a half dozen puppies in the pool, but Rosie stood out to me. She was alone; not playing with the other puppies as they tumbled on and around each other.
So I sat in a chair next to her. Petted her. Loved on her, until my mother said it was time to leave the store. I cried, begged and pleaded to keep the puppy- such a tiny little thing.
After many tears and a fierce struggle, we took Rosie home sometime in December. My mom told me that she would be my Christmas gift from Santa, and that he'd leave my mom a cheque to pay for her.
I loved Rosie the way all people love new things. She was cute, and playful and would lick your face and neck until you wreaked of dog. I remember my sister and I running through the house, playing with her. Jumping on couches to hide from the wrath of her puppy teeth.
My neighbors and I would play with her in the front yard- tying her to a metal pole in the ground, and running in circles around her. I remember, one time my mom threw a ball for her to catch, and it went past her leash allowed, so she flipped over trying to reach it.
I thought it was the most hilarious thing I'd ever seen.
Rosie always had a way of cheering me up when I was down. Always licked my face and played with me.
In fact, last Sunday, a week from yesterday, Jon, Veronica and I took her along on a scavenger hunt. She was perfectly fine; nothing wrong at all. As playful and cheery as always.
I don't remember her ever not being that way. She stayed a puppy at heart until her dying day. Today.
I was sitting at my computer, on Myspace, as I heard Taylor crying. I groaned, thinking it was just her being typically dramatic Taylor. Until she walked into my room, and crying, said those awful words, "Poopers is dead."
I was shocked. I felt numb. Just this morning I saw her, her normal self, and said "Move, dog!" as she got under my feet as she always does.
The next thing I know, I'm looking at her dead body laying in my yard. Just laying there all peaceful; just the way you see corpses in movies. She just lay there, still, and dead.
I don't think I've cried so hard in years. Taylor and I sat there in the living room, both lost in a fit of tears; bawling, and choking and coughing on tears, until I couldn't take it anymore. Until my tingling body opened to the door, and ran to the fence, leaping over it, and running down the street with sudden energy that I never knew I possessed.
In ran, crying, into my best friends arms, who just held me.
I never thought I'd be the one to cry at death. I always thought I'd bite my tongue and go on living life. But you never know how anything will go before it happens.
I'm in so much pain right now. I've been crying off and on all day. I'm more dizzy than I've been in a while, and I'm almost certain I'll faint soon, and possibly die from a broken heart.
This hurts worse than anything I've ever felt.
And with that, I leave you with a poem.
Gone From My Sight
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come
to mingle with each other
Then someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
and spar as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear her
load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone
at my side says, "There, she is gone!"
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad
shout,
"Here she comes!"
And that is dying.
Henry Van Dyke
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