Too Sad To Write

Robare LeRoi des Petits Chiens
October 13, 1994-May 8, 2008

Today is the saddest day of my life. Bar none. I have never had my heart broken like this before. My little man. The Little Dog. The sweetest mini-schnauzer ever.

Robare.

Runt of the litter, but alpha all the way. I’m sure he’ll dine out on the story of the day he brought down the Great Dane. I couldn’t tell him that the Dane was a big friendly gal who just wanted to play with the little dog.

Monsieur Robare, King of the Small Dogs, I bid you adieu. I wish it were au revoir, but I know better. The Countess of Barkelona awaits, tail a-wagging. Like her mother, I’m sure she already has all the cool places scoped out to show you in Doggie Heaven. Wilson will be waiting, too. You’ll be able to ignore each other again. Funny how much y’all seemed to enjoy that. Like kids yelling “I’m not touching you! I’m not touching you!” while holding their fingers as close to the other person as possible.

I remember the day I brought him home. Eight weeks old with his first Schnauzer cut. We stopped into a cool store in Dallas before the drive back to Austin. I was holding my little sleeping bundle in my lap. A Dallas-y woman approached. “Is he a toy?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. “He’s real.”

I, of course, realized what she had meant as soon as the words were out of my mouth. But as everyone who reads this knows, I join the ranks of ‘tupids plenty often enough.

It’s amazing to me how much joy one little dog can bring into so many lives. And I appreciate so very much the outpouring of shared grief.

Thirteen and a half years. Through epilepsy. Pancreatitis. Diabetes. Toothlessness. He had the lives of a cat. I guess I just didn’t realize we’d already hit Nine.

Now I know why they call it a perfect 10. Boy, it sure would have been.

Godspeed Little Man. I know you know how much I loved you. And I know that you are at peace.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Dad


(ED. NOTE: This was written on Wednesday. I know I won’t be able to write after-the-fact. As I type, the words blurred by tears, I can still look down to my right and see my sweet boy sleeping on his bed. His little body doesn’t look so gaunt from this angle and I can almost imagine that everything is normal—that we’ll be running and playing when he wakes up.)