My fur baby Curley

Whenever I sit down to write, it’s pretty easy, even as a pantser. Words kind of flow without me, it’s just my fingers typing and words appearing. Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but it’s how I write. Sometimes I don’t even have control of the words coming out. Right now, it’s not so easy. It’s hard to form the right words and how I want to express myself. Over the last few days, I’ve been wanting to write something, but I just didn’t have the strength. Even now, it’s hard to keep going and write this. But I need to. Almost like it might make me feel better to do so. Hopefully, anyway.

I lost my fur baby Curley this past Wednesday. He was at the end stages of Kidney failure, and it was so hard to say goodbye, but I know it was what was best for him. The day was hard, explaining to my kids where Curley was, why he wasn’t coming home, then having to be point blank and saying he died, because my six year old didn’t understand what doggie heaven was. I cried throughout the day, everything reminding me of him, and missing him so bad I couldn’t keep the tears inside. Every day is the same, thinking about him, thinking how he’d follow me around everywhere, be sitting underneath my son at the table catching the food he’d drop or even throw. It’s hard not to say “Curley would be doing this or Curley would be doing that.” My husband loved him just as much, and when I do that, he’s like, “Hon, don’t do this to yourself.” But he was my baby. I don’t know how else to explain it.

I got Curley when I moved to Baltimore. I decided I wanted to try something new, a little adventure in my life, I guess you could say. My aunt lived there at the time and said I could live with her, so why not. Except I was going to be there by myself for a month (while she was overseas) and I was nervous to be myself. I asked if I could get a dog. She thankfully said yes. My mom and other aunt drove with me when I moved, so they came with me to the SPCA to get a dog. I walked around the entire place, but Curley’s the one that stuck out. He was so cute with his curly hair and lovable eyes. He did have a food eating problem, aggressive when people got near him, and I don’t blame him. They found him wandering the streets of Baltimore, ratty, knotted hair, and needing food like it was air. I’d snap at people too if they wanted to get near my food. They said they were working with him to get better at his problem, and I decided despite that, he was the one I wanted. So he came home with me. And from that day, he was my baby. MY baby! He followed me everywhere, sleeping next to me in bed, snuggling with me, and just making it easier to be alone until my aunt came. By the time my husband and I had our first child, his food problem was better. My kids could go near him, even put their hand in the bowl (not that I let them) while he was eating and it didn’t phase him.

I have so many memories of him, it’s hard to think which ones I should share. I just want to let everyone know the kind of dog he was, how special he was, how he made me feel so loved. He had a bit of an anxiety problem when I wasn’t around. Sometimes when we boarded him going on vacation, they’d tell me he didn’t eat much. Yet, we’d get home, and it wouldn’t be a problem. And when I say he walked around following me wherever I went in the house, he did. He had to be by me. That’s why it so hard to walk around now and not see him there. I expect to turn around and see him sitting there as I fold the laundry in the bedroom, or laying on the floor in the living room as I sit on the couch, or sitting underneath the table while I type on the computer. I even chuckled a few days before he passed when I was walking to the laundry to our bedroom to fold the laundry and I saw not just him, but Trixie following me. Although those two weren’t best friends or anything, they tolerated each other. It’s nice to know Trixie warmed up to him, knowing he wasn’t a bad dog, especially since another dog had attacked her.

He knew we loved him. I know he did. We had our house broken into when we lived in Baltimore. Let me tell you, that is one of the most violating things that has ever happened to me. Knowing people walked through your home (that weren’t welcome), touching your things, digging and trashing your stuff. It’s just terrible. They broke a dining room window to get in, but left through the sliding glass door in the kitchen. And those assholes left it open. Maybe they opened to get Curley out right away, because I know he barked at them, I know he did, or maybe they just left it open when they left. But regardless, Curley was running outside when my husband got home. Mind you, he was out for about a good four hours before my husband got home. I worked (yes, I actually had a full-time job outside the house when I lived in Baltimore, not even thinking about writing back then) the 3-11 shift. The police think they broke in shortly after I left, and by accounts from some of my neighbors, I think that’s accurate to say. My husband didn’t get home until close to 6:30-7 at night. Curley was outside, free to run away for that long. But he didn’t. He knew where his home was, and I’m so very grateful that my fur baby knew that if he stayed right there waiting for us, we’d come home. He just knew. (FYI, my jewelry and the few other things stolen was never recovered, nor where those assholes ever caught. Sad to say, but I’m sure that’s a common thing, but it still hurts.)

As I type this, I’m crying, of course. It’s hard not to think about Curley without crying, and I think about him all the time. But I think it’s helping. It’s helping to talk about him and share what kind of special dog he was. I just want to say, sometimes, even though it looks like people are okay and nothing is wrong in their life, it doesn’t mean everything is okay. It doesn’t mean everything is all roses and happiness. I lost my Curley on Wednesday, the day before we’re supposed to be thankful, and I am so very thankful I had him in my life. So very, very thankful. I had a takeover scheduled for Wednesday night, and my husband told me I should’ve cancelled it, given my apologies that I couldn’t do it. Well, I thought about it. I thought I should step away and just cry some more. But I didn’t. Because doing something other than sitting and thinking helped me. It helped me get through the day and night. I really didn’t want to keep crying and thinking and letting the pain of losing Curley eat at me. So, for to you lovelies (if you’re reading this) that joined my in Connie’s Confidantes for her Giving Thanks takeover party, thank you. Thank you for making my night a little bright, for making me smile, for making me happy. It truly helped me that night.

I really didn’t have it in me to write these last few days, but I finally found a bit of energy today. I wrote a scene for my Christmas story and my flash fiction I was supposed to write yesterday. It felt good to write again. It felt like maybe I was ready to write this. Now that I got this far, I feel a little better having shared a bit about Curley. Thanks for reading and sticking with me on this long post. It’s amazing how expressing and purging yourself of how you feel makes you feel a little better.

In case you’re wondering why I shared the pic above, it’s the last photo (selfie lol) that Curley and I took together. I have a few more wonderful pics that I took of him by the Christmas tree and with my girls in their pretty Christmas dresses, and I’m so happy I have those.

Please forgive me if there are any typos or anything in this post, but I’m not going to re-read this. I’ll be too hard.

To anyone who has ever lost a pet, I’m sorry for your loss. I know the pain very well. It’s like you lose a part of yourself as well. A little hole left in your heart that nothing or no other pet can fill.

To my fur baby Curley, I love you. You were the best doggie a girl could’ve asked for.

♥ Much love,

Amanda Siegrist