“Mom?”

“Mhm... yes?”

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“Probably a dog.”

“Then why don’t we have have one?”

“You know Sophie, it’s not that easy to have a dog, especially with the stressful life that we have.”

There it was again, that same conversation that I have had with my mother over the last few years that have gone by since my dog, Ludwig, had died. It usually ended with my mom going on and on about how big of a responsibility dogs were and that I would probably lose interest in it after a few months of having it. She would also likely say that they (including my dad) themselves would end up being the ones actually taking care of it.

While my mom went on giving me a whole lecture of why we couldn't have a dog, I recalled back to the days when I lived in Azerbaijan at the age of about five or six. I was in my room playing dress up. I remember going out of my room to show my parents what type of outfit I had put together, likely made up of butterfly leggings with a tutu, paired with a horse T-shirt. I opened my door that was plastered with animal posters and walked to the top of the stairs, taking a look downstairs, I observed both of my parents as they were talking to each other front door of our house. I quietly went down the first two steps to hear what they were saying and then the heartbreaking message came to my ears.

“Do you think now is the right time?” my mom asked my dad with questioning eyes.

“Yes, he has gotten old enough. The pain is only going to get worse the more we wait,” my dad replied.

In that moment the world was just standing still for a few seconds. My mind replayed all the memories that I had made with my dog from the moment I could first remember that he existed in my life. The first memories that I could remember of my dog, was that he was always there, but kind of forgotten by me since in my mind I would have never thought that he would have to leave someday. Regretful feelings started to come up in my mind; I realized that I had taken him for granted.

Ludwig was born in Uzbekistan and bought by my mom for $5 in a bazaar. He was a Russian Hunting Spaniel. This was all  back in 1996, meaning a long time before I was born. Something always seemed to be wrong about him; his eyesight was never quite good so most of the time he used his nose to find his way around, when ever we left for a small trip or a vacation and we couldn’t take him with us, he became badly sick with a cold but once he was back with us, everything seemed to be alright with his health again. Throughout the years that I had him, I remembered how his appearance changed. His fur went from snow white with big black spots here and there to a spotted mixture of grey, black, and white. It’s sad to see a being age like that throughout their life, especially when you think that they will be alive forever.

Then I was back on the stairs staring at my parents in the hallway. Having the mind of a six year old, I would do anything to stop them from my taking away my dog away forever. Unfortunately, that thought only lasted in my mind for a few seconds before being overtaken of changing my outfit into something and disappearing again behind my poster covered door. I was back in my room and continued to play dress up like I had heard nothing. Looking back at it, I think I was too young to understand how much a loss of someone or something you loved can have an impact on you and you sadly only realize that only sometimes after they are gone.

I remember walking outside with my brother to a small corner in our garden, where my parents were gathered. I looked down into the dirt hole and there I saw him lying on his side. A red rose was placed next to his paws. His collar wasn’t around his neck anymore. It was in my mother’s hand. That’s when reality hit me. Tears started to roll down my cheeks as my vision became more blurry.

He was gone. Forever.