On the day I’m writing this, I’m feeling very misunderstood and unappreciated and alone. It’ll pass. It always does. It most likely already has. But in the midst of this blue period, I started really missing my dachshund, Quagmire.
I’ve had a lot of dogs in my lifetime, and I’ve loved them all, but this dog, in particular, was one of a kind. I’ve blogged about his unusual antics many times. If you’d like to read about one of his strangest capers, check out my post entitled, My Magical Dog.
In particular, I miss the warm, furry, relaxed heft of him when he had fallen asleep in my lap, and I then had to carry him to bed, draped over my shoulder. That’s trust.
I miss the very space heater-iness of him when he would burrow under the comforter and curl up next to me on a cold winter’s night. Sometimes when I’m half asleep, I feel him there to this day. I hope he’s staying warm at Rainbow Bridge.
I miss the withering stare he’d give me when we were not in agreement about something, like whether or not a bath was needed. But most of all, I miss the gift of his unconditional love. He saw me at my best and at my worst, and he still accepted me. I could be myself around him. We could play and dance and he’d throw his little paws around my neck if I cried.
He also is the only dog that I’ve ever had that bit people (including me) and drew blood. Go figure. I suspect he came into my life to teach me that nobody’s perfect, but someone can still be perfect for me.
Quagmire couldn’t talk, of course, but he is the closest I’ve ever come to having someone say to me, “I love you more than anyone in the entire world, and I think you’re wonderful just the way you are.”
When all is said and done, isn’t that what we all long to hear?
RIP, Quagmire. I miss you and I love you.
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