Trigger Warning: This article mentions struggles with mental health, assault, and grief.
I was the girl who would sit with the family’s dog at parties I didn’t want to be at. Ever since I could remember, I always wanted a dog. A large dog, fluffy and playful who I could take on walks and take pictures with. However, my parents never had the same vision that I did. When my parents separated, I thought, “this is it! This is when they’ll get a dog!” But no, we got a cat instead. To give my parents credit, they both were single parents, and they didn’t need another responsibility on their plate. That cat became my childhood best friend from age seven to eighteen when she passed away. Even with this cat in my life, my vision of that dream dog never left. So I continued to beg and beg my mom to get a dog. So even at eighteen, I made a slideshow of reasons why we should get a dog, and I presented it to my mom and my step-dad. This slideshow included promises of paying for veterinarian bills, taking her on walks, and how it would help my mental health. Then, things began to change when my sexual assault was reported to the police. It was September of 2020, and I and my family had already been through enough, so getting a dog was on the back burner. Until my mom sent me a photo of a dog, saying, “we are getting her tomorrow.”
I was at the lowest point of my life at the time. I was still recovering from the trauma of the pandemic and battling a legal investigation against my ex-boyfriend at the same time. I wasn’t suicidal, but the light at the end of the tunnel was getting dimmer and dimmer. But that day, I got out of the car, and I saw her. My dream dog. Was she big and fluffy? No. She was small, black, and a scaredy-cat. I sat down and watched as she hid behind her previous owner. With her tail between her legs, she approached me first. My inner child’s heart became full. Even though she was terrified, she slept with me in my bed that first night. She began to wag her tail when she heard my voice and would greet me by running up and jumping on me. Even though she is just a dog, I feel as if she knew I was the one who needed her love the most.
Ever since then, my dream dog, Shaye, has been my sidekick. What I dreamed of as a kid came true. I have taken her on walks in Washington Park, gotten her “Pup Cups” from Starbucks and we even had matching outfits around Christmas time. She may be cute, but she lacks some basic knowledge. She eats her own poop, cotton balls, or basically just anything you put in her mouth. “Fetch” or “go catch” are words that aren’t in her vocabulary. Tiles and thunder may also be her biggest fears. Regardless of many of her flaws, she has been my best friend. At the lowest times in my life, I had her to cry on and a reason to keep pushing. My hardest nights weren’t hard when Shaye spread across my bed, whining to be the little spoon. When my childhood cat passed away, we grieved together.
Right before I moved to Boulder from Aurora, my mom moved hundreds of miles away to Kentucky, taking Shaye with her. All in a month, I had to grieve the loss of aspects of my childhood, such as the house I grew up in, my cat, and now separated from my mother and thrown into a new city by myself. Now, when I call my mom and Shaye can hear my voice, her ears will perk up, and she’ll begin to look for me at the door. I learned that having a dog was what made the light at the end of the tunnel brighter. Even though she is a dog (and a dumb one at that), she was my ultimate comfort in the hardest of times. She strengthened our family, helped us create memories, and even had her own presents under the Christmas tree. Most people’s miracles are their children or significant other; mine just happens to be my dog.