S is for Shiloh

It has been seven months since one of my best friends pasted away. He was white, fury and one of the best friends anyone could ever have. My family had Shiloh since I was 6 years old. Growing up with a best friend like that has an effect on people. He was all I ever knew, and to tell you the truth the only memory I can remember from my childhood, is colouring by the stairs waiting for my parents to come home with a surprise. The surprise fit into the palm of our hands and was the cutest thing I have ever seen.

Shiloh laid at the end of our bed every night, snuggled up to us when we were down or lonely and loved to lay on clean clothes. As a Bichon Frises he never shed, which helped us, but he had horrible breathe. It was only the year before his death that I fully enjoyed hanging out with him. As a kid I was always a little too ruff with him, but he would always be there when I wanted him. Waiting at the top of the stairs for me when I got home, laying beside me for days on the couch when I had my wisdom teeth out. His presence in the house just helped.

The night before his death, I knew he was sick. He could barely lift his head. I knew this was not good, but I had hope that this was just another one of his spurts. In the last couple months he would get really sick for a couple days and then be back to his usual self again, running around, barking. However I knew this night was different. One of my friends invited me out that night to church and I accepted. Not wanting to leave him, but with the promise from my mom that he would be alright I left Shiloh, as he looked at me with his sad puppy eyes just begging me to help him. When I got home there was no change. I tried taking him out for his walk but I had to practically lift him up and walk with him in order for him to stay up. When I would let him go he tried to crawl under a car. Which at the time I found odd but found out later that its a dogs way of passing away. Later that night I was holding him in my arms, his bones pressing against his skin I tried to get him to eat and drink. He couldn't hold his head up enough to even eat. Going to bed I wanted to stay with him, knowing he was not well, he was shaking and the look of anguish in his eyes broke my heart.

5Am in the morning my Dad came into my room to let me know that he had passed away. Getting up and following my moms sobs I see his body curled up in a blanket at the end of their bed. Reaching out to his body I realize it is cold, and that I no longer felt his presence. I felt so cold as I never shed a tear while my Dad placed him in a box and put him into the garage to deal with when he got home. After going back to bed and waking up later I was mad at myself for not crying. Why was I not crying for one of my best friends? Was there something wrong with me? However an hour later my mind started flooding with memories of him and I broke. That day I cried about 12 hours. By myself, with my parents, with my neighbour. I couldn't talk about him without breaking down.

When my dad got home, we decided to get him cremated. Sitting in the car I was holding it together until my dad placed the box with his body in it on my lap. Feeling the weight of his body I sobbed all the way to the vet. Once there my dad opened the box and let my mom and I say goodbye to him. Both of us crying our eyes out. It was in that moment that I fully realized how much he meant to me. He was spiteful but also had a humorous personality.
This is my first birthday without him, and I thought it was an appropriate post. I will miss him forever. And for as long as I live on his birthday I will always eat, toast, fries and pizza. His 3 favourite meals.