He told me to come take one, and if I didn't want it he would take it back, no matter how old it was.
I showed up at his house, was overwhelmed by the cute-ness, and with his help, picked out a female puppy and went home. I named her Faith, after Faith Hill.
I remember cuddling on the couch with that puppy and wondering if a day would come that she'd attack me and eat me the same way that the media describes.
A year later I became a mom to my oldest son, via the foster care system. Faith was an amazing and patient dog. He would hit her, she wouldn't flinch or react. He would pull her tail, she wouldn't show any sign of annoyance.
As my life changed, Faith was always there. Through the loss of relationships, sleepless nights after having my home burglarized when we weren't home one day, stressful days at work, and then finally my move across the country.
Faith was a loyal dog and a good dog.
She didn't chew up shoes, she didn't eat food off my plate when I walked out of the room, and she barked loud enough to keep any shady people at a distance. At the same time she welcomed everyone into our home, even 20-30 people at a time when we hosted movie nights and barbecues. Never did she growl, nip, bite, or bark at them. She wagged her tail and climbed into the lap of anyone that was willing.
She did eat through metal sheeting and attempted to eat through walls and doors when she felt it was too difficult to be away from me for great lengths, and she wouldn't eat unless someone was home with her. But every time I walked in the door, her tail was wagging and her face lit up.
When my youngest son moved in with us, he was terrified of her. He literally climbed up my body screeching to get away from her. It took no more than a few hours before he was on the floor, happily being licked.
When we moved to the country, Faith obviously came along. When we got pet chickens and goats, she was there. Never once did she go after them or attempt to hurt them. In fact, she would step outside the door and wait for the chickens to move out of the mud room before she'd walk outside past them.
Faith became sick two weeks ago. She simply stopped eating, no matter what tempting treat I offered. For two weeks we tried everything we could think of and visited the vet multiple times. No matter what we tried, she was not able to keep any food or water down and was wasting away before our eyes. In one week, she'd lost five pounds. She spent her days sleeping, taking the few steps to follow me into another room and lay down, or vomiting.
Yesterday, to end her suffering, we put her down. No matter how many people tell me that this was the best thing for us to do for her, it does not make me feel any less guilty or sad about it.
Words will never do justice to what Faith meant to me.
She kept me sane.
She kept me safe.
She kept me warm.
She taught me what it meant to be loved unconditionally.
She helped me learn to be more patient.
She taught me how to love.
She taught me how to trust in someone other than myself.
The loss in our life is more than just a suddenly-too-large bed, or a quiet home when we get home from school. The hole in my heart and the ache in my chest may appear to subside, but I know that I will never truly move on from what we are missing now that she is gone.
I now also understand, that no one can truly understand what this pain of losing a family member-pet is like, until they experience the loss themselves. I apologize to those in my life who have experienced this loss before me, for I never really understood, until now.
This blog was shared on the Homesteaders Blog Hop....
