I like to visit Ultragrrrl’s blog and the other day she posted that her dog went through seizures, and later died. That post capitalized on what I’ve been thinking a lot about the past week, because my dog, Daylate, died a year ago on January 3rd, 2004. He went through a similar experience as Ultragrrrl’s dog did.
Not too many days go by when I don’t think about Daylate. He was an extraordinarily affectionate, obedient, and fun dog to have around. When I needed a break, to relieve stress, or just to smile, I could always count on him to fix me right up. Even though he was 12 years old, he still acted like he was a 1 year old puppy; he never lost his exuberance for life, of seeing his loving masters, and finding joy in the smallest things. He taught me that you don’t need a lot of money to have fun.
The worst part when thinking about him, is I remember exactly how his fur felt when I’d pet him, or how his right rear leg would jerk when I’d scratch him around that special place on his neck, or how he’d look so forlorn when I was eating a juicy hamburger. The memories are crystal clear, and that is the part that hurts the most, even though they are very good memories. I’ve lost family members, but since Daylate was a big part of my daily life, losing him was much more difficult than losing my grandfather, who I loved a lot too. Kind of odd, how that works out.