My Fluffy is in Heaven <3
Fluffy was the finest pomeranian I knew. I got him when I was six years old, and we were inseperable from the start. He was playful, loving, mischievous, and was always at my side. When I took him for walks, I wouldn't even have to use a leash. I could hear him happily bouncing along beside me, and will forever cherish the jingle sound his tags made when they clanked against each other.
He was a small dog, too. The vet would always chuckle when she weighed him--always in the single digits! But despite his size, he was bold enough to bark at dogs much larger than he. His size was just perfect for me to scoop him up into my arms and cuddle.
Fluffy was there for me all through my childhood and teen years. As time went on, we only grew closer. We mimicked each other's habits as we got a little older. As a teen, I of course dealt with the sleep deprivation of long hours of studying, and would curl up on the couch to sleep. Fluffy would be curled up next to me, also in need of sleep from whatever it was that would tire him out.
And every weekend, I'd watch a black and white movie. Fluffy would be there watching with me, curled up inside my sweater.
The memories I have of Fluffy almost always bring a smile to my face. Because of him being a pomeranian--or as I'd call him, my pommarainbow!--he would have VERY POOFY fur! When it was summer and got too hot out, we'd take him to the groomer to get a shave. After his haircut, his name just became ironic until his fur would grow back. My unfluffy Fluffy!
I was his owner for a smidge over thirteen years. However, as he got older, some health problems began to arise. He had a mild heart murmer, and somehow managed in injure a ligament in his right hind leg. The vet didn't want to put him under anasthesia to operate on it, because the sweetie was too old for that sort of thing. Instead, she gave him some anti-inflammatories, and he seemed better, though he would limp only every now and then. Regardless, Fluffy absolutely despised the vet. Who wants to sit around at the vet's when there's a whole WORLD outside? (One without pesky shots, too!)
Anyhow, I'm 19 now, and out of state for college. Week by week my mother had been calling me complaining about Fluffy's health. In March I came home for spring break, and saw that my Fluffy was just fine--at least in my opinion. Or maybe it was because we were reunited again, and ready for some mischief? He was as sweet and loving as ever. Anytime I'd come back from college, I'd make a beeline for my Fluff and scoop him into my arms. I'd then proceed to carry him around the house for hours; loving the feel of getting to hold my lovely Fluffy again!
Little did I know that spring break would be the last time I'd see him. I wish I'd have hugged him more--said a proper goodbye. When I had thrown my luggage into my dad's car before catching the bus, I of course made the time to stroke Fluffy's fur, coax him out of his basket, and cuddle the daylights out of him--until next time. I had NO idea that this would be our last time together. I had always counted on seeing that happy smile on his face when I'd come home, and it hurts knowing that he won't be there for me; his ashes will.
My Fluffy died on Saturday morning, sleeping in his little basket. I received a phone call from my 10 year old sister, who matter-of-factly told me that "Fluffy died." It couldn't be. Not my Fluffy. I knew this day would come; I've DREADED it for sooo long (especially after seeing Old Yeller, My Dog Skip, and Marley & Me). And it hurts me that I was so far away. When things got rough, I'd cry and cry--burying my face in his fur; but it pains me that this isn't even an option anymore.
My Fluffy was the best friend I ever had, and hands-down the best pet anyone could ask for. If someone shouted at me, he'd spring out of his basket and bark at them--my vicious little guard dog. I'd jokingly call him "Killer," for dramatic effect, haha... When I was a kid and toyed with the idea of running away from home, Fluffy was the FIRST thing I'd pack. I'd place him in an open backpack, and he would stick his head out and ## it to the side; perplexed. At age eight, I orchestrated a version of the "Wizard of Oz" with some of my friends--and he was the most WONDERFUL Toto!
Anyhow, when I found out he died, my sister tearfully ended the conversation after I spoke to my crying mother. I can't seem to face her on the phone at all. I forgot to mention that Friday afternoon she called ranting about his health and flat out asked me if I wanted ashes. Taken aback, I hung up the phone on her. It felt awful to do, but I was horrified that she'd even ask such a thing.
I immediately began venting to my boyfriend, and he listened to me jabber on and on about this mess. He had had experience with pet loss (although this was not what I thought would happen--not anytime soon) after his family had to put his dog down while he was on a vacation with some friends.
I guess in the end, I'm partially glad I wasn't there to see him at his worst. I want to remember him the way I do, but also wish so badly that I WAS there for him, stroking his fur, and at LEAST saying goodbye. Maybe we somehow knew that at the end of my break, as I said goodbye for the time being...I guess I'm glad I at least did that for him. Although I'd be a state away, he'd always, always be in my thoughts. My friends and I show each other pictures of our pets on our cell phones all the time, and I have pictures of my Fluffaroo all over my dorm desk.
Fluffy LOVED to meet new people. He'd get so excited--jumping around all over the place, wagging his tail, warmly tucking his ears back in eager anticipation of a pat on the head.
One of his many quirks was that he'd communicate with me through sneezing. He'd sneeze when he wanted to go outside. My boyfriend would sneeze back at him--Fluffy loved that! I'd joke and say that my boys must have a cold or something...
After ending that painful phone call, I went straight to my friend Maddie's dorm (she lives in the room below mine) and cried, cried, cried. Although it seemed so strange to cry over Fluffy--a fellow who had brought me SO much love and SOO much joy. I didn't feel it was appropriate to cry over him. We talked about how Fluffy probably wonders what in God's name I'm doing weeping about when he has WINGS! And that ultimately, he won, because he got away from my mother's cooking before I did. Ya got me there, Fluff. You win this one!
After making some more phone calls, and being taken care of by my wonderful friends, I felt a little better. My boyfriend joined us (he goes to my school) and when we dispersed, I got sad again, and sort of broke down on him. But he stayed and held me the entire night, while I went through who knows how many boxes of tissues. I'm so grateful to have people around here to support me and listen to me during this really tough time.
I'm also glad to have stumbled upon this site. I seem to be alright at the moment, but I've had tears on my pillow these past few nights. It hurts a lot, but the hurt comes and goes. I never know when it'll hit.
Fluffy made me incredibly happy. I can't remember life without him. I don't even want to. I wish we had had more time together--that I'd have hugged him more, carried him around with me more during my break. It hurts that I didn't know this would happen. But then again, even if we did have a chance to say goodbye, I'm convinced I'd still feel this gaping hole in my heart.
I miss my Fluffy.
Love,
Annette
p.s. He was a very pose-able dog. I'd often buy a roll of film, just to spend on him!
