“How lucky I am to have known somebody and something that saying goodbye to was so damned awful.” — Jill Kinmont, “The Other Side of the Mountain”
I’ve just returned from an epic trip involving cross-country flights, road trips up and down the California coast, and a three-day voyage in the sleeper car of an Amtrak train. All but the last day and a half were wonderful. I saw new places, met fascinating people, and got to spend time with old friends. It was amazing—until it wasn’t.
Airline delays, bad weather, and mechanical issues will always be part of travel. What probably doesn’t happen as often is that all of those things will occur in the same short span of time, while a serious problem is happening a thousand miles away at home, keeping you from being there and leaving you sobbing in an airport bathroom.
We lost our wee pug, Penny, this week. She was thirteen years old, and yes, she had some issues, but a week before she died, she was romping in the yard of our friend and extraordinary dog sitter, Theresa, who we consider a miracle worker. Penny began to decline soon after, however, and her illness was not survivable.
Our daughter, also a rockstar, cared for Penny, made her comfortable when possible, and stayed with her at the vet in those awful last moments. Stuck at O’Hare, already delayed by a day, and hoping to make it home in time, FaceTime was our only option because Mother Nature decided to throw the first Chicago-area dust storm in history just as our plane was pushing back from the gate. When it rains, it pours, and then it blows a dense cloud of dust at you, just for fun.
We are heartbroken. Penny Pug came to our family as a pup, the smallest in her litter. Still, what she lacked in size, she made up for in her silly antics, her yips and yaps, her ability to play fetch for hours, and her delight at snuggling up near her people in a cozy blanket and snoring like a Harley Davidson with a bad muffler. In her later years, her skills at “doing her business” outside faded a bit as she aged, and we often screeched at her when we discovered—always in bare feet—a random puddle or something much messier.
“Doing her business” outside faded a bit as she aged, and we often screeched at her when we discovered—always in bare feet—a random puddle or something much messier.
Still, we loved her more than we can say. Isn’t that the oddest thing? Some creature can quite literally offload on a new carpet or a nice pair of shoes, and we clean it up and only stay mad for a minute or two. That’s how it works with fur babies, at least in our family. Like children, partners, parents, and grandparents, they screw up from time to time, but we don’t abandon them. Penny never abandoned us either, not once.
If we had cheese, she had to have some, and she always got it. If we had a toy, she wanted to play too. If there was a cozy blanket and an open lap, she was right there wanting her part of it. Ice cream trips? Of course, she came with us, and she got her own spoon to have a taste. Christmas pictures? There was no way she was getting left out of those. Birthday parties? She had two a year, one on her birthday and one on the anniversary of the day she came home to us. Despite the occasional naughty behavior, her sole purpose in life was devoting herself to being our best little good friend, and she was, fully and completely, our closest buddy and favorite baby.
One thing we have learned is that emptiness has a presence all its own. When Penny was here, boy, you knew she was here. Now that she’s not, it’s almost as if that’s a bigger sensation than all the tail wagging, yipping, and belly rubs ever were. We are incredibly sad, but we know she’s somewhere, having cheese, chasing a ball, and keeping an eye on us.
Run free, Penny. We’ll see you again.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.
