Thanks for the memories

Older pictures 004On Sunday, I wrote about the passing of my dog, Casey, in the immediate aftermath of it. My emotions were raw, my denial firm, my tears spilling onto the keyboard as I tried to cram every possible memory of him into a post to show how I felt about this immense loss.

It’s two days later, and I’m still sad, still crying at times. Still choking up when someone, as so many people have, say kind words about him. “I’m sorry for your loss,” they say. “It must be tough,” they say. “At least he’s no longer in pain,” some say. “You gave him a happy life,” they all say.

I can’t believe it, is what my parents and I say. He can’t really be gone, we say. Where did we go wrong? we ask ourselves. Why so early, why Casey? we ask God, the vet, each other, anyone. You don’t get it, we think to ourselves. You didn’t know Casey. You didn’t see his big beautiful eyes pour into your soul, understand you, need you, love you with every ounce of his cuddly, little being. You didn’t hear his “Arf! Arf!” as you opened the garage door, or hear his click clack of nails on the floor as he came running to dinner, or looking for you as you played hide and seek.

Many people have read my first post. And yesterday and today, and tonight talking with my Dad, I remember so many more memories of Casey. I remember even more nicknames (is that possible?) that we had for him. I come across more pictures and love that he was most content lying on his back or cuddling with us in a chair or napping on the couch.

I remembered today that we also called him JB – Jealous Boy – because whenever Harrison was being touched, or given attention, Casey needed it, too. Oh, Harrison was the same way – you couldn’t play with Casey without Harrison coming over and barking or whining or rolling on the floor to get attention, but Casey had this special way – you couldn’t ignore it. He would nuzzle right up to you under your hand, so you HAD to pet him. And you couldn’t just pet him once and be done with it. You had to keep petting him, petting him, until he was satisfied. Sometimes it took awhile. If Harrison jumped on your lap, Casey had to jump on your lap. He was a JB, plain and simple. But we loved it.

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