This is a really difficult post to write. I am half way around the world in another time zone. The #10 on my list of 10 things you probably didn’t know about me got changed today to a different topic: I am not a dog person. Except for one dog. I am his person. Or I was.
My heart is broken right now. My Tru is gone.
One Saturday morning last May we discovered that Truman had ITP. It is an auto-immune disorder. It nearly killed him that Saturday in May. We had no idea what was wrong with him. Some quick diagnostics and a bit of best-guesswork led the vet to correctly assume the diagnosis of ITP. Drastic treatment was administered on the spot and over the course of the next several weeks. Our dog was very sick, but in time, he began to regain his strength, appetite, and health. At least he did for a time. We were warned that his body could attack his platelets again at any time. He could remain in “remission” for years or it might only be months. Unfortunately, it was the latter.
After returning to the hotel in Sydney this week after a day of work, there was a message waiting. My Truman was gone. I am heartbroken – the reality hasn’t yet really set in I don’t think. On Monday, when I am home again, there will be this huge empty hole, a part of me gone. The dog was my shadow, by my side for the past 6 1/2 years. He is gone.
Truman the Poodle went to work with me to the cat grooming school and accompanied me to the nail spa, the hair salon…..everywhere. Where everyone knew his name and loved him to pieces. One of the best things about returning home from business trips was knowing that the next day, while I usually spent my time at home unpacking and resting, I would have my Tru there as my loyal companion, always seemingly relieved to know I’d come back to him. What will do I now that he is gone?
I know everyone thinks this about their canine companion, but I truly did have the very best dog. I had a dog that thought he was a cat. I had a dog that never barked…..unless he needed to. I had a dog that so patiently spent hours working as a therapy dog with children and the elderly. I witnessed Alzheimers patients that wouldn’t talk to people chatter away to Truman. I saw children who were afraid to read out loud to anyone read story books to Truman. And in both scenarios I knew my dog was listening intently, patiently, being the sweet dog that he was.
It saddens me that I was not there in the end. For Truman, for my girls, for my family…..for me.
I am here 26 floors up above a city busy with the activities of a Friday night. People going about their business. My dog is dead. I am alone. He will not be there for me when I return. I wish I had been there for him.
One thing I know for certain – I will never have another dog.