Social network for pugs and their people.
Around this time last year, I remember waking up to a little puggy staring at me from the foot of the bed. She hadn't moved since I fell asleep, she never did, except maybe to snuggle closer. She will always be the pug that solidified the place of the breed in my heart forever: Harley. I miss Harley, and I want to think she's in a better place. I know she is somebody's angel, but today I still miss her dearly.
I long to spoil her like a dog should be spoiled this time of year. I want to take her to the groomer for her holiday pampering (or torturing, as Bella probably saw it), bring her home a new toy just because I was thinking about her, and feed her some special treats, after all, it is the holiday weekend. I pass by the places I thought would be the one I'd find her at, houses where she'd be waiting for me, galloping to the door towards the familiar sound of my voice. I try not to remember the alleyways with their high grasses, and the fear I felt every time I peered under a dark place a dog might seek as a final resting place in the cold, winter night.
Everyday, I thought it would be the day. She had to come home, because I didn't give up. It had to be worth it in the end, the exhaustion, the grief, merciless anticipation, and cruel people. If only I went out, one more time, that would be the time.
It didn't happen.
But now, I can only hope she's happy. Just like the pug sleeping beside me in her light purple winter coat , throwing the occasional glance asking, "Why you so sad?"
Her tummy is full, and she's warm and content in the same room, the same bed, where I said goodbye forever to my Harley. I remember a different pug named Bella that waddled into my life almost a year ago. Bella Smella was her name, and she lived up to it. She's still my fat girl, but before, this fat girl couldn't jump into an SUV, or even onto my bed. Now I marvel (sometimes scold) at her as she leaps across the Texas limestone, whether it be to cross a creek or up onto the modest "cliffs" that peek out over the dog park. She has an attitude problem, and it's not okay, but it's an attitude problem that has been cultivated by hugs and cuddles, and a lack of discipline from a mommy that crumbles when she's thrown those puppy dog eyes.
One year later, I still have hope, but for something more. I hope for the comfort and happiness for a loyal friend lost, but never forgotten. I also hope for a future full of pug kisses, pug farts, and many years of Bella doing what she does best...be "bella", and making my life a little more so.
Happy Holidays and New Year, from my family to yours, from Bella and Desiree.