Astro, the writer's beautiful and beloved dog. Photo: Vasanthi Kandiah
I had pledged to love and protect you when you first came to me at three years old, scared, hungry, bewildered.
You walked in through my gate and I sank to the floor weak at the knees, overwhelmed by the sight of a large tawny-haired German Shepherd approaching me. You looked like a huge lion about to eat me up! But you pushed your snout into my hands and licked me gently, imploring me with your beautiful eyes for some food and water.
That was nine years ago, girl. You loved your new family and we loved you immensely. You came with a lot of baggage. Afraid, timid, perhaps a fear of abandonment? I did everything I could to reassure you that you were staying and you were ours to love and protect.
In turn you protected us, charged to the gate should a stranger come calling. You warned them with your gnashing teeth of ensuing peril if they should be so bold as to trespass.
You adored your Master to the moon and back, always the first to jump up to go for that morning walk with Pepper and Rocky. You kept them in line for your Master, a little growl to impress upon them that you’re boss lady and no nonsense please.
Your Master was so proud of you, called you his beautiful Astro. You’d wait patiently at his feet while he drank his coffee before the walk. Sometimes you’d whine softly to urge him to hurry up as the morning walk was the highlight of your day.
With me, you came for food, especially your favourite – chicken – and when something was ailing you. I’d try to appease you and you’d settle down.
Then the day of reckoning came and you passed on. The infection within your body was so great and the pain it caused you, monumental. I had to let you go, Astro. It was too late to save you. I’d left it a little late. I’m so sorry.
How could I have missed this? I thought you couldn’t walk because of hip dysplasia. While we tried to figure out some solutions for your mobility, I carried you wherever you wanted to be, for a month.
I bathed you every day as you’d be soiled from having to go but not being able to walk to your usual spot.
But it turned out to be an infection of your uterus, stump pyometra. I’m so sorry I didn’t see the signs in time.
I miss you terribly, Astro. You’ll always be our baby girl. I hope you had a good life. I hope we were able to give you everything you needed and more.
Now, don’t be afraid that we’re not with you. Walk across that rainbow bridge and you’ll find everything your heart desires. It’s a heavenly land where you can eat your fill, be safe and play all day.
Look for Pepper, I’ll bet he’ll be ecstatic. It’s been three years since he last saw you. Tell him I love and miss him and hope he’s not scaring too many bunnies. He always did love a good chase. Keep an eye on him, girl. It’s what you did best.
Be free, Astro, be happy and some day soon, if I should be so lucky, I’ll see you again. Rest now.
