Princess & Life

It was nine years and 10 months ago that I first laid eyes on her. She fit in the palms of my eleven-year-old hands and squirmed and shook and sniffed. She was going to be mine if I wanted her. As a birthday present, my mom got me a puppy. I was told I could choose between her or her brother, Chewbacca. Unlike her brother, she didn't yet have a name. I chose her quick and named her Princess, true to the nature of my 6th grade heart. 

She doesn't fit in the palm of my hands anymore, but she still fits in my arms. Her nine-pound little body still shakes and squirms and sniffs.

Last weekend as I left my mom's house for my apartment, I reminded my family that we're going to celebrate Princess' 10th birthday in a few weeks. I've ordered her a gift and I'm shopping for a puppy cake. No, I don't always do this. It's the first time I will really celebrate her birthday, but I just want to. I just love her. My first years as a pet owner were no good. But with each year that's passed, I grew more responsible and more in love with her.

I leave Princess every Sunday night when I leave for Denton. I say goodbye knowing that each week she gets older. I got bad news Monday. Princess wasn't walking. She wouldn't stand up to go outside when my mom called for her, and when my mom got home from work she found her laying at the foot of my bed, like she does at the beginning of each new semester when I move back to Denton. She took her to the vet and the truth is hitting me harder now. Her age is starting to show and we're going to have to take some precautions to preserve her health. 

It's hard not to feel completely defeated right now, but I'll just have to remember that  she's in good hands. As you can imagine, I'm extra eager to see her tomorrow. And I'll celebrate her birthday in 11 days, celebrate the day I met her in 46, and celebrate the day I got to bring her home in 66.