It seems stupid to write about it - like some New Agey closure workshop - and it seems stupider to write about it here. I know that if the one, lone hopeful who may still check this page comes here looking for chuckles, she will be disappointed. Sorry, lone hopeful -- I can't think of anything to do right now that doesn't make me cry, and at least here I won't lose what all I'm trying to say.
I just accidentally read a great essay about this very thing by Actual Professional Writer Meghan Daum, in her book The Unspeakable. I will do my best not to mindlessly plagiarize, but I do want to emphasize a point she made about dogs being adult security blankets. The thing I am saddest about (and I know this is selfish) is that there's no one for me to talk to or hug whenever I want. My husband wouldn't mind too much, until I started expecting him to greet me at the door and uncontrollably kissing me whenever I came within range. It wouldn't be the same.
Of course, I don't just feel bad for me. I feel bad for my husband, who also has no one that will sit stoically beside him while he pats her head and yammers about his day, his drive, his crazy wife. I feel bad for the dog, who got very sick very fast and had a tough go of it in the last week of her life (although on that last day, she was hand-fed an entire can of food - her first full can since hospitalization - and then held in my husband's lap for a good twenty minutes while we cooed and giggled and gave her as much coddling as any dog could hope for). I hate that she was alone when she died, and I also hate that I am sort of guiltily glad we weren't there to see it.
Everything sucks right now. My dog is gone, I'm almost thirty, I'm on my period, and I have a mere three days until I am shunted into the void of summer, where, instead of spending days sharing secret margaritas with Ella while Gerard is at work, I now have nothing but time to miss that beast. She deserves to be thought about a lot, but I don't know if I can bear it. The same way we deserve to have a clean house but haven't been able to sweep up the last of her hair or scrub the last of her drool from the walls. We even agreed today not to wash the shorts Gerard was wearing when he cuddled and fed her that last day - even though they are covered in slobbery food crumbs.
I know that this feeling will subside. The emptiness -- as though we'd tied a string from her to our us and, when we drove away from the animal hospital, she yanked our insides out like bloody baby teeth -- it will fill in. Mostly. With different stuff. But it will. Now, though, it is hard, and it seems so, so unfair and unreal. Like some Game of Thrones shit.
Unlike HBO, though, real life has no magic reset button (also wayyyy fewer titties - sorry dudebros), so I'm just going to quickly write down things I loved about Ella so they're always here for me to flip back to when I'm ready. In no particular order:
1. Sharking: This is what we called it when she would circle around the bed or the ottoman, just waiting for us to dangle a body part over for her to lick.
2. All the snorting (and other disgusting noises). We were frequently awoken by her snorting just outside our closed door, the cute version of this:
3. Her adorable freaking face...
...to the end
4. Her accommodating nature. You could do anything to this dog - pick her up, use her as a pillow, stick your fingers in her mouth - and she wouldn't do anything to stop you. I mean, she might jump in your lap and try to lick you to death if you poked and prodded her too long, but really, she was here to please.
5. Hence, The Dance: her greeting for everyone who walked through the door involved much bouncing on the back paws and punching with the front. Oh, and snorting.
6. Agility! This dog could jump like a freaking gazelle. And then she would get very sleepy and drooly.
7. The drool, oh the drool! Man could this dog drool! At the park, it was a deeply disturbing, particularly slime-like form, that would shoot up in long strands that covered her muzzle when she shook. Sometimes it got so thick and long leaves and branches would get stuck in it.
Indoors was more normal. Sometimes it was a steady, faucet-like drip (like when she was watching us cook), sometimes a long, viscous drool stalactite. She was particularly drooly when we ordered Indian food, which she loved. If there is chicken tikka masala in heaven, I know a dog who is swimming in a pool of it Right Now.
8. And while she's doing that, she's going to be making the most crazy, loud eating noises. This dog worked her jowls like Elvis worked his hips. And the smacking and crunching and glormphing that resulted (especiallywith potato chips) was way better than "In the Ghetto".
9. I also liked how she passive aggressively sneezed at cigarette smokers.
10. And how she was a certified idiot at fetch. You could throw something, she would chase it, and then, after making sure it was dead, she would run off. It probably didn't help that her mouth was the worst at all mouth things. She couldn't catch or pick up anything, and she certainly couldn't bite (not that she wanted to).
11. One tap on the couch, and she was up beside you. She knew it was wrong, but she knew what she liked.
12. My god did this dog like comfort. Pillows, blankets, carpets, more pillows -- if it was soft, she was on it.
13. She also liked riding in cars - a throwback to her first day with Gerard, when he drove her all the way to Atlantic City to meet his brother. Our car has drool splotches all of the back windows that we are not ready to clean off yet.
14. Sleeping on dirty clothes. I guess this fits under "comfort-loving", but I like to think she also liked us and our smells so much that she was willing to forgo her bed if she could have our dirty sheets and t-shirts instead.
16. Although she could be strong and semi-athletic, one of the best things about this dog was her gentleness. She would never, ever hurt anyone on purpose, and she was surprisingly good with puppies and kids - even the strange little boy who ran up to her on Newark Avenue, grabbed her face and kissed her right on the mouth with no warning. She looked a little shook up after that one, but she allowed it.
a. I mean, for goodness sake, this dog loved holding hands. She would put her paw in your hand and actually squeeze with her little foot pads.
17. She also allowed us to dress her in costumes and coats of varying levels of ridiculousness. Banella was always good for parties.
18. And she was a lovely hostess (once she got over the habit of peeing everywhere from excitement). She loved everyone except our friend Doug who, for reasons we could not discern, was clearly the DEVIL. So he would get growled at, but everyone else would get kisses.
19. She would even sit in their laps if allowed. Ella, like all great, large dogs, had no idea how big she was. She loved it when people sat on the floor (or let her on the couch) and she could curl up between their legs.
20. Aside from us and laps and pillows and Indian food, Ella also loved nature. Getting that dog into the right patch of grass or sand could bring on the fastest, fiercest, surge of joy I've ever seen. She would run in quick circles, gasping, with her mouth wide open, trying to inhale the scene. When she was spent from running, she would plop, flat on her side in whatever it was that had made her so happy and refuse to move.
21. Another move of hers I really liked was the flop and groan: This dog played it cool. She never begged for belly rubs, but if you happened to come by and give her one, she would look up at you for a few seconds and then heave her whole body over with a groan while her legs started kicking around and her head burrowed into the carpet.
22. She was always scared by her own farts.
23. And finally (for now), even though she was the biggest softie in history - seriously, maybe a big pile of custard in a dog suit - she was a great guard dog. At least, she barked a lot. I don't know what would have happened if anyone made it inside, but I did feel safer with her in the house.
I miss her. I love her. I'll never meet another one like her.
