Pets ≠ People

My dog Eve died this summer.  She was a Rottweiler, and although I am of course biased, she was the most gorgeous dog I’ve ever seen.  Shiny coat, muscular build, perfect proportions.  She was intelligent, obedient, and loyal; really, she was just an overall great pet.  I suppose this is why my mom had such a hard time when she died.

When my brother and I were kids and my mom got home in the afternoon, she would usually walk past us (sometimes going as far as to actually nudge one of us out of the way) to say hi to the dog first.  She always said that Eve was her third child, but it often felt like she was the first child, or sometimes the only one.  Likewise, Eve would mope on the couch all day while Mom was at work, getting up only to take a drink of water or scratch at the front door to be let out.  The two were horribly codependent.  So in May when my mom found out that one of Eve’s kidneys was failing, it was really like she was watching her child die.

Mom and the dog were back in Jacksonville while I was in Tallahassee, so I couldn’t be there to help her, but we talked almost every day, and almost every day it ended with Mom in tears over the dog.  I personally felt like it was a little much.  Don’t get me wrong; I loved that dog.  My eyes even started to well up a bit while I sat down to think about writing this essay, remembering how on Christmas we’d put on Eve’s jingle bell collar and call her “Christmas Eve” and let her unwrap all the presents for us.  But I think I loved the dog like a dog should be loved:  with the realization that she was a pet and not a human.

I’m not sure if my mom is unhealthy, me callous, or maybe both.  Mom is no longer dragging herself about like one of the people in an antidepressant commercial, but she still cries on each “anniversary” (observed every month) of Eve’s death.  I still miss Eve and think about her from time to time, but I spend more time thinking about how much I loathe my grandparents’ Chihuahua-rat terrier mix, or how much I love my roommate’s chocolate lab that I’m slowly stealing from him.  I’m sure I’ll mourn the lab at some point (though certainly not the Chihuahua), but I’ll be sad and move on.  Dogs are wonderful pets, but they’re not people.