Dear Roger: Im Lost

Death has once again taken one of mine. This time my best friend has been stolen from me and I feel so lost and empty inside that I just dont know where to begin finding my way. I keep forging ahead because my kids demand that I do so, but the fact I am the one that gave the go ahead that sent my beloved Fergus to his death, will torture me for forever. I know it was the,"Right thing to do", and that it,"Stopped his suffering", but I wasn't there for him in those last moments. I wasn't there to comfort him and let him know how much I loved him and how much he meant to me. He may have only been a dog to most people, but to me and my little family, he was a much loved and valuable part of our family that had protected us, loved us and in the end, probably died much younger than he should have. If he had belonged to a rich family, the cancer might have gotten caught sooner and he might have been saved, but we were his family and like the rest of this band of refugees and misfits, his lot was set with struggle and strife and doing without.

He was devoted to me and my children. He used to wake me up each morning by putting his huge, cold, wet, nose up against my nose and rubbing his slobbery mug on my face until I got up to let him out so he could go take care of his business and run his morning patrol of the yard to make sure nothing had been insane enough to enter the yard. He was a fierce soccer player that loved to chase up and down the yard with my eldest son, often cheating by picking up a #5 soccer ball in his giant maw and popping it like it was a balloon, thus winning the game by default. I still have a scar on my ankle where his enthusiasm got the best of him and he mistook it for the ball. The look of chagrin on his face and his efforts to apologize more than made up for the mark. He was the best behaved dog I ever had. He responded to hand signals and tone of voice as well as anything, and he knew that if I shouted,'OI!" at him, he was in trouble, often for trying to take an extra cookie that one of my little boys were trying to smuggle to him.

He seemed to know my son,'Sticky" was different. He was very tolerant of him, laying still and calm, even when Sticky fell on him or pulled his ears. The only time he ever reacted was just before I had him neutered and Sticky grabbed the dangly bits, but even then Fergs eyes got really big and he jumped, but he did not ever snap or growl.

He adored my daughter. He slept on the floor beside her bed, often abandoning me to go be with her in the dead of night, keeping a careful eye on the tiny girl. She dressed him in her ballerina clothes and tried to paint in huge toenails, and she even put her monkeys on him for rides around the yard.

His relationship with my eldest son was like that of a big brother. They chased around the yard together, playing ball and insane games of gladiator tag that had the neighbors watching in rapt amusement.

I have never had a dog like him before. He was content to just be near me, but he seemed to know when I was suffering. He would sit next to me on the porch, leaning his bulk against my side so that his warmth soaked through me and I didnt feel so alone. I cried many a tear onto his shoulders, told him many a secret.

When we left, the tears we shed were as much over leaving him as they were for my sons. That may be hard for some to understand, but if you know me, you know that I do not have many people I get close to or care about. I am a person who keeps my distances and who does not love easy. My children are the only unconditional love that I allow, Fergus was the other. He was coming up here next month along with my boys. Our long time apart was almost over. The school year was finally over and the ex had just lost his job, so he was finally relenting and bringing me my sons and my Fergus, but then he called and tells me that the vomiting was worse and that Ferg had stopped eating.

People tell me I am not cursed, but I find it hard to not believe that. Its hard to explain to my kids about loss and death. They are church going children of God and I am a bitter, angry, person who believes that if their is a deity, that it has some vendetta against them for past sins that it is satisfying by taking everyone that they love or care for. I figure my children are safe because my ex got right with Jesus in prison, so he has some influence there, but as for those unfortunate enough to be close to only me? You are screwed.

I struggled at trying to explain to my daughter about why things and people we love die or get taken away. I cant really offer any words of comfort because I have no comfort myself. I have no peace of mind, nothing to offer her that her special fella will be safe and sound forever, or that there is some reason for Fergus being gone. Her brother told her something, and I hugged her and put on videos of her favorite boy so she would feel comforted that he was alive and well, but hell...hes a damned rock star and an actor, they live the life of an alley cat. So hopefully he will stay sane and reasonably sober until she is old enough to understand. Dogs and monkeys dont live forever,and mom cant make it better because she is broken herself.