Dear Tiger · 09.10.18, 11:37am
I would first like to say how much I truly and dearly love you. I always wished that I could take you up to school with me and be with you every day, since I knew that you were aging while I was away. It was painful to go home every month and notice the changes in your physical health. The deep luster of your fur fading away, the droop of your head, and the steps of your paws becoming ever slower.
I made mom promise to call me immediately as soon as anything happened to you, because I HAD to be there with you in the end. But in the end, I failed you. I wasn’t there. I was freezing on a mountain in North Carolina, laughing in the snow, with no idea what was wrong. I missed the first phone call from Dad right before I lost signal completely for almost two days. I am so sorry. If I have one real regret, however lame it would sound for breaking a promise to a dog, it is not being able to be with you and say goodbye.
I have only myself to blame. It was so hard to get the onslaught of voicemail and text messages from the rest of the family, a day late, while I was walking through the streets in Asheville, trying and failing to hide my misery from everyone else.
“Tiger hasn’t eaten in two days”
“He keeps trying to hide. He might be dying.”
I think my heart has broken. While I am glad that you no longer have to suffer, and lose your pride in walking with your head tilting to the floor, without the energy to curl the plume of your beautiful chow tail, and without the control of your bowels—I am still so very sorry. I am sorry that I wasn’t there because I know you thought of me. You always got so excited when I came home, jumping around for a bit like a young puppy for a few minutes while you could. I am sorry that you had to suffer with half of your family away.
You are the best friend I have ever had. I still remember when sister and I chose you and Shadow from the litter. We had petty competitions—sister insisting that you were better than Shadow, and I insisting that Shadow was better than you—but in the end I will admit that you have the largest part of my heart. You were here with us longer, and always faithful.
You were so beautiful. Everyone who saw you always thought you were a girl dog because of it. Your coat was so shiny and slightly fluffy without making you puffy. The fur on your head was so especially soft, I always loved to pet you there—even though doing so was always perceived by you to be an invitation for a crazy licking-attack! You always wanted to lick us and show your affection, and we knew it—yelling “no lick!” when you went a bit too far, hehe.
You had such a graceful shape and pointed paws. Your eyes were so intelligent, I knew you understood everything! I remember before you somehow understood when we took pictures of you, so you would immediately sit down very straight and proud and look right at the camera! We never had to chase you around or put the camera on a special setting. “Beautiful dog!” People would exclaim. But dangerous. You were definitely a one-family dog back then. Many a time we had to pull the curious stranger away for fear of them being bit. Despite that, I always knew I was safe with you.
I remember how you used to sleep outside my patio door at night, and it was comforting to me as I was still afraid of the dark. I remember in 8th grade, after a jerk on the bus yelled, “Stupid bitch, go back to China!” at me—I ran through the yard crying to you and the other dogs. No one else was home, but I cried in front of you and you comforted me. You licked my tears away and everything felt okay right then. I remember how little Mimi was the only dog you ever liked other than Shadow—and you used to touch noses with her in passing. It was the sweetest thing.
I remember when we first moved into the big house in Country Estates, and you got so excited that you ran right through the patio screen, busting a huge hole in a panel that wasn’t fixed for a while. You learned your lesson, but it was so funny. I remember the morning when I was eating breakfast and a I noticed you barking, and looked over and up to see a squirrel, frozen while gripping to the roof of the patio with you standing guard below. I thought it had died, petrified with claws still woven through the screen. 10 minutes later, you were barking wildly while chasing the same squirrel through the patio…and it only got away by swimming through the pool! I didn’t even know squirrels could swim.
Even though we got three other dogs while you were still around, we always loved you best. At least I did. Everyone knew you were the boss. When Uno pissed you off one day, you grabbed him in your jaws like he was a puppy and shook him—throwing him away. Although I was worried for Uno, he wasn’t hurt at all—only his pride. You were always the top dog. That’s never changed.
You were so alert. We couldn’t open a string cheese, loaf of bread, or slice of cheese without you hearing us! It was amazing how you could hear it across all distances, and run right over begging for a treat. If we even opened the fridge door, we’d only have to glance over to see you watching us carefully. While sitting was the only trick you ever learned, you utilized it well. Plus you were amazing at catching food in your mouth—major skills.
Back when we used to have that huge yard, I still remember you, Cougar, and Uno waiting for me every day by the fence near the bus stop when I came home from school. Every day without fail, unless it was raining—I know how you hated thunder (the only times you ever hid). I hopped the fence right there every day, making a little droop from the times I brushed the top with my leg..and all of you would jump excitedly around me, bright eyed and tails wagging, running with me up to the patio where I always tried all the many doors to let myself into the house. I don’t know if anyone else in the family knew, but I hardly ever needed a key to enter the house! But again, I never worried about safety because of you.
Tiger, you were free-spirited. You relished that big yard we had, but even then that was never enough. We’ve all lost count of the many times you somehow escaped one yard or another, wandering the neighborhood and marking your territory at will. Even when you were neutered, nothing really changed. Once someone caught you wandering in and out of peoples yards, looking for ours, because all of those townhouses looked the same! You were never so happy as when we had that big yard though—and somehow now I regret every time we had to leash you and limit your space.
Oh, smart dog. Of course you lived such a long, healthy life. It was only in the last year or so that you began to show major signs of aging—and only age had the power to bring you down. When our neighbors threw poisoned rats into our yard because Mimi’s barking pissed them off—you knew better than to go near them. Mimi’s youth and curiosity was her downfall—but you barked to alert us, and you survived. I am so proud of you.
Beautiful, smart, Tiger, Tigger, I miss you more than I ever thought I would. I knew you were aging but I didn’t think about your death if I could. I thought it would jinx you. I always said, “Tiger will live forever,” and somewhere deep in my childish soul I believed it. I feel as though there is a big gaping hole in my heart that no one could ever fill. No dog, no other pet could ever replace you. To attempt it would be a dishonor. I will never forget you, my best friend since the age of 5 or 6. I grew up with you. I reached adulthood with you. You are as much a part of me as my brother or sister, but you’ve also seen parts of me that even they don’t know. In our rarely physically affectionate family, we showered our communal love on you like a favored child. You were more than a dog, or a pet. You ARE family.
Even though I will always miss you, and I know that I won’t heal for a long time, you will always be with us somehow. Right now, I can almost hear you beside me. If only I could give you another massage with my feet, and pretend to rest them on your back again. If only I could reach out and pat the soft, soft fur on your head. This time, I wouldn’t say “No lick.”
The next time I play my Chopin waltz, or that Haydn concerto you especially loved, I am sure I will hear the echo of your howling with the beat, matching my rhythm and pitch with your soulful off-key melody.
♥♥
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