Loss
Freya "Fuzzbucket" Nunn - Best Friend and Trusted Companion
2002-2005
I've never thought anything would hurt like this. I've always considered myself to be a rather tough and callous person when it comes to dealing with death, having rarely showed any significant response in the past. Now, however, I can't stop breaking down into tears.
Last night Freya, the dog whom I raised since she was a tiny little puppy, was hit by a car and killed.
I don't entirely know what happened last night. At some point during the evening, she was whining to go out, so I put her invisible fence collar on her, and let her outside. I don't know if the collar was on too loose, if the batteries were dead, or if she somehow just managed to run right through it, but Freya made it past the fence to the state highway at the end of the driveway.
It was sometime after I'd let her out that I noticed that she hadn't started howling to be let back in (her normal habit). I went down the front door, because sometimes she'll just sit outside the door waiting to be let in, but she wasn't there. I started calling for her, figuring she might have found a frog wandering around the yard, or she might have been checking out the tent we set up the night before. Normally she would come running, but nothing. I started to panic. I grabbed the flash light, and started wandering around the yard and the neighboring areas, to see if she'd wandered off somehow, calling her name loudly the whole time. I walked to the end of the driveway, looking accross the street to see if she was over there trying to mess around with the neighbor's dog (which I had seen her do once before), but I could see nothing.
I decided to walk back to my car to take that out on a search for her, hoping I'd find her running along the highway somewhere, and I would be able to coax her back into the car she loved to ride in. As I was getting the keys for the car, I heard a loud thump from one of the cars that was speeding by (which never slowed down) and I feared the worst.
I pulled out of the driveway, and hadn't gone more than 20 feet before I saw something in the road. I prayed it was a skunk or a racoon, or pretty much anything but what it actually was. I quickly pulled my car off to the side of the road in a rather shoddy fashion, the back end still sticking out into the road partially, turned it off, but left the headlights on. I walked into the road, I don't think I even bothered to see if any traffic was coming, and found the badly mangled corpse of the dog I knew and loved.
I knew she was dead, and in someways I was glad for that. I would have hated to have found her in a barely alive state, to have seen her in any kind of suffering. However, at the same time I would have given anything for there to be even a chance that she could be brought back, however slim a chance there was. . . just so that I could try something to fix this.
I picked her up, unable to believe how light she was, and entirely uncaring to the blood I was getting all over me. I carried her all the way home, cradled against my chest, howling in sorrow. Looking back, it all seems so surreal, like some moment out of a poorly acted movie. . . and I wish it was. I gently set her down in the front yard, went inside, cleaned my bloody hands, and then called Kerri.
I felt so horrible, waking Kerri up with news like this, but at the same time I knew I needed her support and her help because I was completely helpess as to what to do. My already broken heart shattered when I heard her voice change from groggy questions to howling sorrow. She promised she would be on her way immediately, and get home as soon as possible.
Kerri felt the loss just as sharply as me, if not more so. I got Freya within a couple of weeks of when Kerri and I started dating, and Kerri was the one who found out about the litter of puppies from which I would select Freya. Our love for animals was one of the things that Kerri and I shared, and Freya was often times the glue that kept our relationship together. Whenever things got rough between us, we were both reminded of how much we loved Freya, and how neither of us could stand the idea of being without her. Freya strengthened our relationship by loving us back twice as strongly as we loved her, and she put Kerri and I above all others, including herself.
So I waited out in front of the house for the 30-40 minutes it took Kerri to come by. Covered in blood and completely out of my mind, I kept wondering about the what ifs: What if I'd just come out and played frisbee with her?, What if I had come out looking for her sooner? What if she was actually still alive when I went to the end of the driveway the first time and I missed the chance to save her because I didn't look far enough to the right?. The worst of it was, I couldn't even shed a tear. I wanted to cry so bad it was killing me, but nothing was coming out.
I called into work and left some voice mail messages explaining why I wouldn't be in the next day. I called my boss because it was obligatory, and I called one of my friends who has several animals of her own, whom I knew would empathize. Shortly thereafter Kerri showed up and I can only imagine what a horrific sight I must have been. It wasn't until she got out of the car and came towards me that the tears began to flow. . . . .
. . . . .and flown they have, on and off since that instant. Kerri helped me put Freya away, we said our good byes and put her in the back of the Element. That was the ultimate irony of the night. The Element, purchased just the day before, a purchase motivated by the fact that it would be a good vehicle to take the dog around with. Now, the same jet black SUV would be a hearse for my poor little puppy.
