Fuck you with a rocket-powered chainsaw rusty from the tears of your victims and their families.
Sunday, at 8:32 AM, I lost my baby girl. She drifted off to sleep in my arms, it was right. It was the least I could do for her as she died. She’d been there for me for twelve short years, fluffy tail awag and head held high. She went down fighting you till the last breath she took, right up until the vet said “She’s gone.”
You have systematically been working your way through my family and the people I love. You have taken from me both my grandfathers, my aunt, and my Sadie baby. You almost took my grandma. You might still claim my father’s sister. And you have taken countless others.
You have left us with halves of things. My family is unwhole. I have a cousin but no auntie. A grandma with no grandpa. A friend with no father. A bed with no dog. Words cannot say how deep my hatred for you runs. Feelings cannot express the insane amount of sadness I feel, and resentment I have towards you. You know what?
When you come for me too, I will fight you. And you will lose. I will beat you.
For my baby.
I love you, Sadie. And I miss you already. I never thought I would have to beg you to eat, or to walk. I miss your friendly little smile, and your happy dance when I brought out your leash. I will miss your companionship on garbage nights when I walk the cans to the curb alone, in the mornings after breakfast when I would take you for walks, and every other time of day. I miss the way you laid down in bed, how you would always stick one leg off of it because that’s how I sit on the couch. I will miss you when I put on clothes and still see your shedded fur. I miss your soft ears and your curvy tail, your bright eyes and nonstop barking if so much as a butterfly looks at you funny. I will miss the way you listened, or pretended to. I will miss the way you protect me from those evil, tall, boy-type creatures. And I will never find another dog like you.
You are my baby, no matter how old you were.
In a way, I’m glad I was there when you died. It did thoroughly shatter what remained of my childhood illusion of what “putting to sleep” meant. Now I know for certain that putting to sleep does not mean putting a sleeping pet on a magic platform, giving them a halo and wings, and sending them up to heaven. But it does mean seeing you calm and at peace, releasing all your worldly burdens and pain and going to a better place, wherever it is. I think your heaven is somewhere you can see in color, where there are cookies hidden everywhere for you to find, a whole cloud made completely out of squeaky bone plushies just like yours that can rain bones on you whenever you feel lonely or miss us, and beds everywhere for you to flop down on wherever you want. Maybe all my other pets will come visit you. (In that case, please don’t eat Snitch. He was a good hamster and shouldn’t have to die twice.)
I miss you, baby. And I will for a long time. But maybe, someday, I’ll see you again. And I’ll see you running and wagging and barking the way you did before cancer hit you.