The first time I saw her, I was going through one of the most challenging times in my life. I was losing everything that, at the time, I believed defined me as a person. I was angry, depressed, and in so much pain. A hole had formed in my heart that those people closest to me tried valiantly to fill. They used encouraging words, sweet statements, positive affirmations. I appreciated all of it but no matter how hard they tried I was still sad. I was leaving my home, somewhere I had lived for almost twenty-nine years, to move to somewhere entirely new. To say that I was scared was an understatement.
Nonetheless, it had to be done. Sacrifices and changes had to be made. A lot of them were good, don’t get me wrong, in fact, most of them were. I keep my blog pretty guarded. My family’s privacy is important to me. One day I may talk about all of them more intimately, but not today. Today I’m going to tell you about her.
She was beautiful, just a small thing. In the pictures, her deep brown eyes looked so sad, so sorrowful. Set against her dark hair, she had a way of garnering sympathy from almost everyone. Clover was a tricolour, purebred, ‘classic’ basset hound. Her fur was a mix of brown, white and black. Her ears hung long and relaxed at the side of her face, drooping onto the ground in every picture I saw. Her two, massive, front paws stood out, covered in soft white fur. From the first moment, I saw the pictures of her I thought she was beautiful.
From the first moment I held this little pup in my arms, I knew we were going to be friends until the day we parted. I loved her dearly. Clover was a playful little girl with a huge personality. Unlike other basset hounds that I had seen, she was small and slender. She loved to run and chase. Playing in the backyard made her so happy, and that made me happy. As I focused on being a good owner for her, I noticed that the hole in my heart began to close until one day, the pain I felt was so bearable it was almost forgotten.
The first time that we noticed she wasn’t well was around April of 2016. When she played, she would favour her left back leg. At first, the symptoms were small. She’d limp every now and again, or have trouble jumping onto the couch or the bed. She was a brave dog, though, and did everything in her power to not show that something was wrong. But even the strongest of us can’t hide our pain forever.
When we took her to the vet, we discovered that she had a degenerative spine disorder. Obviously, we knew this was a risk when we got her. Basset hounds have been inbred for so long that health problems are always something that may arise. That it was so soon was a shock, though. I was told that even the surgery that was available, which was more than could be afforded, wouldn’t fix her. I was told Clover would be in pain for the rest of her life and the kindest thing we could do would be let her go.
In August of 2016, I held her close to me. Tears were running down my face. They gave her the needles that put her to sleep. She watched me up until the moment her eyes closed, and I held her tight, kissing her, letting her know she wasn’t alone.
It’ll be four years in August that I lost the best friend I’ve ever had. I miss her.
I dream about her often, and it’s bittersweet.
My dreams are odd. Unlike a lot of people, I know, I dream in colour, I can read, write, touch, feel, smell, and taste. I experience pain or the perception of pain. Many times, my dreams are lucid. With some effort, I can change what I’m doing, control my environment and those in it, will objects into existence, and sometimes even fly. But the dreams I love and dread the most involve Clover.
The process is the same each time.
I see her. I know she’s gone. I realize I’m dreaming. I do everything I can to ensure the dream doesn’t end. If it’s a nightmare, I ignore everything and everyone around me. She is my world. I sit with her where I am. I pet her. I kiss her. I love her. I tell her how much I’ve missed her and that when I wake, I won’t forget it. I promise her that I’ll keep her in my memory. I owe her that much. When I am with her, time stops, and when I wake up, I’m conflicted. I’m happy that I got to see her again, but I’m so sad she’s not with me.
One day I’ll get another dog. Not to replace my Clover, but to honour her, and to let me move on.
