My dog, Patch, died this past summer. He had been with me since I was 10. I remember the day we got him: he was our young neighborhood’s first dog. It was a hot summer day, and all the kids came over.
My family had never had a dog before, so my father told us to sit in a circle, and wait until Patch came to each one of us. He didn’t want the tiny black Labrador puppy to be overwhelmed with ten excited children. I waited nervously and anxiously (I had never played with a puppy before), and when he came to me and sat in my lap, I fell in love.
Eleven years later, I sat with my beloved dog a few days before he passed away. I knew he would leave us soon.
I remembered the time my dad threw him off the dock on Lake Rescue, a favorite family vacationing spot in Vermont. He said, “He’s a black lab. He needs to learn how to swim.” But my dad had to jump in after Patch to save him. He was the only black lab that couldn’t swim.
I remembered how my brothers and I hitched a sled to the 110-pound dog during a snowy Christmas. He pulled us along, happily wagging his tail. I remembered not being allowed to walk him because he was too strong for me. “Who’s walking who?” I would be asked. I remembered how every time Patrick, Danny or I would cry, Patch would smother us with slobbery kisses. He always knew.
I remembered how on special occasions, my mom would let him sleep on the ends of our beds, even though it was dad’s rule that he wasn’t allowed upstairs. I remembered how he hugged us- he’d lean into our legs and curl up against us, begging for love. “Tummy rub!” we’d shout, and Patch would roll on his back. Peanut butter was his favorite treat. Patch would offer you a handshake every time you said “paw!” I remembered how we all called him “puppy,” even when he was too old to stand up anymore.
As I leaned down to scratch Patch’s ears, I realized that letting go of him wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t just a dog: he was my childhood. I have a picture of Patch from that day he first sat in my lap. It’s right next to the picture of my brothers and me sitting in front of the fireplace, before bed, with our pajamas on. Patrick is wearing Ninja Turtles, Danny is wearing Superman, and I am wearing The Little Mermaid. I remember mom and dad behind the camera, trying to get us to smile.
Pictures capture points in our lives that we often don’t want to let go. But I know that there is so much to look forward to down the road, and so many more pictures to be taken. It’s hard to let go of some things, but you have to let go to let the new, wonderful stuff begin- the other stuff will always be there, in some way. When I’m nervous and anxious about the future, Patch will be a reminder to persevere. Even if I get thrown into the lake, I know the people who will save me.
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