A boy and his best friend — and mine

Seventeen years ago, I walked up to a PetSmart adoption day and fell in love with a tiny 8-week-old dachshund/schnauzer runt. She was jealous, her barking was annoying, and she hated thunderstorms and being alone. But she was devoted, protective, loving, and smart. Our bond was strong.

My then-husband was not a dog person. I wore him down, and he said if I found a dog then he would be okay with it. And that was their relationship. For 12 years, Skyy was mostly my responsibility. They never really bonded. He rarely petted or fed her. And that was fine. He did more than enough by tolerating her. Having a dog was important to me, and he understood and supported that — and for that, I am forever grateful.

After our divorce, Skyy became increasingly important in my life. She was there to combat the loneliness, to dry my tears in those early days, and to be the one constant that kept me grounded. When I met my second husband they instantly connected. 

As our relationship grew, so did theirs. Eventually, Skyy became an important fixture in his five-year-old son Jack’s life. Jack would insist that Skyy lay at the foot of his bed when he fell asleep. When we took Skyy on her first beach trip in 2016, we watched as Jack and Skyy ran down the beach together and chased crabs at night.

I said goodbye to Skyy in 2017, not long after her 14th birthday. She was diagnosed with bladder cancer two years prior. We drove her to the veterinarian on Thursday evening and came back without her. The house felt empty that night. I stayed home from work the following day and cried so much that my eyes were swollen shut.

That evening, Jack arrived at our house to stay for the weekend. We sat him down and told him that Skyy had died. He screamed. He threw himself to the floor. He ran around the house and looked for her. Eventually, he came back to us and hugged us.

Since that day, Jack often talks about her. Jack is on the autism spectrum. Why is that important to know? Because he is so wonderfully blunt every single time that he talks about Skyy. 

“I’m sorry Skyy is dead,” he says to me about once a month. And it’s endearing. He often follows it up by patting me on the shoulder and giving me a hug. 

Or he’ll add, “Skyy laid with me at the beach and chased crabs?,” his voice rising with an inflection at the end, as if he is asking a question. One time he asked me for a flower and laid it at his feet while he prayed over it in Skyy’s name. 

Skyy was my first dog as an adult, and she was my shadow — by my side for everything, including sickness (when I most needed a companion). I hope I gave her similar comfort during her cancer battle. She refused to accept the 6-12 month prognosis from the vet plus the simultaneous discovery that she had only one kidney. She fought for two more years of time together. I'm grateful. She was a good dog, cuddler, walking partner, vacation buddy and, most importantly, friend. 

In the months following Skyy’s death, we thought Jack was still grieving and would eventually stop talking about her. But, here we are two-and-a-half years later, and this frequent conversation continues to take place. My husband told me Jack will never let me forget her. And I’m okay with that. 

I’m happy that Skyy made him so happy, and that he continues to think about her and share his memories of her. My husband likes to joke and say that Skyy loved him most because, eventually, she sought out my husband during a 2 a.m. thunderstorm, rather than me. (eye roll) 

It touches me to know that after a short time with her, they both loved her almost as much as I did.