Pal

Pal: friend, companion, confidant, buddy. That's who Kami's Pal was, and I was thankful my brother gave him to her when she was a little girl.

Pal was a pure blood, registered, golden retriever. Kami chose him over his siblings because he chose her. She romped and played with all the new puppies, but when she sat cross-legged on the grass, Pal climbed up onto her lap and snuggled while the rest of the puppies tumbled around. Kami was seven.

Pal turned into the sweetest, gentlest, loyalest dog anyone could ask for. He loved Kami unconditionally, but he also was a sweetheart with the rest of the family. For years Pal was my running mate when I went jogging before the sun was up or late at night, and I loved him.

Whenever things went wrong, we could find Kami out in the backyard, loving her dog. He became her cushion against the world, literally and figuratively. Pal was there for Kami when she was lonely and didn't have any friends, he was a source of strength when she was scared to do new things, and he gave her stability when she had to move to a new town.

“Mom, there's something wrong with Pal,” Kami told me early in the spring of his ninth year.

“He'll be fine,” I assured her, thinking it probably had something to do with the exceptionally cold weather we had been having.

“But he has a sore on his bottom, and it's bleeding.”

“We'll keep an eye on it,” I told her. “I bet it heals up in a day or too.”

“Pal doesn't look good,” Kami told me a couple of days later, “and the sore isn't getting better.” I was in the middle of something and didn't pay much attention.

“Mother, I think Pal needs to go to the doctors,” Kami insisted the following week. “Please come and look at him. The sore is getting worse, not better. ”

I followed her out to the front porch, where Pal was waiting patiently. One look, and I realized why Kami was worried. Not only did he have a raw, sore spot on his bottom, his big, dark eyes were dull and his normally perky grin was gone. Pal didn't look good at all.

We took Pal to the Vet the following afternoon.

“I'm sorry,” he told us. “Pal has testicular cancer. That sore was probably caused by him scratching at it. I'm going to give you some antibiotics to help heal the sore, but we'll just have to see how Pal does after that.”

“Is he going to die?” Kami asked in a small voice.

“I'm sorry, but yes,” the doctor told her. “If he gets more perky and puts back on some weight, he may have a while left, but he will die.”

Poor Kami! It made me cry to hear the doctor say that, and I could only imagine how hard it was on her.

It was the middle of March, the week before Spring Break. Kami had planned on going down to the Valley to stay with her big sister the following week, but how could she leave now? She had been there the previous summer when her grandma passed away, and it had nearly broken her heart. I knew she couldn't go through that again.

Kami spent the following afternoon in the garage, holding Pal and watching a movie on a little DVD player. Pal looked a little better, maybe.

The next day was Thursday, and the girls only had a half day at school. Kami spent that afternoon in the garage with Pal, too. She snuggled him in her own favorite blanket, and laid next to him as she watched a movie.

Friday was also a half day.

“I need to go into town to get stuff for Spring Break,” I told the girls when I picked them up at school. “Why don't you come with me?”

Kami enjoyed shopping, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Pal alone. Finally, I took Krissi to town and Kami stayed with her dog. It was kind of late when we got home, so Kami put Pal out in his pen and we had a quick dinner. She went out to check on him about 8:00, and found him laying on the ground by his dog house, dead.

“Oh, Kami,” I told her as I held her close and stroked her hair, “I'm so sorry. I bet Pal had a heart attack or something, because he was fine when you put him away an hour ago.”

“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I prayed later that evening before I went to bed. “Thank you for taking Pal home quickly and sweetly, and not letting him suffer, and thank you for giving Kami time to say goodby and spend this last week with him. He was such a good dog. I loved him, and I loved how he was such a good friend to Kami. He got her through some really rough times.”

I went to bed that night, looking forward to the day when I would see Pal again and could tell him just how much I loved him and how thankful I was for his being such a special friend.

We buried Pal the next day under a big cedar tree up at our place, not too far from where our new house was being built. Moe made him a casket from his dog house, and we bought 2 dozen roses for Kami to put on his grave, and to keep some for herself. We thought it would take about an hour to dig the grave, but instead it took over five. We dug and dug, but the ground was really hard where Kami chose to bury him.

We dug for awhile, then measured the box and the hole, then dug some more. Finally when the hole looked big enough we tried lowering the coffin into it, but it stuck on the sides, so we had to take it out and dig some more. In a way, it was good that it took so long. Kami got to dig and get out some of her emotions, and I dug and dug and got plenty tired. We were all ready to be done long before we actually were, so after we got the coffin in the ground we just quickly covered it up with dirt, Kami put her flowers on top, and Moe put a fence around it and we went home.

It wasn't a very big cemetery; just about ten feet by ten feet; enclosed with white, wrought iron fencing, but it sure was pretty. The following week I transplanted irises, strawberries, and day lilies from our yard into it. They grew bigger, greener, and more lush than anywhere else on the property. I also painted a simple white headstone for Kami to place over Pal's grave.

Pal

January 14, 2002 - March 18, 2011

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.

Love leaves a memory no one can steal.