Three years ago I lost my Pomeranian, Scrappy, to a heart attack. He was only four year old. My family and I miss him very much. His little barks when someone was at the door, he would sleep by my sister’s side as she watched a movie. He followed the football on the TV screen while watching the Jets game with my dad. He kept my mom company while me and my sister were in school. Scrappy would get really excited when I came back from school, and he was my walking partner. He was small enough to fit in my backpack, so I would put him in there and continue walking. He would have his head poking out from the opening I left him, just seeing the neighborhood that to him was the world.
There were a lot of things that went wrong the day he passed away. I remember the piercing bark that came out of him during his heart attack. He collapsed on the floor and vomited. He slowly dragged himself under the couch. Alondra had just turned 8 years old at the time and she was crying and calling for him to get out from under the couch, but he wouldn’t move. I was in tears while I called the vet and explained what was going on. I called my mom and she got home a few minutes later. We pulled Scrappy from under the couch, wrapped him in a blanket, and got in a cab.
The cab ride to the animal hospital felt like the longest ride of my life. My mother was in the front seat with Scrappy in her arms. My sister and I were in the back seat. I held her as she cried. I could see that Scrappy’s eyes were open but the usual joy in them was gone. I was praying to God so much to please save my dog. We arrived at the animal hospital and the vets were doing everything they can for him. I knew I looked like a mess with how much I was crying, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was for Scrappy to be okay. Unfortunately the vet told me the two words that broke my world apart; “I’m sorry”.
My heart felt like it shattered to a million pieces and I already knew I would never fully recover from this. Scrappy was placed on a metal table in a private room so my family and i can give him his last good byes. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was asleep, but I knew this time he wasn’t going to wake up. Alondra hugged him and cried, she kept telling him how much she loved him. I finally lost control of myself and had a break down. Scrappy is dead and there was nothing I could do to save him. I stroked his fur and told him that I will miss him very much and that I love him. My mom said her good byes as well. I never noticed when my aunt and cousin arrived. The vet assistant told us we had to go. I didn’t want to leave. Leaving meant accepting Scrappy was gone. It took a while for my cousin to separate me from him. It took a lot longer with Alondra. Her tiny hand being pried away from Scrappy’s fur is still vivid in my mind.
I sadly didn’t have enough money to bury Scrappy. His remains were cremated and spread in a pet cemetery. The drive back home was painful. Alondra screamed to have our dog back. when I got home, I didn’t have the heart to tell my dad that his football partner was gone. He hugged me and my sister tightly in his arms. I wish he had the chance to tell Scrappy goodbye. I cried so much that day. Seeing his toys, bed, and food bowl was a reality check. He wasn’t coming back. There was a sneaker he slept with since he was a puppy (a chew toy my uncle had no choice but to surrender when Scrappy started teething). I still have it to remind me of him along with his Jets shirt my dad got him and his first puppy sweater. Alondra kept a small stuffed squirrel she had given him. It means a lot to her since it was a small plushie she got from a happy meal and used it to play with Scrappy.
Alondra was really sad because a week after Scrappy’s death was her first communion, and it wasn’t the happiest day for her. I had recently turned 20 a few days before Scrappy’s heart attack, so I wasn’t in a celebration moon either. There was a little carnival on my block the day of Alondra’s first communion. She grabbed some blue sidewalk chalk and wrote Scrappy’s name on the street. That made both of us smile a bit.
Its been three years now. I often reflect on this day. A part of me feels proud of myself. Scrappy has heart problems as a puppy and the vets warned us he would mostly likely last two years. We took such good care of him that he made it to his fourth year, but there is the guilty part of me too. The part of me that wishes I could have known what to do to save his life, and I wish Alondra had never seen him die like that. He died in pain and that is traumatizing to us both. I just hope he is in a better place now playing with other dogs and that my abuelo is taking good care of him. My family has Shakira now, and we love her dearly. There are times we often wonder how Shakira and Scrappy would have gotten along. R.I.P. Scrappy. We miss you very much and will always love you.