Moving on...

When I was a small child, my best friend lived right across the street. She had blonde curly hair. I don't remember her eye color, but I can "see" her in my mind. We played. Rode bikes. Ate boiled peanuts...how I miss boiled peanuts. Her mom's boiled peanuts were the best in the land! I think that I was four-years-old when she passed away. She had leukemia. Back then, that was a death sentence.
The reason that I think that I was four, is that I don't remember Theresa being around when I was in kindergarten. Before she passed away, she was hospitalized many, many times. She suffered so. I remember one time that we were riding bikes and she fell off of hers. She had cuts and scrapes all over. I can see myself running home to get her mother. A boy in high school carried her behind me as I ran. She had blood all over her body. Maybe it was hard to control bleeding when you had leukemia back then.
I am not trying to shock or be macabre. It was the way life was. The day that she died, my mother told me to get my brother and sister and come inside. I remember not knowing how to feel. I didn't know what to do. Then I remembered seeing someone react to death on one of my mother's soap operas. The actress repeated, "No. No it can't be true," several times. So I said that over and over again.
When I was in high school, I watched an episode of Room 222. One of the students died of leukemia. I burst into tears and literally couldn't stop crying for hours. That was the first time that I really dealt with Theresa's death. Whenever I hear of someone dying from leukemia, I get tears in my eyes. Sometimes I cry.
The last that I heard of her family is that they had moved away. A few years later, they had a baby girl. They named her after Theresa. I think that is sweet. Not that they wanted their daughter to become her namesake, but that they wanted her big sister to be remembered and honored.
I have been looking for a basset hound. I have been looking for one that looks like my Bessie. She didn't have breed standard long ears. They were lengthy, but not up to standard. I recently saw a deaf basset hound at a rescue. She is the one that I want, but I think that I am trying to get Bessie back. I want my girl back. I guess that I am trying to deal with her loss now, so that decades later it won't affect me. It is hard to live pain.
G brought home an Australian Cattle Dog, formerly known as a Blue or Red Tick Heeler. She is pretty. TOO ENERGETIC for me. I haven't opened my heart to her completely yet, but I know that I will. She is not good with our cats, so I am on the fence about this decision.
Yet, it is nice to have a dog in the house. If you are a dog person, you just can't stand the emptiness of a home without a faithful friend. Bessie was G's first dog. In a way it is cute that he had to get another dog first. He has become a dog person, but he doesn't spend time training her...that has fallen to me. It is therapy, I guess. She won't lay on Bessie's bed. She just lays her head on the edge. It is sweet. I get the feeling that my Bess is ever in her bed with us. Observing the goings on as always. Ever here. Ever near.

Bessie

It is hard to know how to describe my friend. In this picture, she is perhaps ten years old, maybe 11. I adopted her from a rescue in Indiana five years ago. They weren't exactly sure how old she was. I adopted her based on her picture alone. It was a simple headshot, in which she looked beyond sad.

Granted, Basset Hounds as a breed look sad, but my first impression of Bessie was that she had given up on life. As I heard her story, I could see why.

Her original owners abused her unmercifully. She was beaten and left outside to fend for herself in all weather conditions. She escaped from that family several times and thankfully the last time that she escaped, she was found by an animal rescue.

Once at the rescue, a veterinarian healed her physically. Only to have her attacked at the shelter by three other dogs. She required stitches and more healing.

Then, I found her sad face on petfinder. It never occurred to me that she lived three states away from me, but it was too late: It was literally love at first sight! She was delivered to us in the parking lot of a strip mall about two weeks later.

At first, she would cower at the sound of a man's voice. Simply crumble in fear. A raised voice sent her into shivers. She was shy and certain that she was destined to be abused forever.

Armed with lots of cheese, which was her "chocolate", and a husband with the heart of an angel, I knew that we could help ease her pain. Soon she was lying on the floor next to Greg. They took long naps next to each other. She was bowled over by him and she deserved nothing less from a man.

Truth be told, though, she was my dog. She followed me every where like a little puppy who is expecting fun and excitement. She was calm and docile, really, but she was a good guard dog and defended me fearlessly.

She would dig up small moles and toss them around. She found a family of raccoons in our brush pile and went crazy, but mostly, Bessie was just content being where ever I was. At my side. Lying down. Begging for cheese or a pat on the head. Ever present. Deeply loved.

On Thanksgiving Day, we rushed her to a 24/7 emergency animal hospital. Her hindquarters were becoming paralyzed. With a little bit of medicine, she improved and we enjoyed about five weeks of good-healthy Bessie time.

Alas, on Friday, January 2nd, her hindquarters failed her. She lost control of her bodily functions. I was upstairs when it happened. Greg's urgent, "Your dog needs you!" brought immediate tears as I hit the stairs at a dead run. He put her on the bed so that I could pet her and calm her. Those trusting, heavy, deeply soulful eyes fixed on me. I knew that it was time.

I called the vet. An hour later, shortly after 5 p.m. I held her as they shaved her leg. The vet administered the euthanasia. I bawled like a baby as she looked at me. I told her how much I loved her and held her tightly. And then as swiftly as she stole my heart five years ago, she slipped away to Heaven.

To say that I am inconsolable is an understatement. I loved her so much. The love for an animal is beyond any love that I can describe. It is the kind of love that we strive to find in our lives with humans. I mean, the love for my children is the most precious love of all, but the love for an animal is deepened by the animal's intense dependence on us. It is the deepest unconditional love that exists.

There is not much that I wouldn't give to have her lying here next to me this moment. I miss the sound of her tags on her collar. I miss her under my feet as I try to walk ANY where. I miss her leaning against my legs as I sit here crying.

Bessie was my friend. I am beyond honored to have been the recipient of her love and devotion. I wish that I could have one more day with my 12-year-old friend...