Saying Goodbye to Our First (Fur) Baby
by Rabbi Sara Sapadin
Our house feels unnaturally quiet tonight. Gone are the sounds of paws shuffling across the wood floor, the clang, clang, clang of a collar jostling to and fro, the gentle lapping of water heard echoing through the halls at all hours of the night.
Gone are the snores and the groans, the dream-induced growls, and the canine purrs that permeated our room each night. The foot of our bed sits empty, no trace of drool or hair or food bits to be found. Water bowls, scattered randomly around the house, remain stationed in their places, but stand unused, and untouched.
Tonight, there is no discussion — heated or otherwise — about who took the midnight shift yesterday; no bedroom negotiations bartering walks for morning snooze time; no worrying over whether the medicine was administered in the just-right fashion.
We let our adored dog, Dubi — named for the Hebrew word for teddy bear, and not thatkind of doobie — a 13-year-old Wheaten Terrier, go this morning, after a long stretch of close calls, near misses, and seemingly miraculous turnarounds.