When Death Do Us Part

A Tribute to NICO ---Ellaeenah JadeFire

Some say dogs are just animals, but anyone who has ever loved one knows better. Nico, you weren’t just my dog. You were the warm cuddlebug beside me on happy nights, the wagging tail and thrilled panting that met me at the door, that deep soul connection.

You were my lovelight, my teacher, my protector, my constant friend. And now you are my guardian angel. Our guardian angel.

You were more than our pet - you are a part of our family tapestry. You were there through every chapter: family vacations, enjoying the long car rides, dinners and outings that you loved being a part of, goodbyes, celebrations, lazy Sundays and holidays when you curled up at dad’s feet near the big old almond tree, lazily watching the world go by.

You had a mischievous streak too - forever stealing socks and racing off like you’d won a gold medal. No sock was ever safe in our house, or in my mom and dad’s home, and none of us would have had it any other way. Till almost the end, you played fetch like a puppy, jumping up to unerringly catch the ball high up in midair. You made us laugh with your antics, lightened our burdens just by being yourself.

You adored my parents. My sister and her kids. You knew they were your people too; showering them with love, leaning in for head rubs, nips on the thigh, always gentle, always kind even when you were boisterous. And the way you bonded with everyone - it was like you made it your personal mission to be everyone’s best friend.

When Emma, our second dog, came, I remember how you weren’t thrilled - at all. You gave her the side-eye, like “Who is this intruder? She aint coming into our home!” It took J over two hours to gently convince you to allow her into our home. But over time, you did what you always did - you accepted with grace. In your silent ways you taught Emma how to sense when something wasn’t right, how to take care of us like you did, how to contain her impulsivity. You trained her like only an old wise soul could, passing the torch with a dignity that fills my heart with joy, even as my eyes well up with tears.

And now, as she so sorely misses you, often refusing to eat because you aren’t standing next to her, I know that you shall help her heal, and be her bouncy self again.

Liver cancer. Two words I never imagined would become part of our story. But even as your once robust body failed, your spirit never did. You carried your discomfort with a dignity that, both, humbled and inspired me, looking at everyone with those deep pools of love. You bore your distress with the grace of the ‘gentleman’ that you always were. That you always called yourself. I shall never forget those precious moments when you’d bury your head in my lap to say ‘Thank you. I love you’ even as I gave you syrups and tablets that I knew you hated.

When the sickness came, it felt like time had betrayed us. But you still looked at the world with your beautiful brown gentle eyes, full of knowing, full of love, asking only that we stay beside you until the end. And we did. Because how could we not?

In your mysterious divine way, you ensured that your favourite J, too, returned home to spend the last few months with you. You would sit for several minutes with your head in S’s lap, soaking up her love, but also giving her the healing you knew she needed.

You gave us all the time we needed to let you go. For dear friends to visit you weekly and show you how very much they loved you. For your caregivers to have their fill of your doting attention. Even that one last extra day. We know that those last 24 hours were your gift to us, to help us get ready for the absence that now seems just as strong as your presence once was. There’s a silence in the house that I can’t describe. There’s no barking with each doorbell, because, hey bud, you knew that Emma would bark only because she wanted to do whatever you did! I know that your energetic presence shall heal our Emma. Yes, Nico, you and I both know she shall soon be her ‘hot-tempered, overactive’ (your words, not mine!) self, because you shall ensure that.

We all have an ache in places we didn’t know could hurt this much. No soft thud of your tail on the floor. No deep loud sighs. No paw prints in the hallway. No smiles as we see you running in your dreams. But somehow, you’re still here. In every corner. In every memory. In every heartbeat that aches for you.

You gave us everything. You loved us all so fiercely, so unconditionally, so completely.

At the end you didn’t even forget to thank your favourite Dr. S, to tell him you love him. You became everyone’s favourite through the many visits to the vet clinic. You would ignore your illness and make each one at the clinic feel so loved. This is exactly what made you who you were, my darling generous-hearted Nic.

Heaven has opened for you in a burst of golden light, and Granny has come for you, as you knew she would. But, in our home, there’s an empty spot where you used to lie. And go to when it was time to take your meds. There’s a deep ache in my chest when I reach out each morning to scratch behind ears that aren’t there. To hug your adorable face. I miss that cold wet nose that insisted I wake up as soon as the alarm go off. Who shall occupy that spot expectantly waiting for titbits as I’m cooking or baking? The kitchen was our favourite place, yours and mine.

I believe you still are with us all. Our family unit is not one short. It’s whole as it always was. Because love like ours doesn’t vanish. It lingers in dreams, in memory, in the silent way my heart reaches for you.

You gave us your whole life, and we carry you in ours now.

You were more than our dog.

You were our family - our favourite boy.

And though death has parted us, love never will.

Run free now, beloved Nico.

And wait for me at the bridge. I’ll bring the socks.