Missing Man's Best Friend

 They say that a dog is man’s best friend, and how true it is. Where else can you find the unconditional love, constant companionship, the always-so-excited-to-see-you greeting even if you just went outside to get the mail? Our doggies bring us incredible joy, love, and laughter. They also bring us pain, as goodbye is always said sooner than we would like.

Sometimes we say goodbye after a long, healthy, and full life, as was the case with precious Cookie, who passed away on Christmas Eve 2007 at the age of 18.

Sometimes we say goodbye after a long life and feel peace knowing that our loved one is no longer in pain, as with loveable Kaycee, who passed away last fall at the age of 13 after fighting arthritis, hip pain, allergies, and other ailments.

Sometimes goodbye is said once a dog’s life is cut tragically short, as with Cody, who died last fall after a freak accident while hunting with my dad.

And sometimes we say even have to say goodbye far too soon, knowing that the decision, as painful as it is, is the best one for our family and our pet. Such is the case with our Sydney.

No matter how it happens, it’s always too soon and never easy. It’s the joy that our dogs bring us while they’re here that makes the goodbye worth it.

 

Sydney joined our family in February 2005, just 7 months after Josh and I were married.  We had wanted to wait until spring to get a dog because I was busy studying for the Customs Broker exam and we weren’t thrilled about house training in the winter.  I wanted a large dog, like a golden retriever.  Josh wanted a small one, like a pug. After much research and consideration, we ‘compromised’ and landed on a Boston Terrier.  Ironically enough, one of the reasons we chose a Boston is because they are known to be very good with children.  Seeing that Sydney is 15 lbs, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who made a compromise!  Josh found a puppy online, who was the last in her litter.  She was on sale for $100 off because she had previously been spoken for and a deposit had been made.  However, when it was time for her to go to her new home, the breeder could not reach the owners, so she went back for sale.  The breeder brought her over one winter evening and we just wanted to see what we thought.  The minute we laid eyes on her, we knew she was ours.  The next day we purchased all the supplies and welcomed her into our home.

The next 6 years with Sydney would be wonderful.  She is the most lovable, playful, cuddly, sweet puppy I have ever known.  She will always be my mom’s first ‘grandchild’.  There were many times my mom would call me and ask, “Can Sydney please come stay with Grandma for the weekend?!?!”.

Sydney isn’t perfect.  She loves people food and it wasn’t unusual to find her on the kitchen table “helping” you finish the last of your supper.  She frequently wakes you up at night with her snoring.  The only command she really knows and follows is “sit”.  She thinks she’s the boss and makes sure that you and all the other doggies know it.  But no matter how mischievous she was, she was ours.  Our dear little Sydney Bristow, who joined Josh and I as we grew in our marriage, in our careers, in our lives.  Through the ups and downs, the moments of tears, and the moments of happiness, she was always there the past six years.  Always happy to see you.  Always there to cuddle and keep you warm.  Always seeking your companionship. 

This process of letting go is painful. I have felt my share of pain over the years. Traveling through my parents’ divorce was the most pain I have, and hope to ever have, experienced. The type of pain that makes you literally collapse on the floor, be physically ill, and unable to move or eat or breathe kind of pain. Through that journey, I learned to respect pain. While the pain of losing Sydney can in no way compare to the pain from my parents’ divorce, I’m able to apply some lessons I learned through it.

It would be easy for me to put up walls around my heart, put this pain and experience of losing Sydney into a little box, tuck it away, and use compartmentalization as a coping technique. Once the little box is tucked away, I can move on and put all my energy towards preparing for my son to arrive in just a short number of weeks. The truth is, I’m pretty skilled at this compartmentalizing stuff. It’s how I’ve coped with different struggles throughout my life, such as being separated from my daughter far more than I would like. But it’s not healthy and won’t help me accept this change, process the grief, and move on.

This is Syd with her best buds Ali and Maizie

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I need to hear the silence as I enter the front door and am not greeted by a jumping, excited, barking, little Sydney.  I want to feel her absence when we’re with Laurie and Andrew and not watching Sydney play joyfully with her best buds Ali and Maizie.  For a long, long time I will notice and feel that she’s gone.  Ignoring it will not help me heal and won’t let me embrace and fondly remember the significant impact she had on our family. 
  
 

Thank you for your support and prayers. Thank you for the kind visit and cookies, for the emails and phone calls, and for joining us in loving and remembering Miss Sydney.

I love you, Sydney. You’re not forgotten!