e Little River Review - Gorham High School!

Cassaundra Martel
Rosie
Rosie
I came home from school late that �ursday. She greeted me at the door as usual, struggling
to get up, limping over, and smacking me with the side of her head, her clouded, rheumy eyes not
being able to tell exactly where I was in the doorway. I stroked her back, avoiding the bald patches
and tumors that were spread almost all over her body. She leaned against me, preventing me
from entering further into the house, not wanting me to move or leave her side. She was old and
riddled with cancer. My eyes started to moisten, and I buried my face in what little was le� of her
fur, hugging her head. I �ashed back to when I �rst met her, when I was two years old and chose
her out of a litter of six. My mother tried to talk me into considering one of the other puppies, the
bigger, healthier ones; I chose the runt of the litter. I insisted on calling her my “piggy” (all the
puppies looked like little piglets), and Rosie snuggled in my arms, taking to me before she could
even walk properly, before she was even old enough to be separated from her mother.
Rosie continued to be there beside me throughout my life, as far back as I can remember.
When I was four, I was afraid of the dark and made going to bed very di�cult for my parents. I
cried myself to sleep every night until my mother thought to put Rosie in my room at night to
sleep. She would put her muzzle on my bed, and I would pet her until I fell asleep. She would
still be there when I woke up the next morning. Growing up, I made poor choices in friends, and
everyday that I came home from school with another crisis, I would be greeted by my true friend.
She would sit with me and snuggle until I was reminded that I did have a friend who loved me
unconditionally. When I came downstairs early for school, she would be the �rst to wish me a
good morning, in her own doggish way, with licks and tail wags and begging for my breakfast. She
was a member of the family, receiving Christmas gi�s, birthday treats, and as much attention as the
kids. She would join us on our yearly camping trips, and never failed to give us a killer laugh every
now and again, wiping out the campsite trying to chase a chipmunk, or collapsing in the freezing
river a�er a long hike, despite her dread of water. She snored louder than my father (you could
hear it all over the house despite her being two �oors away) and she would put her muzzle in your
face, look at you lovingly... and burp. She would crawl under the dining table as soon as we started
to set it for supper and await the arrival of dropping food, and I would tuck my cold feet under her
furry belly to warm them.
�is was all going through my head, from �rst meeting her almost twelve years before, when
I held a three-week old little black piggy in my arms, up to now, desperately clinging to a blind,
sickly dog who was balding, limping, and had no appetite, having lost thirty pounds in a couple of
months. I was painfully aware of the ending to the story and it was not going to be “happily ever
a�er.”
I knew when my mom walked into the room and looked at me holding my dog. She didn’t
have to say anything. I just didn’t know when. It was almost a whisper when she �nally got it
out. Tomorrow a�ernoon. I had 24 hours, including school the next day with four tests, just
before grades closed. And this was the last night I had, just sitting with my �rst friend, my best
friend, the only friend that stuck with me through everything. She had been there through so
much, always loving me when I questioned if others did. And now she would never be there again.
I cried in gym class the next day, and didn’t do well on any of my tests. I got home and cried
~ 31 ~