I miss you, Asha Bear

My 7-year-old dog, Asha, died this morning. She had surgery yesterday, and the vet removed five plastic gloves from her small intestine. I knew there was a chance of infection and had been preparing myself in case anything happened. Somehow, even when you know ahead of time that someone or something might die, the sadness hits just as heavily as if you hadn't known. I think about my helpless dog, and my heart breaks that I'll never get to play with her, hold her, or give her belly rubs again.

Asha would always come to the top of the stairs to greet whoever came home. She would stand up on her two hind legs to look over the gate, which is why I always call her Asha Bear. She did the same for a peek at any food on the dining table. What a mischievous dog -- I guess that's what got her into trouble in the end. Then again, maybe it was our fault for not walking her enough so that she could get her energy out. I loved it when she'd get excited and play. We went to the beach a few times. Even though she hated being in the water, she loved the excitement of it all. I could tell she wanted to do more fun stuff like that, instead of being locked in the house all day.

She rarely slept in my room the whole night -- she'd always claw on the door so that I'd let her out, but then later on she'd claw on the door to get back in. I also called her Asha Belly because she loved belly rubs. She'd always turn over onto her back so that I could give her belly a good rub. Her face looked kind of a like a dolphin sometimes, as if she was smiling.

I loved it when she would come lie on me. Asha also craved attention and when I'd be typing on my laptop instead of petting her, she would stick her nose under my hand and knock it off the keyboard so that I'd pet her instead. What a demanding dog!

Oh Asha, I was looking forward to many more years of you. I'm glad I came home when I did and got to spend the last year of your life with you. You always made me laugh and still do make me laugh when I remember all the silly things you did. I don't know whether I can ever see you again after this life. I just want you to know that I will always love you and miss you. You were a good dog, and I wish we could have had more years together. I still expect to see you jumping up onto my bed to play.  Don't forget me -- I'll never forget you. I hope you are happy running around and eating now, with no pain. I love you and will always miss you.