Month: October 2022

My dog passed away on Tuesday, October 25 at around 2:30 PM. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. Addie Bundren was so right when talking about the emptiness of words; I don’t think any string of words can fully encapsulate the pain I feel at the moment. The worst part of this pain is how inconsistent it is. At times, I can process her passing almost entirely, allowing me to comprehend what occurred and how I’m going to move on. But at other times, like right now, I can’t. I can’t imagine that she’s not here, I can’t think beyond the past, and I can’t comprehend what it means for her to die. It all seems so unreal. It’s when I think about how she would always look into my eyes with so much adoration, how she would closely follow me around the house, her face full of joy, how her small nails would clack against the wooden floor, how her bursts of energy would come out of nowhere, I feel that deep sense of pain. Like right now. My feelings are going to change a hundred times while writing this, and maybe this is not the most appropriate thing to write about in my AP Lit Blog; however, I can’t allow myself to write about anything else.

We got Elsa the summer before my 5th grade. I had been begging my parents for a dog for a long time, making presentations and writing persuasive essays to convince them. My mom was hesitant, knowing how much work it was to take care of a dog and knowing how painful it was to lose one, but I was persistent. On my last day of park district soccer, we went to a frozen yogurt place with a pet store next door. Some of my friends from the team proposed going into the store to look at some animals, so I excitedly agreed and made sure my family came in with me. I was on the other side of the store when I heard my mom say, “Aww, she’s so cute.” I looked over and it was love at first sight. I loved everything about her. The way she would drink water, the way she would tug on my dad’s shoelaces, the way she was getting distracted by every little thing. My sister and I successfully convinced my parents that evening, and we all immediately started preparing for her arrival. I remember going there with four members of our family, and coming back with five. 

I’ve loved her every day since. 

I have so many joyful memories with her, but it’s her everyday behaviors and our everyday routines that will stick with me forever. She would constantly roam around the house, scavenging for any food on the ground and socks she could tear apart, even though she had multiple toys of her own. Whenever she would chew on her chew toys, I’d congratulate her and shower her with even more love and affection, encouraging her to keep going. Every day when I’d come home from school, she would walk over to me with her toy to show me how obedient she was. I could never play fetch with her. Whenever I’d throw a stick, she would start running but get distracted along the way. When I’d try to motivate her to pick up the stick, she would get possessive, thinking I was trying to steal the stick from her, causing her to take the stick and run away. She couldn’t walk in a straight line. Our walks would consist of her sprinting, sneezing repeatedly because her harness held her back, walking from side to side, wrapping my family’s legs with her leash, getting extremely distracted by a single leaf, and staring at anyone walking by. She adored everyone and absolutely loved getting attention, always ready to be pet by anyone who was around.

The house is so silent now. She would always be panting, walking around, growling at a shadow, but now all of her little sounds are gone. Her death was sudden. She was behaving completely normal on Saturday but began walking around slowly and looking at us for long periods of time on Sunday. After her passing, vets believed she had an undetected blood clot, causing her to go into cardiac arrest. I still can’t believe it, and I don’t think I ever fully will, but I’m glad she wasn’t in pain for too long, glad she lived her life with so much joy, glad I told her I loved her almost every day, glad she will forever live in my memories, reminding me how I came to be who I am today. I’ll love you forever, Elsa.

 

“Forgive me for making you wanna roam

And now my heart is beating like the saddest metronome

Somewhere I hope you’re reading

My latest three-word poem

Gary, come home”

These words, which I genuinely believe were strung together by some sort of higher power and not some guy named Stew, give me chills every time I hear them blasting from my car’s speakers. This moment builds up perfectly, in a way I have never experienced before, leading you into the beautifully written line, “Gary, come home”. After literally hundreds of times listening, this song never fails to entertain me. “Gary’s Song” will always have a special place in my heart.

For context, “Gary’s Song” aired for the first time in season 4, episode 3 of the revolutionary Spongebob Squarepants on November 11, 2005. Throughout the series, Spongebob and Gary, his pet snail, have had a very beautiful, close relationship. Spongebob is always there to love and care for Gary, while Gary is there to teach Spongebob unlikely lessons. The episode, “Have You Seen This Snail?” was truly heartbreaking for frequent and first-time viewers alike, especially because the episode was the full length of 22 minutes instead of being split into two stories like usual. In this special episode Spongebob, so concentrated on his game, neglects to feed Gary and gets angry at him for constantly asking for food, so Gary, heartbroken, leaves town. After a week, Spongebob finally goes to feed Gary but realizes soon after that Gary is gone. As he and his friend Patrick put up posters around town, Spongebob mournfully reflects on his loving memories with Gary. It was at this point, Gary’s Song began to play.

My fascination with “Gary’s Song” began much after I watched the episode for the first time. It started when my sister, who had just graduated high school at the time, played “Gary’s Song” on repeat for many hours on our drive back from Mount Rushmore. Ever since then, “Gary’s Song” has been in and out of my most loved playlists. This song goes beyond the surface-level meaning, exceeding the emotional intensity of many of my favorite songs. Gary doesn’t just represent a fictional pet snail, Gary represents the people in our lives we once held close to us, not realizing the time spent together would inevitably end. Gary represents the yearning for someone who is gone and may never come back. Gary represents the regret associated with someone leaving and the acknowledgment that you may never reach them again. Gary is someone in all of our lives and someone who may never leave our hearts. 

“More than a pet, you’re my best friend

Too cool to forget

Come back ’cause we are family”

I currently have a seven-year-old dog named Elsa, who I spend almost all of my free time with and a lot of my not-free time with. I love her so much and she never fails to show me her love. With her being such a constant source of joy, love, and energy, I don’t know what I would do without seeing her every day. I used to have a pet bird named Singer, who passed away at fifteen years old in April 2020. He was older than me, living in my house from a time before I was born. I was so used to him being a part of my life, that I felt so confused without him. I know Singer won’t come back, but I still look back on the time we spent together. I often think about how my pets and I, without the ability to communicate through verbal language, can always seem to connect through nonverbal love. 

“Gary, come home”

I always seem to think about my own Garys, without realizing that I could be a Gary to someone else. My mom and I spend hours together each day, unable to imagine what our lives will look like next year. A year from now, I don’t know where I’ll be. I don’t know what state I’ll be in, whether a journey home means a two-hour car ride or a five-hour flight, or how often my parents and I will talk, whether we can call or only text. All I know is that, between the stressful days, I’ll come home.