My timing was terrible with deciding to get a dog. I was 21, in the Navy, two weeks away from getting married when I found myself scrolling through Craigslist, looking for a furry companion I could call my own. I was doing it backwards. First the dog, then the newly purchased home. All just weeks before David and I finally said “I do.”
As newlyweds, Roxy was our world. This was our first go at a form of parenting, not realizing that just five weeks later we would find out we were expecting a real baby of our own. She slept in our bed, caused a ruckus in our small, close knit little neighborhood, escorted us to the beach where we spent many of our days sunbathing and surfing - after all, she was named after the girls’ surf brand and my husband’s love for the sport.
As God continued to grow our family, Roxy was always there, welcoming each baby we brought home, cautiously learning to love them and protect them as her own. In that time, our focus shifted from Roxy as the center of our attention to our babies. But the babies grew up, and with that, Roxy’s friendship extended past David and I and to the kids. She tagged along wherever they went from walks along the creek to adventures in the woods. If one seemed to stray a little too far, she stuck by them, ensuring their safety.
For the past couple of years, the focus shifted, once again, back to Roxy. She was about to turn thirteen in March, so I knew her life, however it happened, was drawing to a close. Moving to Cape Cod a little over a year ago put new life in her…in us. She was our frequent companion on our rambles through the hiking trails, walks down to the wharf, and rides in the car to explore the diverse beaches; always leading the way. I often took walks, just the two of us, down to the pond and through the woods. I happily watched her happiness as I absorbed the lingering moments of her final chapter.
Her presence gave a sense of ease. The greeting when we would come home, the surety that she was nearby as we went about our daily rhythms, and the expectation of her guarding bark when we let her out back, where she relentlessly defended us from the squirrels. She was our built-in alarm system and our steadfast beggar of whatever food we had on our plates.
Without warning, her stomach flipped and twisted. Just like that, she was in critical condition when earlier in the day she was fine, barking when the delivery man delivered her package from Chewy with her overly expensive dog food inside.
When I got her as a puppy, I was twenty-one. I picked her up and drove home, alone, with her snuggled and sleeping in my lap. David waited there to meet us - to meet her. To say his first hello.
Right after my thirty-fourth birthday, I drove her to the vet clinic, alone, while she laid down, in pain, sprawled across the back seat. After I parked, I climbed back to be with her while we waited to be seen and I hugged and kissed my girl.
Once inside and settled, this time, Roxy and I waited for David to come meet us - to see her. To say his final good-bye.
He brought the kids, we gave her our hugs and kisses, and prayed together, thanking God for the gift of Roxy’s life. Then, they headed back home.
Roxy and I started out together in this family, and Roxy and I were left alone together at her end as I held her paw and she peacefully drifted to her forever rest.
As the days have become weeks, grief has worked its way through all of us, one by one. The food bowls sit awkwardly in their place and the Chewy package stands silently unopened in the living room. Desperately, we grasp at her memory as evidence of her life here slowly fades away.
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