a type of hurt i know.

the first week we had her, i had nightmares about her escaping her little pen sanctuary and getting lost and hurt somewhere in our house. and every morning when i woke up, i would quickly jump out of bed to make sure she was safe. she would always hear me coming and wag her curled tail and yelp her little puppy bark. i would pick her up and nuzzle her tiny face and whisper how happy i was to see her. she could not have known this, but she caused me to feel excitement about caring for a life. she caused me to feel anxiety. she caused me to feel a different kind of love. a mother-like love. i was ten years old.

now i am twenty-one, and my dog is gone.

i was getting ready to watch a movie with scott before going to bed, when i heard malia scream from behind my parents' door. knowing she had been sick all day, i felt a deep worry, and i ran to see what was going on. i swung open the bedroom door. "dad, what's wrong?" "i don't know." he was standing over her, obviously distraught. malia's body was contorted in a way i had never seen before. "is she having a seizure?" no reply. he bent over and scooped up a limp dog. malia gasped and coughed. "is she having a seizure?" i repeated. "i don't know. she's very sick. i'm sorry, i thought she would bounce back from being sick, but she didn't. we need to take her to the emergency clinic. i need to change. can you hold her?" i did not answer. i did not want to hold my dog. she would die in my arms, i knew. but i did not want her to not be held by me either, so i reached for her. she coughed again. i thought she would be stiff and cold, but her body was still very warm and very soft, and i brought her head to my cheek and started to cry.

scott came to the hallway, and i looked at him. he did not know what was going on, and i could not say. he looked at malia and looked at me. he figured it out soon. i cried harder. my dad said, "we will take your car." i kept crying and looking down at malia's body. it was the lightest it had been in a long time. "danya, we will take your car, okay?" he said again. "okay... she's not breathing... dad! she's not breathing!" he peeked around his bathroom doorway. he was only wearing his white undershirt and jeans. "i have to call and tell the hospital we are coming." he pulled his shirt over his head and fixed his collar as he walked to the computer. i followed. he found the number to the closest animal hospital. i was crying very loud and very hard and i didn't care. my dad felt bad and was aware of my feelings and said, "scott, can you hold malia?" i didn't want to give her to him, but i was very upset, so i let him hold her. i went to the living room and knelt and cried. i heard my dad talking on the phone saying something about my dog not breathing but was it okay if we still brought her in. he asked for directions there, and we got in my car. scott was wearing socks and no shoes and had his pajama pants and a t-shirt and a cardigan on. we brought one of malia's syringes and her insulin just in case.

my dad took a wrong turn somewhere, and i wasn't even sure where we were, i was rubbing malia and telling her to get up. "rub her and pat her and talk to her." my dad said. scott held her tight and rubbed her too. he supported her head, and i thought he was sweet. sometimes he would brush hair from my eyes and tell me it was okay. it seemed like it took a long time to get there, but we only traveled a few miles, i think.

when we pulled up, my stomach felt sick, and i didn't want to get out, but i did. a young, blond lady in scrubs hurried out the entrance door to meet us and usher us into the hospital. i felt better then. she seemed to care about my dog too. she felt for malia's pulse. then pulled out a stethoscope. she asked if she could take her to the back. she left with her for less than a minute. i stood back by the door we came in facing the parking lot. i wondered what it was like to be a veterinarian. i was glad i hadn't become one. i would cry all of the time, i knew. i kept crying. i knew the lady that took malia had come back, because i saw her from the corner of my eye, and i felt her come up behind me. but i didn't look at her. she put a hand on my shoulder and said "sorry". i cried. my dad asked scott what happened. "she's dead." he said. i continued to cry into scott's shoulder. i heard, "it's been a hard day." from a woman's voice. i did not look up to see who it was. "was it a dog or a cat?" the voice continued. scott answered her. the voice went on to share that she had just lost a cat and that she believed jesus had created a special place for animals, and that they were happy there. my 'doggie' was okay she informed me. i did not want the voice to call malia a 'doggie'. i did not want the voice to keep talking. i wanted it to leave. i did not want the voice to have a face, and i did not want her to see mine. but i felt rude and sad for her and for me, so i looked at her for a second and turned back to the shoulder i had made wet. as the voice left, she said, "god bless. see you there [heaven]." i thought that was a very strange thing to say, but didn't want to think about it. scott offered me water, i said no, i want to go outside.

i sat on a curb and held the syringe and insulin we had brought with us. my dad came outside after he finished signing paperwork. and he hugged me. we haven't hugged in a long time. when we got into the car, i knew my dad had been crying, and i felt sad for him. i have only seen him cry two other times. i stared out the window on the way home. i didn't recognize anything, but i knew i should. we were still in my city. my tongue felt hot and prickly in my mouth, and i thought it was in the way, and i wanted to remove it but i also didn't really want to.

we arrived at home, and my dad retreated into his bedroom. solitude and television is how he has dealt with a lot of things. i sat down on my couch with scott. we sat for a long time. sometimes i stopped crying, but then i started again. scott got me tissues and tea and tested me to see if i could name what kind of tea he used and what else he had added. i held the mug in my hands for awhile. it was hot, and it kind of hurt. i tasted it and smelt it. i told him what i thought was in it, and he called me a 'tea connoisseur'. i smiled without effort, and i knew i was okay.