The Loss Of A Friend By
Cheryl Kravetz
My aunt called me several months ago, sobbing and heartbroken,
to tell me her loyal friend and constant canine companion of many years
had died. I love my aunt very much and I grieved with her, but I really
didn't fully understand her pain until Saturday afternoon when Sasha died.
We first met Sasha about five years ago when she lived with my daughter.
When Kim came to visit, Sasha would race her to the door with her beautiful
white Pomeranian tail wrapped around her back, stand on the step and bark,
demanding to be let inside. The door would open and she bounded into the
room, jumping up to Jay or me, happily greeting more people who loved her.
Then, as Kim gained more and more responsibilities at her job, rising through
the levels of management, spending more and more hours at work, she felt
that Sasha would be happier living with us because we had more time to
devote to her. So, about a year and a half ago, Sasha, the lovable little
beige and white Pomeranian, moved into our home.
Sasha had her own pillow, but she preferred to sit on the sofa with her
little body pressed against one of us. When we used the computer, she demanded
to sit on our lap. When we ate, Sasha didn't beg, she demanded. She was
part of our family. Kim always suspected that when she wasn't there we
gave Sasha her own place at the table. The truth is, Sasha did like to
sit on my lap with her plate on the table and be fed with a spoon, even
if it was only Pedigree instead of people food.
One day, soon after Sasha came to live with us, a friend who was visiting
had a glass of soda on the floor next to him. Jay told him not to worry,
that Sasha wouldn't bother it. The next thing they knew, Sasha was drinking
soda from his glass. From that day on, even though she had her water bowl,
she wanted to drink her water from a glass, with ice in it no less!
When she wanted to go outside, she would prance over to one of us, and
nod her head toward the door. If we tried to leave without her, she would
wrap her little arms (yes, those front legs are arms!) around our ankles.
At 10 p.m. every night when Jay went to the computer and I went to the
bedroom to read before going to sleep, Sasha would stand on the sofa in
a position that said, "pick me up." So, I always carried her
to the bedroom where she happily slept on the bed between us.
We loved her very much.
We regularly took her for her routine check-ups to Drs. Marianne Dallesssandro
and Andrew Turkell, where everyone at the Lake Worth Animal Hospital in
Lake Worth, Florida, immediately fell in love with her. When she had to
have a tooth pulled a few months ago, Jay and I felt like we had a child
about to go through surgery. We worried. We called the doctor's office
constantly to make sure she was okay. And the loving, caring people in
the office, were always very kind and reassuring, no matter how busy they
were.
Last week, it was obvious that Sasha didn't feel well. She was sneezing,
her eyes were bloodshot, she was listless. We rushed her to her doctors
where a series of tests showed that her organs had become enlarged and
there was fluid in her chest cavity. This was such a shock, not only to
us, but to the doctors as well because there had been no warning of any
problem. They called in a specialist to do more tests. Her EKG was sent
to New York, a sample of the fluid in her chest was sent to Oregon, because
that is where the specialists are. The EKG was normal, but the sonogram
showed that one side of her heart was not working properly. In fact, there
was a big problem.
Someone asked me last week, "How much is that dog worth? You're going
to end up with a huge vet bill! It's just a dog!"
Sasha died very suddenly Saturday. The doctors did everything they could,
but her little heart just stopped. We cried, we're still crying. Kim cried.
After all, she was her baby first. Her doctors cried. Those caring and
compassionate people in the doctors' office cried. Sasha had a way of making
everyone fall in love with her.
There is a big void in our lives right now, a void that may never be filled.
It's very hard to go into our house. We see Sasha everywhere, but she isn't
there anymore. We loved Sasha. She was so much more than ""just
a dog."" She was our friend, our companion, a source of joy for
us. I now know how my aunt felt that day. I now feel her pain.
Jay and Cheryl Kravetz