to sophie

For anyone that has grieved the loss of a companion, I feel this with you.

Today I learned that Sophie, my 11 year old maltese-poodle will be put down tomorrow. I feel fortunate enough to be handed these cards at a very open-vulnerable stage of my life. I feel like you could have given me this news months ago, I wouldn’t have truly felt the gravity of a loss like this. 

As a guarded, protected, and very stubborn young adult, I’ve always found safety in the cynical. Nothing matters truly if this was something that we’ve always known. The logical side of my brain would have kicked it into overdrive and kept myself from crying, using the knowledge of her short lifespan should keep me from dealing this blow. 

The thing is, I’m no longer this young stubborn adult. This person spent his morning crying on facetime with his mother, watching his little puppy with IVs in her paw, looking drained. Ready to rest. 

I could still see however, that she didn’t change. She was properly growling at the doctors surrounding her, my mother, and my father. And licking my moms face to show her that she will still protect her with her dying breath. 

I would have laughed at something like that, a few months ago, thinking about how over dramatic that sounds, and that it’s just a dog. I was too guarded and too scared of being vulnerable to see how painful this was. It keeps you numb, but it keeps you closed. Allowing yourself to acknowledge and accept the weight of losing a 11 year old malti-poo, feels both terrifying and beautiful. 

My perception of pets has changed over the years. When I was a kid I would beg for a dog. I loved going to my uncle's house and pretending that his dog was like my own personal little pokemon. The little pupper would follow me around, listen to my childish nonsense, and lay next to me when I said it was nap time. Like children, pets are a perfect showcase of unconditional love. Something that may be obvious to other people, but has been groundbreaking to me these last few days, is so important to remember. 

We got Sophie the first week I was starting highschool. I hated the first week of school, everything except getting her. The all-boys school I started at, felt like a jungle. I walked around everyday just trying to blend in. I think I didn’t speak in class until 4 months in now that I think about it. When we picked up Sophie and brought her home, the pitter patter of her little paws on my parent’s marble floor became my new favorite song. A song so soothing and joyful that I couldn’t be hateful. How could you be pissed around a little white ball of fur that can barely walk in a straight line. 

Sophie would comically bump into things and we would laugh about it. My mom would playfully smack my head and tell me not to make fun of her, that she’s a baby, and she’s learning. She was a dream of a dog. My mom, being as OCD as she is, struggled with our first attempt of having a pet. The maltese we got in 2008 was a psychopath that loved to shit everywhere and drive us nuts. The image of my mom sobbing, cleaning up an absurd amount of poop from her favorite carpet, was a sad sight, because I knew it meant that my mom couldn’t keep this whole dog owner thing up anymore. 

It was amazing to see how Sophie was almost built for our family and my OCD (and very loving) mother. 

Sophie would never pee or poop in the house, and if she did, you knew that girl was down bad. She would sit by the window staring at all the little lizards that hangout around our backyard until someone took her out to pee. If it was raining, and the grass was wet, Sophie adjusted to automatically walking to the kitchen to roll over for one of us to pick her up and clean her paws.

I especially loved her because she was one of those dogs that let you hold her anyway you want. Nothing is more demoralizing than holding a dog and having it struggle for you to let it go. I would carry Sophie like a baby, from when she was 1 to when she was 11. She loved kisses and loved to sleep on her back with her paws laid up like everything was ok. When I would get home she would run around the house like a looney toon, dashing from room to room, until she made her final stop onto our living room rug, and onto her back. She loved being smothered. I would say that was my moms influence because my mom is very affectionate. She made me that way too. 

Sophie was the protector of our house in a very comical way. I picture in her mind, she was an armed soldier responsible for guarding an impenetrable fortress. All of this in the mind of a tiny maltese-poodle was all the more funny. She would growl whenever one of us raised our voice. She hated fighting. She would even growl if any of us were just talking with a lot of passion. The norm of a Cuban household. Once we’d laugh and my mom let herself get a kick out of Sophie doing this all while on her lap, we’d assure Sophie that everything was ok. She would then tuck her little head in between my moms lap, and drift to sleep. 

Part of me feels guilty for the way I treated Sophie during my troubled teens. When I lived everyday angry at the world, Sophie went unacknowledged. When I started to close myself up, truly, I forgot about unconditional love. Whenever I would lock myself up in my room, refusing to let anyone in, I would see Sophie’s nose peek under the door. She would make really loud, but gentle sniffs to let me know she was here, waiting for me to open up. Her little paws would then start scratching under the door trying to get it open. I laugh because it was the short bit of frustration she would let out, until I would see her little white butt resting up against the door. There would be times where my parents would have realized she wasn’t with them for an hour or so, and find her asleep outside my door. They would (reasonably) make me feel bad about it. But acknowledging the guilt would have been too much for me then. So kept shutting her out. 

It’s funny how spiritual animals are. How they undeniably possess a pure soul. How they almost know you’re hurting, and know that you’re not acting like yourself.

How Sophie would reference the memory in her little brain of us playing cat and mouse running around our home, when trying to get me to play. It was like Anna asking Elsa if she wanted to build a snowman. I was literally Elsa, and I regret not opening that door today. 

I got to see Sophie so much recently. I feel like she knew I had finally opened up again when I offered to take her to pee (something I famously never wanted to do). I got to hold her and squeeze her like a little baby. My mom, like clockwork, would ask “Where’s Sophie ?” a million times a day when Sophie left her sight. My mom loved Sophie as her own daughter. I used to laugh about it, but I now understand how she saw the pure soul in Sophie the entire time, when I didn’t. My mom lived for Sophie. She would go on trips with my dad, and I would get a phone call on the 7th or 8th day of their trip and listen to her whisper to me that she wanted to go home to be with her baby girl. “My baby Sophie is probably so sad thinking about where we are”, she would say. 

I would then laugh and picture Sophie in my uncle's house, starting into space, just blinking without a thought in her little beautiful head. 

I hope my mother finds comfort in her memory one day. I don’t blame my mom for how she overprotected Sophie, kind of like how she did with me when I was a little boy. She loved her and wanted to be with her always. Any slight indication of Sophie being uncomfortable, would also make my mom uncomfortable.

Sophie falling ill in such a short span of time has been grueling for my family, but my mother especially. 

I love you mama and we’ll get through this together. 

I'd like to believe that Sophie, just like me, knew my mother very well. That if she could speak, she would tell my mom, “It’s not a big deal”, as she would limp away. Like the women in our family, Sophie was a tough cookie. She wouldn’t want anyone to know she was hurt, because that would mean stress for my mother. That would mean that mom wouldn’t be ok, so Sophie had to be ok for her. 

That kind of love has no language. It’s something you can feel. It’s something you feel when you hold them, when you see them doing something so random that makes you burst into laughter. It’s pure love. 

Today I remembered through grieving, of all the joy she brought in our life. In how funny she would look in glasses my mom put her in, how much she made us laugh when she guarded her toy ducky with her life, or how she would basically beg for my mom and dad to call it a night, so she can peacefully sleep snuggled in between them. 

I love Sophie so much. I’m going to miss knowing that I could see her whenever I visit home. It’s going to be painful, sad, and very confusing to walk through the door, and not hear the sound of her collar. I’m sure those who’ve lost a pet know this sadness very well. 

I wouldn’t trade this feeling though. To feel sadness, is to know happiness. 

I’d like to believe that her little ghost will visit me in New York, and that if I ever closed my door for too long, that I would see her little nose poking in. She will always remind me to open that door. To let love in. That’s what she did as an 11 year old white little puppy, who loved with her whole tiny self, till her very last day. 

Rest in peace my little chuchi. I love you always.