Saturday, 8 March 2008
11:01:11 AM (GMT)
Dottie; found somewhere when Lora was 6-8. Found wandering the streets, stopped
to sniff the family's trashcan. Lora had called unto her, calling her Princess. She
did come, and the family kept her until Lora's best friend's mom paid Jennifer and
Lora three dollars each to see if "Princess" belonged to the family a street and a
house ahead of Jennifer and Sydney. Once Jenn and Lora got there, a family of dogs
jumped on the gate. A man and his daughter met them and called off the dogs. Once
they were alone, Lora and Jennifer asked about a basset hound English setter mix and
if it was their's. It was affirmed she was their dog and they'll be over later to
pick her up. Lora went to the beach right after that though, so she wasn't there when
Dottie left. She got home and shook off the shock; it had only been a day or so with
that dog. Shouldn't have been that big of a deal.
The next day, Dottie was all over the streets again, stopping at the family's trash
can again. They took her in again for an hour or so and were just about to walk her
back over to the real owner's house. That's when their mom had a brilliant plan. She
told them to ask if they could have her. So, Lora and her sister were walking down
the sidewalk when the man came down in the pickup truck. They did ask, but the man
said no, but that they could keep her for one more night. They walked back home, not
knowing the man's family planned on moving the next day to Colorado, abandoning
Dottie with Lora's family. Of course, Lora leapt with joy...
I woke up this morning early... as usual. I stayed in bed for about thirty minutes to
an hour... as usual.
But when I finally attempted to get up, it was unusually colder. It's March,
remember, and we don't have a heater. But it usually isn't this cold atabout eight
I shrugged it off and went downstairs to the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, I
realized I had a abnormally large kink made in my hair. I let it be, too tired to
move my fingers through my jungle of a bedhead.
My mom was cleaning this morning, mopping the floors and trying to get rid of a
wheelchair stain made by my Uncle Ray. I moved past her and looked for Dottie. I saw
a striped towel with a lump under it.
"She died last night," my mom said from the hallway. It took a moment to sink in.
I looked over to her. She must be crazy. Maybe this was a bad dream. I looked down at
the lump and sure enough, there they were, Dottie's cold rigid feet.
I lifted the head of the towel, revealing her head. Her mouth was slightly ajar,
hanging a little to the ground. Her eyes were open as usual, but her eyes rolled back
instead of up. Her usually warm fur was cold at touch. Dottie could have been
sleeping if it weren't for the stiffness.
I cried, of course. There was my dog, my puppy, my baby, my "Darling Baby Bugger
Bunka Boo"... past away.
I sat by her, feeling her head, hoping the body heat would suddenly bring her back to
life, that my tears would revive her like they did in Pokemon Movies.
But they didn't. Nothing could revive her; Dottie was dead.
I made her promise, taking her silence as a yes, that she'd look over me at nights,
that I would feel her on my bed when I was scared. That I wouldn't cry anymore and
when I got to heaven, I'd see her and it'd be like old times. That I'd chase her
around the house when she found a bone...
I asked her to not say anything if she agreed.
Afterwards, I stayed in the bathroom for five minutes, blowing my nose until it was
dry. My eyes hurt from crying. I roamed the house for a second, averting my gaze from
the towel, from the spot where she laid. I ventured into my mom's room, where the
heater was. Why couldn't she have been in here? Was it the cold that did her in?
If she was in here, with warmth, would that have kept her alive? My mind pounded
with question such as these, thinking of ways that could have kept her alive.
More tears fell, and my dad stepped in, looking for something in the coin box. He
left the light on and I felt angry at him. He had acted like nothing had happened,
with his regular "Whatcha doing, Lora Pat?" in his happy manner.
He came in again, a little downfallen it seemed, and told me to unload the dishwasher
with a less happier tone. Had he just found out about Dottie? I heard murmering from
my mom, telling Dad something.
I came out, with a glazed look. I unloaded the dishwasher lazily, and roamed the
house again, my eyes still keeping away from "The Spot".
Finally, I was able to talk about her, once I had my biscuit. Of course, I wasn't
very happy with this biscuit. I usually gave the bottom to her and all the other
puppies. Now only Skeeter and Sally shared the bottom, leaving one third left to
We talked about burying her. I suggested burying her on the beach, the place where
she played in the water and ran after little Kiwi birds. But that idea was crushed
when my mom said it probably wasn't allowed, and my sister said it would be creepy.
We decided to bury her in the backyard, like we did with Larry, our old cat. We
watched my brother and dad dig through an empty garden bed, tears blocking my vision.
We went back inside, deciding it wasn't going to be done anytime soon. My mom wanted
to get Dottie ready for the burial, so she took the towel off and laid it beside
Dottie. We lifted her up together. My mom made sure she wasn't breathing after Sally
had breathed on her, making it sound like Dottie was still alive. My mom decided it
wasn't time yet, that we should wait until she is all the way cold.
I petted her somemore, this time her backside. At her touch, streams of tears started
rolling down my face again. I spent another five minutes in the bathroom, wiping my
nose and tear stained face.