Post by Volunteer Paige
It is painful, this love thing. Sharp, caustic, present pain.
My little sea star. You were beautiful, smart, REALLY SMART. And cute. But afraid. Those genes those horrible people put together, did not give you the tools to face the real world. Worse—those genes, combined by those criminals, did not create the pit bull representation so loved by so many, for so long.
I loved you. I still love you, long after you departed this world. You are now safe from those who may have abused you physically, and absolutely safe from those who wish you ill. I hate that you are gone. And yet, as responsible adults, responsible to those you leave behind, we had to part ways.
Why you? Because irresponsible people created you. They put two dogs together to create profit for themselves, knowing you would likely not live to see your second birthday. The outcome they sought was incredible drive, determination to stay with that drive, and nothing else. It did not matter that the smallest breeze, the closing car door, the sky light above or the ground below frightened you into a quivering pile, flat like a pancake. It did not matter that your fear might cause you to defend yourself—in fact that may have been a desired quality to those horrible people. But here is the worst part—these are not the only criminals responsible. There have been generations of criminals destroying your breed in the name of profit, entertainment, and sport.
Our loss, yours and mine, goes on daily. Our loss is so common, it is not even news. Such shame goes to those responsible for this loss, which you and I experienced! Where are they—those responsible, to bear this shame? The silence that answers that question, is deafening. We clean up their mess, keeping the few healthy survivors we can, healing the sick if possible, and loving them all, especially the ones who are not equipped for this world. The volume, of our loss, is staggering. Why, on so many levels, do we let this sorrow, this death, this loss, happen?
The answer, my dear departed, is love. Those of us in rescue, applying the bandages to the survivors--we loved you enough to let you go. We love all that you represent, all that you might have been, and all that you will never be. I rest on the strength and passion and bravery of those who championed your cause, to free you of the chains, the fights, and the death that surrounded you. I champion them, because I am too soft to get out there and do that work myself. I am too scared to see with my own eyes the way you lived, the human companions you had, and the stench that comes with abuse and neglect. I am too scared to live with that vision of your former life, for the rest of my life. Instead, I wait for those like you, on this safe end of the rescue progression, hoping to demonstrate a better side of humanity, to you. It is love for all those who do not make it, as well as love for the very few who do, that keeps us doing what we can, for you.
I cherish the memories I have of our time together. You made me laugh! Out loud, from the gut, giggling that turned into hiccupping laughter. We had such fun together, in between your darker moments. In deference to you, I hold on to the hilarity, the fun we experienced. I would like to think we made a good pair—you timid, me encouraging. You rambunctious, me refereeing. You shivering, me warming. I had hopes of watching you living out your days, living up to our high expectations of your active little mind. I look forward to seeing you again, at the Rainbow Bridge. You wagging, me crying.
I miss you. I will always miss you.