My boy Willy.

He died too soon. A teenager in dog years (3) and my shadow.

I adored him instantly. He was born from a mom who had come into my home as a rescue from a high kill shelter in California. She had cancer. She had two pups, both boys, one was born without eyes and ears, and then there was Willy. 

We put his little brother to sleep because the vet said there would very likely be other birth defects that would rear their ugly heads at some point, so Willy grew up with an exceptional amount of human contact. 

His mother, Sun,  passed away several months after his birth.

He was adopted at one of our adoption fairs by an elderly couple who lived in a senior's home and I imagined this most curious, sociable little guy would run the place in no time. Yes, I was sad to see him go, but I loved him so much I thought he deserved to be the king of the castle and boy I knew he would be.

 Sadly his mistress had a terrible stroke a month later and her elderly husband returned him to us. He was crying. Willy had touched his heart too.

And that is how I became so lucky to have the chance to know and love and be loved by this magnificent little dog.

Willy had magical powers. He was somehow able to get where I was going in the house before I got there and usually when I didn't want him to! 

Going to the bathroom was no longer a private endeavor.  Heading out in the car on a too-hot-for-dog day always resulted in Willy playing "dodge human" running from the front seat to the back seat depending on which door I was opening to try to catch him. I would threaten him in my "ventriloquist voice", you know, the one where you talk smack to someone with your teeth clenched because you think you look meaner. It did nothing! Finally I would manage to fake him  out and go to work or wherever I was heading, only to be told while I was gone, sometimes for a full 8 hours, he would lay by the front door waiting for me.

Willy was a perfect picture of hurt feelings innocence. The small remaining dollop of cool whip on his forehead (after it had "fallen' out of the fridge,) his stash in the kitchen drawer, the one whose front had fallen off so it was a great entrance to the drawer beneath it, one where he sat and waited for various morsels to fall (ok, or be tossed) his way. Yes! I cleared that drawer out a little but only to keep the dog hair off the baking supplies!  






He shared his toys, treats and even sometimes his drawer, and most of all, my attention, knowing he was
top dog in my heart. (Although I didn't tell my other dogs that.)

His favorite place was nestled under my chins and balancing on my  bosom when I was watching TV or on line. He became a comforting appendage over time and something I would miss almost the most when he wasn't here anymore.

He enjoyed the finer things in life. Bacon to "Snausages" (he would give you this look like "but...those are for dogs!" and vanilla ice cream sandwiches to the edible oil of cool whip (which he would tolerate if that's all there was.)

His guilty pleasure was dog biscuits in bed. And that would be MY bed just to clear up any misunderstandings that he slept in a crate or anywhere on the floor for that matter. He slept next to me like a husband, except his little legs would usually be splayed apart (thank GOD I did not get that treat when I was married) and sometimes he would sleep in the wrong direction, leaving a less than desirable sight for me if I dared open my eyes during the night.

I have had a very bad two years in my life. Significantly above average for sadness, grief, trauma, stress. It was Willy who was my solace. I would often cry in  bed at night, because I don't want people to see me doing that, and he would rush to my side and lick my tears and cuddle closer than normal for the duration. He would look "concerned" if that's possible. When I just needed someone to touch me, he would be there, under my chins, always there, most of the time I never noticed he had crawled up to his perch, he was just "there."

I do not know how life will ever be the same without him.

I didn't know that the last week of his life would be all our last times. 

I got up for work, it was a hot day, I played dodge human with him, went to work, and my mother called me a couple of hours later to say Willy was walking in circles.

I went home and she said he was laying in a vari-kennel and would not come out. When he heard my voice he came out, seemed to be walking ok, but when I picked him up it did not seem "right". I think that was his "green mile." He went  limp in my arms and I took him right up to the vet. There was no trauma on his body, he just wasn't moving properly.

The vet did not seem super concerned and told me he would call later that afternoon with a diagnosis.

Willy had a head injury. Hi skull was not fractured and nothing had penetrated his brain, it was just "squished" a little. Had he fallen? Had he run into something? The other dogs in the house were too small to have bitten him in the head with such force. We just didn't know.

Willy stayed overnight and was sent home to me the next day on prednisone. The vet said he would get better over time.

He was still wobbly and just wanted to lay on my chest with his ear to my heart so that is what we did. I hand fed him bacon, and tried to give him some ice cream but he did not seem interested. I thought he might be blind. And deaf. I wasn't sure. I decided I would go back to the vet the next day and pursue this further.

In the meantime I held his hands in my grip, stroked him, told him everything would be ok and my boy would be back in his kitchen drawer in no time.

I decided to have him sleep in a little vari-kennel on the night table near my bed so the other dogs would not bother him.

At 6 am precisely he was sitting up and barking so loudly I told him to be quiet. In that time between sleep and awake I had forgotten his fragile state. 

At 8 a.m. I peaked in and he was sitting up looking at me. I smiled and opened the cage and petted him. But I left him in there while I went to get dressed. At 8:30 when I went to get him out, he was dead. Cold, Stiff, He had been dead for quite some time. 

I couldn't believe it. My daughter who shares my room said she heard me tell him to be quiet. But he had already gone by that time.

He was saying good bye to me. No one will ever convince me otherwise. 

He was one of a kind.

We are so blessed to have had the chance for each of us to say our goodbyes and hold his hands, hug his neck and kiss his beautiful head in his last few hours.

I am the luckiest for having had the chance to know and love and
be loved by this magnificent creature.

I wouldn't trade my time with him for anything.

The love that once lived can never die rather, it circles around you forever, alive.

He is with me, I know it. The puzzle of what killed him doesn't matter anymore. Willy was a curious, bold, mischievous spirit, whatever happened to take him away from me is outweighed by what he left behind.

I will own dogs in the future as I have a pack now, but none will compare to my Willy-boy.

We knew how much we loved each other, and our time on earth, both human and dog is really a moment in eternity. I will see him again, likely in a kitchen drawer in paradise.
"My tears are messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love." Washington Irving