This is a picture of Gloria and me. It was taken at our old house during a holiday party we had for the rescue group in December 2001. There were 45 Maltese at our house that day! I love this picture of her and me. Look at her little old lady sweater!
You'd have to understand how much I loved Gloria and how much Gloria loved me to understand my calling six (random) taxidermists that I found on the Internet in the days after Gloria crossed over the rainbow bridge where she was reunited with her litter mate, Chloe, and the other dogs and animals they knew throughout their lives. I had made a deal with the vet that she would keep Gloria's body at the animal hospital until a decision was made as to what we were going to do with her remains.
When I arrived at work, I had some extra time before I had to teach a class so I looked up taxidermists on the Internet, and just out of curiosity, I called a few. NONE of the taxidermists I called would stuff personal pets. "Sorry, but we don't do pets." Click. I got about four of those responses. The fifth place was an answering machine or voice mail -- I didn't leave a message. The sixth place was by far the most interesting.
When I asked what it would cost to stuff my eight pound Maltese, the lady on the other end of the phone said, "Oh, honey, we don't stuff pets." When I asked her why she told me, "We don't do that because people don't understand that their dogs are dead and they have to let go. Honey, you're not going to get your barking, tail wagging dog back. It's time you let go." It was probably the best advice I had gotten from anyone -- and the advice came from a stranger. If someone close to me -- a family member or friend had said that -- I would have been really angry. But she was right. Gloria was gone. Forever. And as soon as the gravity of the situation settled, I got really upset. Why did MY favorite dog have to leave me? Why now? It was absolutely too painful to think about. I felt angry because we had only been best friends for a little under four years. Instead of cherishing the little time we had spent together, I obsessed over the time we hadn't spent together. I loved Gloria more than I had ever loved any other dog I had ever encountered in my life -- and I have encountered hundreds of dogs. What was it about her that made her different than the rest? After all, when she and Chloe came into our home, it was Chloe who I wanted to bond with. I DID NOT want to bond with Gloria, at all. Gloria is the name of my ex-mother-in-law. And I was not about to bond with anything that remotely reminded me of HER. But it was Gloria and I who did bond. Chloe took to Des. And from October 2001, it was always like that. Gloria slept on my pillow at night, and Chloe on Des's. I would rub Gloria's head until one of us fell asleep. And she would be there, on my head, when I woke up. As she got older, I had to wake her up some mornings. Most mornings, actually, I would have to wake up my little sleepy head old lady to go outside. And no matter the weather -- that little old battalic went out: rain, snow, sleet, freezing cold, sweltering heat. No matter the weather conditons, that dog went outside and did what she had to do. She'd hobble up our two front steps and start to follow me around the house with her little tail pointed awkwardly up toward the sky. Des coined it her "antenna."
God, I miss that dog!
Gloria crossed over the rainbow bridge 19 days before her 18th birthday. And although she is no longer here in body, she will always be here in spirit. Gloria's story will be told in its entirety in M. Samantha Kinsley's forthcoming book Dogs Are Better Than People.
The stories, photos, and thoughts on this blog are the intellectual property of M. Samantha Kinsley.
All rights reserved, 2006.