The rest of the night was spent picking up every toy and accessory of Freya's that we could find and storing it away. I came upstairs to find Kerri, who had been so strong since she showed back up at the house, with her arms full of some of Freya's favorite toys, tears streaming down her face. Each and every toy we put away had hundreds of memories attached to it, and it already felt like we were throwing away her past.
The house clean, we went to bed for a mostly sleepless night. Woke up in the morning and brought her over to the Vet that is literally right next door to where we live. The same Vet that Freya would get excited and overjoyed to visit every time we went. There were people she knew there. . . friends even. . . and it was comforting to know that at least she wasn't being handled by anonymous hands with zero emotional attachment to her. We're having her cremated, and we're going to get back the ashes. She was only three years old (her third birthday being the coming Friday, the same day as my 28th), and we need the extra bit of closure that comes from getting something back.
So now we are left to deal. Memories keep bubbling up uncontrollably, bringing bouts of tears with them. It's so hard living in this house now. We've only lived here for a year now, but she was here that entire time. I keep expecting to hear her claws scraping along the carpet as she crawls out from under the bed, or the pitter patter of her feet, as she races up or down the stairs. I keep waiting for this to end, and for things to go back to normal, but it never will.
We tried going out today, tried to get away from the house and the memories that it brings. But the drives were even worse, with nothing to do but think of her, and how much we missed her. When we came back, I walked into the house, and realized that she would never again be waiting there at the top of the stairs, tongue hanging out, wagging her tail. .. . absolutely ecstatic that we were home. I crumpled into a sobbing mess in the hallway, unable to support my own weight.
She was a wonderful dog. Never mean or aggressive, she would only bark at people as a warning "Stay away from Kerri and Will until I have a chance to check you out." She was smart, so smart that as a puppy we had no problem teaching her new tricks, and she would learn them with eager fervor, happy to be able to do what we asked. She was fast, and when she got on a tear she would rip up whole strips of sod with the force she applied while accelerating or turning. She was a troublemaker, constantly getting into things she shouldn't. But as aggravating as it was at times, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Most of all she was loving and lovable. I know Freya loved us with all of her heart, and I only wish I could see her one more time to show her that I felt the same.
Goodbye Freya, we will all miss you so much more than you ever could have known. The hole you have left in our lives is something I don't think will ever be filled, merely covered over to try and hide the emptiness.
I love you so much.
-Will
Last night Freya, the dog whom I raised since she was a tiny little puppy, was hit by a car and killed.
I don't entirely know what happened last night. At some point during the evening, she was whining to go out, so I put her invisible fence collar on her, and let her outside. I don't know if the collar was on too loose, if the batteries were dead, or if she somehow just managed to run right through it, but Freya made it past the fence to the state highway at the end of the driveway.
It was sometime after I'd let her out that I noticed that she hadn't started howling to be let back in (her normal habit). I went down the front door, because sometimes she'll just sit outside the door waiting to be let in, but she wasn't there. I started calling for her, figuring she might have found a frog wandering around the yard, or she might have been checking out the tent we set up the night before. Normally she would come running, but nothing. I started to panic. I grabbed the flash light, and started wandering around the yard and the neighboring areas, to see if she'd wandered off somehow, calling her name loudly the whole time. I walked to the end of the driveway, looking accross the street to see if she was over there trying to mess around with the neighbor's dog (which I had seen her do once before), but I could see nothing.
I decided to walk back to my car to take that out on a search for her, hoping I'd find her running along the highway somewhere, and I would be able to coax her back into the car she loved to ride in. As I was getting the keys for the car, I heard a loud thump from one of the cars that was speeding by (which never slowed down) and I feared the worst.
I pulled out of the driveway, and hadn't gone more than 20 feet before I saw something in the road. I prayed it was a skunk or a racoon, or pretty much anything but what it actually was. I quickly pulled my car off to the side of the road in a rather shoddy fashion, the back end still sticking out into the road partially, turned it off, but left the headlights on. I walked into the road, I don't think I even bothered to see if any traffic was coming, and found the badly mangled corpse of the dog I knew and loved.
I knew she was dead, and in someways I was glad for that. I would have hated to have found her in a barely alive state, to have seen her in any kind of suffering. However, at the same time I would have given anything for there to be even a chance that she could be brought back, however slim a chance there was. . . just so that I could try something to fix this.
