So this morning, my parents had to have their little dog, Ella, put to sleep. I hesitate to call her “their’ dog though, because really, she was ‘our’ dog. She belonged to our whole family, and we’re all a bit heart-sick today.
Ella hadn’t been very well at all this past week. I went over to visit her last night and I was a bit shocked to see her looking so…old. She just had no energy, no spark. She wasn’t eating or drinking at all. I had a chance to give her lots of cuddles and kisses, and to tell her that I loved her.
When my parents arrived at my house this morning, I knew exactly what they’d come to tell me. We’d spoken a couple of times about the fact that it was probable that Ella wasn’t going to get better, but I’d hoped we were wrong. Mum and Dad took her to the vet this morning to be put to sleep, and they tell me that she was very peaceful.
I’m going to miss her so much. Even though I moved out of home eight years ago, I still think of Ella as ‘my’ dog. She was such a little character. She was so full of personality and affection for anyone who came into our home. I’ll never forget the way that she liked to be blow-dried and brushed after a bath. Or the time when she was a puppy that she came into my room at 5am to place what I thought was a tennis ball on my pillow, but which turned out to be a dead rabbit’s head. Or the way she used to play ‘bird bowling’ by running full-pelt at a flock of birds in the park, and grinning as they scattered. Or her snore. Or the way that she showed her approval for Ross the first time I bought him home by bringing him a pair of my underpants. Or the way she would sit with me while I studied for my VCE exams. There are so many memories, all of them lovely. Although today I feel like I’ve been drop-kicked in the heart, it’s worth it to have had twelve awesome years with that gorgeous little scamp.