Yesterday I had a whole other blog post planned out. A much happier one. Until I got a message over Facebook from my mom.
"Shmi's not doing well."
"I'm coming over," I told her.
I remember so vividly the day she was brought home. I was ten years old and my mom had told me and my sisters that we were in for a huuuuuuge surprise. As we waited for her to come home, we bounced ideas off of eachother of what it could possibly be. "Chuck 'E' Cheese," one of my sisters said. "Nah it's a puppy!" Somehow I had a suspicion all along, even when my dad shut me down every time I said it.
When my mom pulled into the driveway, I ran out and scooped up THECUTESTFLUFFIESTPUPPYIEVERDIDSEE and named her within 3 seconds. This was around the time that Star Wars: Attack of the Clones came out and I was at the height of my first Star Wars obsession so Shmi it was (for the uninitiated, Shmi was Darth Vader's mother. It's also an adorable name).
That night, we had a bit of a photoshoot with some lightsabers and a very confused puppy.
I'm the one hiding behind, of course.
She was the most patient dog I've ever known, dealing with three of the world's loudest, most hyperactive, and crazy kids.
I grew up with her, graduated middle school, highschool, and college with her being there the whole time.
from 2010 when I was just starting to get into photography and I didn't have a tripod or focusing skills:
I spent last night hanging out on the deck with her, petting her, taking the last pictures of her I'll ever take. I sat there remembering all the times she was always there, trying not to break down into a blob of tears.
At 14 years old, she led a long life and I can only hope we gave her the fullest, happiest, fun-filled time in all those years. I'll miss her like crazy and I'll always picture her as the tail-wagging-so-hard-it-smacks-into-everything, excited puppy bringing little stuffed animals up to us whenever we came home.