As an animal lover, you can never love someone as much as you love your pet. The love you feel for that pet cannot compare to the love you have for a friend or even a family member. We let friends into our lives to enjoy our company. We may invite them over to our house to hang out or go out to lunch with them. The same thing is true with our family. They see what we let them see.
Our pets, though, are with us in our solitude. They are our companions when no one else is around. They are with us during our lowest of lows and our highest of highs.
2014-2016 were a few of the hardest years I’ve ever experienced in my adult life. I was self-medicating to get me through some of the symptoms of BPD, we had to move in with my husband’s mother due to a financial setback, and my husband and I were not getting along. The only thing that got me through these difficult years was my emotional support dog, Charli.
We got Charli in 2015-the year we moved in with my husband’s mother. I had always used animals as comfort, and I knew adjusting was going to be hard for Lilly and me. What better way to offset the ick than by getting a dog? I found a bulldog breeder not far from where we lived, and we set up a time to go see her despite Jay being adamant about not getting an animal.
I fell in love with her the moment I saw her, and I carried her back out and set her in Jay’s lap. He looked down at her and I knew we had won him over; he smiled and said, “Go pay the lady so we can go home.” And just like that, she was ours.
Tegan was born in 2015, and since I had awful postpartum after Lilly years prior, I knew the postpartum would be there after Tegan, as well. It hit pretty hard. Between my husband and I not getting along and both of us battling it out with his mother, the house was a pretty hectic place to be. Add a four-year-old and a newborn to that and none of us saw any peace for quite some time. Charli was the only thing that helped me during my lowest times.
Everybody in the house would be asleep most nights, and Charli and I would be up. I would have a drink in my hand during the most unbearable nights, and she would be right there in my lap or lying beside me while I watched TV because I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes I cried into her neck until I eventually fell asleep in the floor with her.
She was there the day I found out I had BPD. Anybody who struggles with this disorder knows how difficult it is and how crucial it is to have something constant in your life. Charli was my constant something. She never judged me for my inability to get out of bed on my darkest days. She was my company when my anxiety was so high I couldn’t leave the house. I was up once and I couldn’t sleep for an entire week. I ended up having to be hospitalized, and she was waiting right there at home with a wagging tail when I got back. I didn’t owe her any explanation. I didn’t owe her my mental health. She knew I wasn’t okay, and she was okay with it. She stayed with me until I was better, and then still continued to be with me.
She was my best friend, and even though she was the family dog, I like to think she knew she got me through some really hard times.
Charli was literally the best dog I’ve ever had. Her tail wagged all of the time. She always smiled, too. She was just so happy. She loved people, too, but didn’t care for other animals. Oftentimes, she would bypass the dogs at the dog park to get petted by their owners. She’s the only dog I’ve ever seen cry. If you told her no to something, she would sit down and cry actual tears. It was the most pitiful thing you’d ever see. She hated loud noises and getting snow on her paws. She loved the sunshine and she also loved when the wind blew. She walked through every puddle she could, too, on rainy days.
Two weeks ago, I noticed Charli’s belly was swollen and her breathing was labored. My heart sank. You see, I had done some research a few years prior, and I know you only get American bulldogs for 10 to 12 years. The numbers have haunted me ever since I looked them up that day, and Charli would have been 11 years old this November.
The following Wednesday, I woke up to her breathing sounding much louder. She would snort at the end of each breath. I just held her and cried. I knew this was the end of my best buddy. My mom got ready and started my way so we could go to the vet. I told the girls to make sure they loved her up because I didn’t think we would get to bring Charli home. I was right.
We swung by my husband’s work so he could tell her goodbye, and then we got Charli some breakfast from McDonald’s.
The long wait at the vet’s office confirmed what I already knew in my heart to be true: this was it. They believed she had cancer, but they couldn’t tell for sure because of how much fluid she was holding in her body. My mom’s heart and my heart broke. I chose to have her put to sleep so she wouldn’t suffer. She’s been through everything with me. I just couldn’t bear to see it drag out; I couldn’t put her through that. I just held onto her until it was done. Mom and I just kept telling her we loved her. And I thanked her for being such a great dog. Then I had to leave my best friend for the last ten years. Leaving her lying on the examination table was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I knew it was the better alternative to burying her. I knew I couldn’t do that. So Jay and I chose cremation.
The ride home was awful and walking into the house was devastating. I remember hanging up her collar and just crying. Her food bowl had food she hadn’t finished, and her water bowl was still full. Her doggie bags lay unrolled on the steps from our last walk that morning and I felt such a rage boil up inside me. I got so pissed off at myself in that moment. I wish our walk that morning had been longer. I wish all of our walks had been longer. I wish we had gotten more car rides. I wish I had told her I love her more.
All of the stupid shit I used to get aggravated about, the things that felt like inconveniences at the time: having to take her outside early of a morning or really late at night, her snoring louder than a freight train and keeping me up, her pulling me over to the nearest person walking through the parking lot because she wants them to pet her. Those annoyances are all the things I miss now. I desperately wish I could walk her again. I wish she would wake me up with a snort, or that she could be here to harass our neighbors for attention.
Grief is a strange thing, too. For the first week, it took everything from me. Every memory I had of Charli was tainted by some regret. It is cruel. I would turn the corner and see her on the couch just to blink and her not be there. I would have her name on the tip of my tongue to call out to her, just for reality to hit me that she isn’t here anymore. I would go to feed her and realize she isn’t here to feed. I was speechless for days afterward and I felt like I was walking around in a fog.
A few close friends reached out to see if I was okay; Mom called and texted. We checked on each other. She loved Charli, too. And Jay and the girls grieved, as well. We all missed her and still miss her so much. I was tormented by this question I just couldn’t get out of my head, as well. People kept telling me that Charli was in Heaven and that I would see her again one day. I’m not of Christian faith, though. I’m Pagan. So where do all of our pets go? I saw a post on social media a few days ago that inspired my answer. Charli is no longer bound by her dog form. She is no longer suffering; she is free. She is now the wind in my hair, the sunshine on my face, the flowers that bloom in Spring. She’s the whisper of the trees when I’m walking through the forest. She is the rain pattering down on a stormy evening. She is all around me.
Jay says she’ll be waiting for all of us on the other side when that time comes. I’m okay with that, too. For now, though, I know she’s right here with us and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s wagging her tail. Goodnight, my Charli Girl. I’ll see you in the morning.