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Losing Your Best Friend

It's never easy.

By Emma BukovskyPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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I remember the worst day of my life like the back of my hand. Like answering “what did you eat for breakfast today?” The day I lost my best friend, my support, my constant, and one of the few things that kept me alive.

Dogs are better than people. They can’t speak, they love you unconditionally, and forgive. I remember when we first picked her up from the airport. She was barking and scratching at the crate ready to burst out of there as soon as she could. We called her Daisy Mae and she was perfect. A Petite fawn boxer, a white chest and the best brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Her tail was cropped too short, the cutest little nubbin, this will forever be her nickname.

She was perfection. She never peed in the house, never pooped in the house and learned every command by four months old. She howled while my brother plaid the trumpet. She slept on my bed at night to keep me safe, she pushed balls around the back yard until her nose split and bled. She was my best friend.

My mother remarried when I was ten, we moved to another state and everything changed. Her new husband was cold, egotistical and, to be blunt, abusive. He never hit us, but he screamed, called names, and made us afraid. During this time, I began showing signs of depression, anxiety, and OCD. My depression manifested as anger, but an anger I could never show. My anxiety became OCD and I started ripping the skin from my fingers until I bled and they were raw. I picked every imperfection off of my skin. I cut, not because I needed a release of my feelings, I needed control. There were nights when I wanted to die, I actually contemplated suicide many times. But every single time that thought came into my head there was a scratch at my door. When I opened it, there stood my Daisy Mae. She climbed into my bed and waited for me to get under the covers. She would lie down next to me, her head by my shoulder and rest it there. She was my constant, the only thing that stayed good. She knew how to calm me down, how to show me that love exists and that someone wants me alive.

After an abusive relationship in high school I developed PTSD with a side of panic attacks. Most of the time they happened at night, but she was always there to calm me down. She put her paws and head on my chest creating pressure and licked my chin. Without her I don’t know what would have happened.

When I graduated high school my mother and her husband decided a divorce was a good idea (which it was). The summer was weird and awkward. Lots of separate meals, strange movie nights with his kids, and my mother sleeping on the couch. But this was also the summer that I lost my best friend.

We knew Daisy Mae was getting old, she couldn’t walk up the stairs on her own. She needed to be lifted onto the couch, she didn’t even chase her ball anymore. But she never stopped coming to me when I needed her.

In late August I had my 18th birthday party. Daisy loved having people over, especially my two closest friends. She spent the night socializing, eating people food, and being loved on by all of the people who adored her. I have never seen her smile so much. The day after was earth shattering.

I was at my boyfriend’s house when my mom called me. She asked me to come home, that Daisy wasn’t doing well and that we may need to say goodbye to her. We spent the next two hours on the floor with her, loving her, petting her and giving her as much cheese and whipped cream she wanted. You couldn’t tell that her body was filling with fluid, that her heart was drowning in it. She never showed it. My step father carried her into the car and put her in my lap, this was the only thing I will ever thank him for. I held her head in my hands, I never took my eyes off of hers. We got to the vet’s office and I laid her favorite blanket on the floor, her head in my mother’s lap and her paw in my hand. In my times of need she was there, and I would sit by her side and be there for her when she needed me most. The next few minutes were a blur. I only remember staring into those perfect brown eyes, her nubbin wiggling. I felt her body go limp, and I heard my mother scream out. I sat there, silently crying but I knew I had to stay strong because she would have done the same. We told her we would see her over the rainbow bridge. That she was with her brother Albert and every cat we ever lost.

My mother went to the car after kissing Daisy’s crackled nose “I love you baby girl.” Shortly after my step father fallowed. I sat there for a while, even after they took her, I just sat there. I don’t know how long it took, but the vet brought out her collar and blanket at some point. I took it and walked to the car. I didn’t cry, I stayed strong. I held her blanket on the ride home, I held it to my shoulder and rested my head on it like I had done to her so many times. The car roared to life and I cried. I sobbed a quite broken sob until we got home. That night my mom read us the Rainbow Bridge book, even though we were all too old. We cried together. We laughed together and shared the best stories of our princess. I could never tell them my true favorite memories because those are for just me and her. But we talked about the time she ate a bunch of bees and burped one out, the time she brought an umbrella to the door instead of a toy when she greeted us. The time we were eating dinner and we heard the largest fart to ever come out of dog from under the table.

I can never thank her enough, miss her enough, or think of her enough. She is truly my best friend and what kept me alive all of those years. She was my constant, and she was perfect.

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About the Creator

Emma Bukovsky

I am a student at The Culinary Institute of America, I write a lot about food, mental health, and LGBTQ+ and Gueer issues. I find myself to be out spoken and abrasive, but honest and insightful.

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