Cinnamon

My best friend lost her best friend today. No, it wasn't me. It was Cinnamon, her sweet puppy dog. I thought it over many times what I would say to eulogize this wonderful little guy, but I was never satisfied at how my words could convey just how special he was - so I'll just write whatever comes out of my mind. You see, like most pets who are loved by their owners, Cinnamon - or "Cinny," as he was called - was never just a pet. He was a part of the family.

I never had the opportunity to have a dog while I was growing up, and while I look back with regret at not having a four-legged friend to call my own, I also look back with relief - a coward's relief that comes with not wanting to risk loving an animal because of the simple knowledge that they live much shorter lives than humans. I would struggle with thoughts of balancing the imaginary joy of my dog's company with the heartrending despair of losing him to accident, disease, or Father Time. Cinny was as much a part of my best friend's family as her children. In fact, he was her third child. He was only six years old and had his whole life ahead of him, but disease brought an end to this special little guy much too soon. He had recently become sick and my friend was growing increasingly concerned. I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do for her or Cinny. I prayed for him, I prayed for her and her family, but it wasn't enough.

Dogs are wonderful creatures. They give their love to their owners unconditionally, and Cinny was no different. He lived with another family for the first two years of his life - a family that didn't want him. Cinny found a home that loved and adored him and he gave that love back to them in spades. Whether he was barking frantically at people when they walked by the house, carrying back generous clots of snow stuck to his fur when he would answer nature's call in Winter, or leave his little squeaky toys all over the living room floor for people to step on, it was impossible to get mad at him. He loved to have his tummy scratched and he had boundless energy. The only thing he didn't have was the voice to tell the family just how much they meant to him. When he started getting sick, he was scared. He was just too young and naive to understand what was happening to him. Closing my eyes, I can see him looking up at my friend and asking, "What's happening to me?" and she not knowing what to tell him - saying over and over again that he's going to be all right while in the back of her mind knowing it probably is not. It must have been frightening to him to not know what was happening, to not have an ability to be told that you are sick and understand those words. His only comfort was feeling the warmth and love of the family - a warmth and love that he played a large part in helping create himself as a member of that family.

Her children have known Cinny their entire lives. They don't know what life is without him. They could always count on him to meet them at the door after school and feed him scraps under the table. Some day, when they are older and have the benefit of a few more years on their odometers, they will look back and reminisce about Cinnamon with loving remembrance. They all will; and not just the immediate family, but everyone who ever knew this mercurial (in the best sense) little guy and experienced him racing around the living room at top speed whenever someone new walked in. He didn't have an enemy in this world. How many humans can say that about themselves? And here, we're supposed to be the superior creatures.

I would have gladly given time off my life to give to Cinny, even if it was only one extra day so my friend and her family could spend just a little more time with him and Cinny could feel just a little more love before he passed beyond this world. After all, isn't time the greatest gift to receive? It wouldn't have just been a gift for Cinny; it would have been a gift to the family and all who knew him. It's the least anyone could have done for him.

For wasn't his unconditional love the greatest gift he gave to us? We all miss you, little guy. Thank you for letting us share in your life.