Personal Narrative: 8-Year-Old Dog

It was a frigid January morning on the day of the fifteenth. I arose from my slumber and with a groggy motion, I left the comfort of my bed. As I walked to the bathroom, I saw my German Shepard mix laying at the foot of the bed. I ebulliently told my dog good morning; suddenly, I felt a slimy, yet chunky and warm, texture hit the bottom of my foot. At first, I shrieked with trepidation and then, the realization of what I stepped in hit me. I hopped into the kitchen to find my mother and father preparing breakfast. I explained that Shelby, my eight-year-old dog, threw up in my room. I pointed to the yellow slime dripping off my foot as evidence. Over the course of a few days, Shelby had been getting sick around the house and refused to eat. My tender heart ached for her as she withdrew from my room with no life in her step. I urged my parents to schedule a visit to the veterinarian that day and they instantly

received an appointment within the hour.
For eight years, Shelby would jump up with excitement when she would hear the keys of my car jingle.

That day, she could barely walk across the driveway and jump into the car. When we arrived at the veterinarian’s office, they laid Shelby onto the frigid table to retrieve blood from her sickly body. I held her as she flinched with every needle that entered her veins. We had to wait one long, grueling hour for the test results to arrive at our location. The veterinarian walked in with a little less excitement in her step and I instantly knew what the results would say. The woman went on to explain that Shelby is suffering from the late stages of liver failure and is currently bleeding in her stomach. As she listed the medical problems my dog possessed, Shelby laid her soft head on my legs to comfort me in this plaintive time. I dreamed about the years where she ran freely in the desert behind my house and I woke up to reality when I heard the woman say a certain phrase. She told me the best option for Shelby would be to put her to sleep within the

week.
Afterwards, salty and sorrowful tears filled my eyes as I drove home to inform my family. I looked towards Shelby and told her it was going to be okay and I was going to take care of her. When we arrived to our house, she could barely remove herself from my car. The disease languished her both mentally and physically. I revealed the diagnosis to my parents and they struggled to keep their emotions together. We were forced to schedule another appointment so Shelby could be put to sleep properly and at the correct time. I mentally prepared myself for the day I would never forget; January sixteenth. As most animal deaths go, the owners would take their best friend on the trip to make their last day the greatest before putting them to sleep; our story was a little different. There were no road trips or special last meals, there was only relaxing at home in her favorite spot on the couch. Her last imprint on the furniture is still evident to this day.
My mother had to work that Monday while my father excused himself from his job. Rachel, my distraught sister, drove home from Flagstaff to spend her day with Shelby. I personally spent most of the day with my best friend, Logan. The morning started off like any other mundane day except, we knew what was going to happen by the end of it. I woke up to find Shelby asleep against my back and Athena, my Siamese cat, asleep at my feet. Brackish tears formed in my eyes as I gazed upon the sight I would never see again. Up until twelve o’clock, I spent most of my time with my dog. I displayed my love for her in as many ways possible, such as petting her silky coat and physically informing her of my love. From twelve to eight, I spent my time with my friend. When it was time for me to leave, I wandered into my room and noticed Shelby laying on my bed. I laid down alongside her and said my goodbye for I would not be present at her appointment. She looked up at me with her gentle brown eyes and I finally understood that under my hand, her trembling body was in agony. When I left, she followed me down the hallway and I turned back in time to see her final goodbye.
I was on the verge of tears as I met up with Logan, although, he made me smile for the first time in a long time. My father took Shelby to the Humane Society around five o’clock and she passed away about twenty minutes after. He informed me that even the veterinarian cried during her death. I arrived home around nine that night and me, my father, and my mother dug a grave for Shelby in our backyard. It was a long and grueling hour in the chilly January night. We carried my dog’s flaccid body from my father’s car to the grave outside. Each of us said a few words in memory of Shelby and broached joyful memories until we fell in silence.
January sixteenth is one of the days I will never forget. I will never forget the look in Shelby’s eyes that told me it was okay for me to let go. I will never forget the way she used to wake me up early with her deafening barking. I will never forget the day we adopted her and how she whined all the way home. I will never forget how much she loved car rides. Most of all, I will never forget how much love she had for each of us. Dogs are the only things on the planet that love you more than they love themselves. Every day when I would arrive home, she would be waiting for me in the hallway and I would yell her name with joy. It has been almost a month since her passing and I still refrain myself from calling her name. I may have accidentally let it slip a few times, although, I have learned that she is no longer with us. Although Shelby is gone, her soul and the love she had for the family will never leave.