Annie

Sophie and Annie at Strut your Mutt 2006

Sophie's dog Annie, is dying.  I saw her yesterday. Her head is cocked to one side and leads her on a crooked path.


Simple acts like hopping off the curb are impossible and she falls down all the time.
Her tail, once perky as a squirrel's, has lost it's curl and now slumps behind her.
She rarely wags it.
She wanders the house not sleeping.  She pees and poops in the house.
She is lost, I can see it in her eyes.  I think that's why she doesn't sleep.  She just paces the house, her nails clicking on the wood floor.

Every time we get in the car, Sophie gazes out the window and starts to cry.  She has done it five times.
It all started out optimistic.  There might be a cure.  Now it has been 3 weeks, and the possible cure is not touching Annie's ailments.  She is getting worse, and Sophie knows it.
We drive home at sunset, and she starts talking,
"Yesterday Dad let out a huge sigh.  When I asked him what was wrong he said, I'm sad about Annie.  I can tell he's going to put her down soon.  I know she's gonna go."

Then she erupts into tears again.  I look over at her as I drive.  I get goosebumps and tears in my eyes too. Her sorrow is contagious.

"I don't want Annie to go..." Her bottom lip protrudes and I remember her as a toddler.  I wish I weren't driving so I could hug her.  But she doesn't need me to hug her.  She can endure this kind of pain, because it makes sense.

she picked out her own princess outfit

"When I'm around people, I don't really think about it.  But then when we get in the car, it's quiet, and I think about Annie."

"I understand.  I cry in the car too,"  I tell her.

At bedtime she asks me to climb up into the top bunk with her.  I feel like a giant spider as I clamber up over the edge and fold myself into place.  She wants to talk again.  She wants to talk about the difference between her Dad and me.  We've been divorced for 8 years.  We got Annie-dog the year I left.  The three of us went to the animal shelter.  It was my idea.  Did I subconsciously know I wouldn't be there to care for them?  Did I pick Annie to take my place?  Sophie was so little then, only two.  Annie lived to play, to run as fast as she could, every chance she got.  Her gold coat stretched thin over muscles taught and toned as a race horse.  She stirred up the air and demanded we all stop and go to the park, now.

"Mom, I think I know why you picked Annie...cuz she is so bright and free like you."

I can barely stand this.  Knowing the years the three of them got by without me.  Knowing Sophie had only Annie to fill the gaping hole left by my absence.  I picture them walking to the grocery store on Saturday mornings, just Jeff, Sophie and Annie.  A three-legged animal who will not give up.  I know the pit he must have had in his stomach as he cooked her breakfast on his old iron skillet.  The one he wouldn't let me wash with soap.
This well is endless, and will always bring up tears.

"Mom, it's weird.  Dad acts more sad about Annie then he did when Nannie Bonnie died, and that's his mom.  I never saw him be sad."

"Ya, I understand.  Dad doesn't show a lot of emotion.  Even though you didn't see it, I'm sure he was sad.  Maybe he was being strong for you.  Maybe some of his sadness for Nannie Bonnie is coming out now."

"Ya, I think so.  You're good for different things.  I love my Dad for the way he supports me in gymnastics, and how he keeps me on track.  And I love you cuz you are the fun path, and I can talk to you, and you understand me."

"That's good Sof.  We both love you in the ways we know how.  It's good that you understand that...wanna pray?"

"Sure....
God, please help me say goodbye to Annie...even though it's the hardest thing to say.
Please help me know it's what is best for her.
Thank you for letting her have such a good life.
Thank you for my Mom and my Dad and how they are different and they both love me."