I had Rocky before I had a husband. Before I knew the price of a mortgage, kids, or sound mental health. I was 24 when I got Rocky. It was a lifetime ago, but also just yesterday.

Rocky was my dog, if that’s not obvious.

It’s weird to even type “was,” but he’s gone now, so I should probably get used to it. Like so many of you have had to experience over the years, I recently had to put my dog to sleep. I didn’t think it would hurt this much, but after 18 years together, I guess I should have seen that coming.

He was the perfect underdog. Rocky, some kind of Yorkie terrier/poodle/ Maltese mix, was always playing second fiddle to some thing or someone — a silly business venture, a baby, a bulldog, another baby, ANOTHER bulldog.

Through it all, however, he was super faithful and oh so loyal. Rocky cheerfully upped and moved through six different houses with us, happy as long as there were people around for him to bug from underfoot.

As our pets tend to do, he loved each member of our family unconditionally, as imperfect as we most certainly each have been. He was a trooper this final summer at the lake, when all that was really holding him together was that bandage on his hind end.

We were very lucky to have Rocky.

I spent my last few meaningful moments with Rocky when he was curled in his little bed, about 15 minutes before the vet arrived.

He had been sleeping, but awkwardly, so I arranged him more comfortably. He spent most of his day sleeping, but woke up long enough to be able to enjoy a final moment of ear scratching.

Then, he tucked his nose under the cushion and sighed, which I took that as my cue he was ready to go back to sleep. He did, and thanks to the incredible veterinarian (Prairie Pet Mobile Vet, who I highly recommend) who helped him cross the rainbow bridge, that’s how he passed.

There are a lot of people suffering right now. There is so much uncertainty and instability. We long for the way things used to be. Even in non-pandemic times, our pets calm us when we’re stressed and keep us grounded.

They remind us that there’s still a bit of the way things used to be, sitting right at our feet. No matter how long or short their time with us, each pet gives us a unique reference point for the chapters of our lives.

As I type this, my 16-year-old son is cooking in the kitchen, yet I remember Rocky leaning anxiously over my face from the back seat as we drove from Nipawin to Saskatoon when I was in labour. (I wanted an epidural and I couldn’t get one in Nipawin, so insisted on making the trip to Saskatoon. Judge me all day long, I don’t regret it.)

Anyway, none of this is earthshattering or new information — we have pets because they add to our life experience. We weave them into our stories because they play an integral role in ensuring we have those worth telling.

While the actual euthanasia process was a new experience for me, losing a pet is part of the process of having a pet. As painful as it was, I’m grateful I could give Rocky that one last, peaceful gift.

And, I’m glad I have such a beautiful anthology of a lifetime through his memory. Of the way things used to be.

RIP Rocky, a really good dog. August 2002 – November 18, 2020

-Tammy Robert