This week, we said goodbye to my dog, Dallas.
We were lucky enough to have Dallas for around 13 years. This last week, I have been reminded of all these little memories we had together.
Like every little kid, I was convinced that she could secretly talk, and actually understood everything we said to her. That first week we brought her home, I remember sitting with her in the backyard and saying "Alright Dallas, if you can talk you should tell me now. I swear I won't tell anyone else." She, of course, didn't reply, but a part of me always hoped she would finally speak up.
I remember loving how fast she could run, and how her face would light up when we played with her outside. So, I'd head to the parking lot at the church across the street, make Dallas sit at one end of the parking lot while I rode my razor scooter to the other side. She always stayed, she was so obedient, and then I would shout "okay Dallas! Come here!" and she would race across to me.
My door didn't really latch close at home, and she could stick her nose through, and run and jump up on the bed. My mom always said she wasn't allowed up there, but Brooke and I didn't care.
I've always been very afraid of the dark, and of basements. But with Dallas, I could face my fears. Even when I was living at home two years ago, I couldn't face the ghosts of my basement without Dallas by my side.
In junior high, I struggled to fit in, and to make friends, but Dallas was always my friend. She was always excited to see me, and I depended on her greeting when I came home from school.
After I moved to california, the thing I missed most about Utah was my dog.
She used to wine with excitement whenever we asked if she wanted to go on a walk, and I especially loved taking her up the canyon.
This last Christmas, I took Dallas on our last walk together. She wasn't the puppy that joyfully bounded across the parking lot, nor did she jump with excitement at the prospect of going outside, but we walked. I'm so grateful for those last memories I got with her.
It's hard to describe what it's like to lose a dog to someone who has never had one. She might not have been a person, but she was family, and it's never easy to lose family. I know going home won't be the same without her.
|Forced selfie last Christmas|
|My dad sent me this picture of her laying in her usual spot|