When I was in twelfth grade -- which was a very long time ago -- my friend Cathy's cat died. It was my first experience with pet death and Lucy, her cat, was the meanest cat from Nova Scotia to British Columbia. I'm not joking -- I would have put Lucy up against any cat in Canada for a good cat fight and I would have bet the farm because Lucy was truly a nasty piece of work. (I say that fondly all these years later.)
All my friends agreed, except Cathy who naturally thought Lucy was the best cat ever. Therefore, when Lucy died and Cathy went into a month-long depression, we, her friends, were baffled. I am even willing to bet that neighbourhood dogs who hadn't left their owners homes in years out of sheer fear of Lucy, were out on the street partying.
Last year when my friend Pat's dog died, I had a slightly warmer reaction. Emily, her now deceased doberman pincher had been been part of my working life for a year. She used to bark as I entered our office every morning and then she would sit beside while I ate my breakfast just waiting for my crumbs. I always made sure there were crumbs because she was big and scary and I was afraid that if there were not crumbs that snacking on me was her Plan B.
I am sure you get the picture.
No one has ever accused me of being a pet lover.
You may be baffled because as most of you know, I now own a dog. And a very cute dog at that. I am like those women who love their own children but are not children-lovers in the general sense. That is my feeling about animals.
I am not going into all the reasons we decided to get a dog but I will say that since getting Pepper, I have made several new friends with dogs all around our neighbourhood. Sometimes I only know the dog and the owners are baffled when their dogs approach me in a familiar manner for a little pat and chat.
However, one dog that I have liked as much as I could like any dog, was a beautiful golden pooch who lived on our street. Her name was Mica and my kids loved her from the moment we moved to Israel. So much so, that when her owner's son was doing his compulsory army service, my kids sent him a big food parcel one holiday, addressed to "Mica's Big Brother" at his army base. And when he wrote back to thank the kids for the junk food, he signed his name the same way.
Mica was Pepper's best friend -- primarily because she had the patience of Job and let Pepper, in her puppy-like enthusiasm, jump all over her for several minutes without loosing her patience.
While I was out doing errands today my husband called and said: "Did you hear?" Usually when he says that he is about tell me some crazy story about the goings-on in the synagogue. "No," I said casually, "what happened?" "Mica died," was his unexpected response.
Well, let me tell you. The news has completely ruined my day. I am just devastated. She was only six years old and the story is so mysterious that even her owners who found her mere hours before the end, don't really know what happened. They rushed her to the vet, but to no avail. They have some theories -- and I agree with those theories completely.
I am not going to list them here because there may be people who still want to buy houses on my street and I don't want compromise those deals. No, it's not poltergeists or serial murderers, so just don't go there.
What has surprised me the most is the depth of my personal sadness. It was just last week that Mica and Pepper were out playing together on the street and I was running after Pepper like a nutcase. It was only Mica's maturity (really) that made her go back to her owner when she called and as a result, I was able to catch up with Pepper. She was a beautiful dog and I am going to miss her. I think I am doing a Cathy!
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