I picked her up, unable to believe how light she was, and entirely uncaring to the blood I was getting all over me. I carried her all the way home, cradled against my chest, howling in sorrow. Looking back, it all seems so surreal, like some moment out of a poorly acted movie. . . and I wish it was. I gently set her down in the front yard, went inside, cleaned my bloody hands, and then called Kerri.
I felt so horrible, waking Kerri up with news like this, but at the same time I knew I needed her support and her help because I was completely helpess as to what to do. My already broken heart shattered when I heard her voice change from groggy questions to howling sorrow. She promised she would be on her way immediately, and get home as soon as possible.
Kerri felt the loss just as sharply as me, if not more so. I got Freya within a couple of weeks of when Kerri and I started dating, and Kerri was the one who found out about the litter of puppies from which I would select Freya. Our love for animals was one of the things that Kerri and I shared, and Freya was often times the glue that kept our relationship together. Whenever things got rough between us, we were both reminded of how much we loved Freya, and how neither of us could stand the idea of being without her. Freya strengthened our relationship by loving us back twice as strongly as we loved her, and she put Kerri and I above all others, including herself.
So I waited out in front of the house for the 30-40 minutes it took Kerri to come by. Covered in blood and completely out of my mind, I kept wondering about the what ifs: What if I'd just come out and played frisbee with her?, What if I had come out looking for her sooner? What if she was actually still alive when I went to the end of the driveway the first time and I missed the chance to save her because I didn't look far enough to the right?. The worst of it was, I couldn't even shed a tear. I wanted to cry so bad it was killing me, but nothing was coming out.
I called into work and left some voice mail messages explaining why I wouldn't be in the next day. I called my boss because it was obligatory, and I called one of my friends who has several animals of her own, whom I knew would empathize. Shortly thereafter Kerri showed up and I can only imagine what a horrific sight I must have been. It wasn't until she got out of the car and came towards me that the tears began to flow. . . . .
. . . . .and flown they have, on and off since that instant. Kerri helped me put Freya away, we said our good byes and put her in the back of the Element. That was the ultimate irony of the night. The Element, purchased just the day before, a purchase motivated by the fact that it would be a good vehicle to take the dog around with. Now, the same jet black SUV would be a hearse for my poor little puppy.
The rest of the night was spent picking up every toy and accessory of Freya's that we could find and storing it away. I came upstairs to find Kerri, who had been so strong since she showed back up at the house, with her arms full of some of Freya's favorite toys, tears streaming down her face. Each and every toy we put away had hundreds of memories attached to it, and it already felt like we were throwing away her past.
The house clean, we went to bed for a mostly sleepless night. Woke up in the morning and brought her over to the Vet that is literally right next door to where we live. The same Vet that Freya would get excited and overjoyed to visit every time we went. There were people she knew there. . . friends even. . . and it was comforting to know that at least she wasn't being handled by anonymous hands with zero emotional attachment to her. We're having her cremated, and we're going to get back the ashes. She was only three years old (her third birthday being the coming Friday, the same day as my 28th), and we need the extra bit of closure that comes from getting something back.
So now we are left to deal. Memories keep bubbling up uncontrollably, bringing bouts of tears with them. It's so hard living in this house now. We've only lived here for a year now, but she was here that entire time. I keep expecting to hear her claws scraping along the carpet as she crawls out from under the bed, or the pitter patter of her feet, as she races up or down the stairs. I keep waiting for this to end, and for things to go back to normal, but it never will.
We tried going out today, tried to get away from the house and the memories that it brings. But the drives were even worse, with nothing to do but think of her, and how much we missed her. When we came back, I walked into the house, and realized that she would never again be waiting there at the top of the stairs, tongue hanging out, wagging her tail. .. . absolutely ecstatic that we were home. I crumpled into a sobbing mess in the hallway, unable to support my own weight.
She was a wonderful dog. Never mean or aggressive, she would only bark at people as a warning "Stay away from Kerri and Will until I have a chance to check you out." She was smart, so smart that as a puppy we had no problem teaching her new tricks, and she would learn them with eager fervor, happy to be able to do what we asked. She was fast, and when she got on a tear she would rip up whole strips of sod with the force she applied while accelerating or turning. She was a troublemaker, constantly getting into things she shouldn't. But as aggravating as it was at times, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Most of all she was loving and lovable. I know Freya loved us with all of her heart, and I only wish I could see her one more time to show her that I felt the same.
Goodbye Freya, we will all miss you so much more than you ever could have known. The hole you have left in our lives is something I don't think will ever be filled, merely covered over to try and hide the emptiness.
I love you so much.
-Will
posted by Will at 11:36 AM
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