Living in the Future
When we grow accustomed to something, it’s hard to imagine our lives any other way — or appreciate what we have in front of us. I had never considered myself particularly fearful, but I got a harsh reality check the night before my family put my childhood dog down in July.
When I was in third grade, my family brought Harley home. She was eight weeks old and weighed ten pounds, and I knew she would be one of my biggest heartbreaks. For the next twelve and a half years, we grew up together.
Image Courtesy of Shaine Davison
This past summer, the veterinarian told my family her lungs were slowly giving out, and she only had a few months left. So we scheduled a day to put her down, similar to booking a haircut or doctor’s appointment. Except this brutal notification on our Google Calendars only reminded us that we were already on borrowed time. As her final day drew closer, I couldn’t help but think about all the lasts as they came and went.
This is the last time I’m going to watch you doggy paddle in the creek. This is the last time I’m going to watch your ears flap as you trot back with the tennis ball. This is the last time you’re going to gently take the bone out of my hand and scarf it down in 30 seconds. This is the last time I’m going to come home from work to you waiting by the door, smiling and fogging up the glass.
Image Courtesy of Shaine Davison
The night before her appointment, I crept into the study where she slept. She was curled into a ball but raised her head slightly when she heard the door creak open. I slid my legs beneath her head and held her heavy head in my lap. My tears soaked her silver, nearly white fur. I whispered into her ear, telling her how much I loved her, how much I was going to miss her, how much she meant to me, how lucky I was to have her, and how I would see her again one day. Her snores and heavy breaths drowned out my sobs. Prying myself away from her was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do, but she deserved one last restful night of sleep.
I kept trying to prepare myself for a life without her, but when my family returned home from the veterinarian, it was impossible to ignore the sting of cold silence walking back into the house. No patters on the hardwood floor greeted us. No barks from the porch echoed.
In the months leading up to putting Harley down, I tried to imagine a world without her. And I couldn’t come to terms with it until she was gone.
Image Courtesy of Shaine Davison
But after that loss, I started to think about other parts of my life I take for granted. A few weeks later, I was back in Gainesville with my roommates for my senior year. We sat on the couch, drinking Barefoot Pink Moscato and chatting about our summers. While my friends got lost in conversation, I started to zone out and think about how we would all go our separate ways in less than a year. Then I started to think about all the time we still have left, and how to capitalize on our time together while I can.
If it hadn’t been for my experience with losing Harley over the summer, I probably wouldn’t have stopped to consider how much I still had left to appreciate. It taught me to slow down and appreciate what, and especially who, I still have right in front of me.
Image Courtesy of Shaine Davison
I know graduating from college is not the same as losing a pet, but the experience taught me to truly cherish the seemingly mundane things in everyday life. Because one day, they will all be gone.
Strike Out,
Writer: Shaine Davison
Editor: Ria Pai
Copy Editor: Gabriel Gonzalez Marino
Shaine Davison is a writer for Strike Magazine GNV. You can find her doing work at almost any coffee shop near UF, spending way too much money on caffeine. You can reach out to her on Instagram @shainedavison, or by email at s.davison@ufl.edu.
