Rusty

When I'm sad, I take my secret path through the woods where my first love lies dead and buried.  Rusty was his name, and he was the best dog a little girl could hope for.  Energetic and loyal, Rusty always used to cheer me up when I was feeling down.  We would run through the woods on a crisp autumn day, Rusty chasing a squirrel and me chasing him and I laughed and played.  He would kick up dirt and get it all over his face.  Mama would make me clean him up, but it never seemed like a chore.  It was just another part of the game.

We got Rusty as a puppy when I was seven and by the time I had to leave for college, his age was starting to show.  He still had the same love and passion for life he'd always had, he just wasn't able to show it with as much spunk as before.  I remember fearing, when I hopped in my dad's old Camero and road off with him to check in to my freshman dorm that I might never see Rusty again.  It turned out I did get to see him one last time.  That first Thanksgiving, Rusty was still alive.  He seemed so happy to see me when I came home.  My mama said it was like he was a brand new dog.  But I think seeing me go again broke his little doggie heart.  He was dead before Christmas.

The ground was cold, but not yet frozen when Daddy buried him.  He marked to spot with a twig.  When I came home for Christmas and saw the grave, the skies joined me in crying over the friend I had lost.  My father found me and said I should come inside before I caught pnemonia.  I don't remember agreeing, but I must have made it inside somehow or else I'd still be kneeling on Rusty's grave to this day.

That summer when I came home, I decided to plant a tree on Rusty's grave.  It was in a rather large clearing, so there was plenty of room for a tree to grow without hindering the other trees of the forest.  So I planted my sapling and it started to grow.  Years passed, and it grew proud and strong.

When I'm sad, I take that path and go visit the tree.  My Rusty's tree.  It's taller than I am now.  Quite a bit taller.  It's big enough to attach a tire swing to it, and that's exactly what I've done.  I take my children here sometimes to play.  They have a dog of their own named Bandit.  I tell them about Rusty and how much I loved him.  I don't know if they understand that Bandit is the same, that some day he will die, too, but I hope that somehow I've at least prepared them a little bit for that lose.

For now, my children are happy and free like I once was.  I want to protect them, to keep that way for as long as I can, but I have to prepare them, too.  I love them so much, far more than any memory of any pet.  I'd trade all my wonderful memories to give my children just one more day of happiness in their lives, if I could.

When I'm sad, I come to Rusty's grave alone and say a silent prayer of thanks for the time I had with him and how he taught me what joy and life and pet can bring to the life of a child.  I sit in the tire swing and smile to myself, thankful too that the grave of a dog is my sad place.  My parents are still alive and so are their parents.  I know I'm going to lose them, but for now I'm holding on with all my heart until I do.

People grow old, times change, but my memories stay the same.  The memories I formed as a child are shaped through the eyes of a child.  I saw Rusty as the perfect dog, just like my children see Bandit as the perfect dog, and their children's children will see their dog as the perfect dog.  Everyone's perspective is their own, but it's strange how alike they can be.

Rusty's tree taught me how we can endure despite lose.  You might think I'm being dramatic.  He was just a dog.  But he was more than a dog to me.  I know I haven't described it well, but he really was my first real friend, my first love.  Rusty was the one who inspired me to be what I am today:  a veterinarian.  And his tree has shown me how something beautiful has grown out of who Rusty was to me.

As a vet, sometimes I have to put an animal down.  Sometimes it's time.  But I always do my best to make sure it's really time.  Rusty might have seemed ready to go when I first went away to college, but the way he came to life again over that Thanksgiving, even though it was just for a few days, I think he needed to tell me good-bye before he went.  Saying good-bye to those who love is important, even if those you love are pets.

When it is time for good-bye, I make sure the owners really get to do it properly.  I give them space, room to grieve, we all need that.  When you love animals as much as I do, no sadness displayed over the lose of a pet is surprising.  I know what these "animals" can mean to people.  I know what such an "animal" means to me.

You've probably realized by now that I'm not the best with words.  What was the point of this all?  Love an animal.  Plant a tree.  Share joy with your children.  Love your family.  All of these are things I want you to know and do.  But really, for myself, I just wanted to share my love of Rusty with anyone who would listen.

When I'm sad, I follow my secret path through the woods to the spot where my best friend was buried, and I remember all the wonderful times we had.  I sit in the cool of his shade, close my eyes, and see my family:  parents, grandparents, husband, children, pets, and all.  I open my eyes and I know that life is good.  The spirit of love from Rusty protects and motivates me.  It's beautiful and real.  So thank-you, Rusty.  You were the best dog any girl could hope for.