Ilsa Incomplete

When Kady first asked if we could adopt you from her sister I said no. I didn’t want a dog. I was worried about money and the responsibility. I resisted but finally relented. And you moved into our third floor attic apartment in Somerville. Little did I know the space you would come to occupy in my heart.

You got up in the middle of the night to drink water or move around and I woke up every time. Always asking Kady “Is Ilsa ok?” “Yes, sweetheart. She’s ok.” I worried about you. I wondered about you. I wanted you to be ok and safe and loved. I took seriously who you were in our lives from the get go, even though I was your reluctant owner at first.

It took many months before we realized you had been licking our pots and pans clean. Each night after we washed them and placed them on the kitchen shelf you’d come by and give them a thorough second cleaning. Who could blame you with the shelves right at head height? I can’t even fathom the number of dog hairs and slobber we have ingested over the years.

You used to sit on the shelf below the big picture window in the kitchen surveying the land. Frequently there was a cat roaming around out back that you’d bark and woof at. You loved looking out the window. And sleeping on that ledge. Your back leg continually slipping off as you drifted off to sleep.

You went on runs with us. Often just laying down mid run mid sidewalk when it was too hot. “Here’s good” we’d say. You rode in the launch when I was coaching on the Charles and whined the whole time. You hated it. Maybe you hated rowing. You mostly liked solid ground and treats and laying 3/4 off of your bed in the living room snoozing.

We went to the Fells hundreds of times. You chased sticks and critters and trotted along happily. Never wanting to get too far away from us but always pushing the boundaries just a little bit. When it snowed you ran and dove and rolled and seemed like you were in heaven.

You were a creature of habit always peeing in the same spot. You’d run up and down the stairs of our apartment like your tail was on fire. You were always excited to go outside. Except when it was bitterly cold in Boston. Then you had to be coaxed.

You destroyed countless hedgehogs. You just loved them too much. You’d rip out the guts and the squeaker and then lay beside them like you were innocent. You rolled onto your back when you were really happy groaning and grumbling all the while.

You always just accepted that your home was wherever and with whoever it was. You were in our wedding and Mollie and Kee’s wedding. We laid in the middle of the floor, me in my green dress and you in your silky brown and black fur coat. And I told everyone “shh we are sleeping.” I was drunk and so in love with you.

We moved you across the country. Back home to Seattle. Then we had babies. Everything was always disrupting the simple life you wanted. And you took it all in stride. Still loving. Still wanting to always be close to your people.

You loved our patio in North Seattle. When we got a new fence you’d lay with your nose under the bottom of the gate always wanting to keep watch. And because our neighborhood was full of pesky cats. You’d lay on that stone patio in the rain, the sun, and everything in between.

You whined and moaned and groaned deeply. And your moans and groans eventually turned into actual pain. You slowed down. We moved you again to your favorite place in La Conner with Nano and grand Danny. So you could have an easier time, not get poked at by the boys, and so you could keep hunting baby crabs. Things were good there for many months. But you kept slowing down. Being in more and more pain. Your beautiful coat became matted and tufty. You stopped going on walks and venturing down to the beach.

You indulged me. Let me be silly and mess with you. It was one of the things I loved most about you. You just accepted me and my weirdness and hyperactivity. You let me love you how I knew best to love you. Thank you.

I have had animals I’ve adored my whole life. But I’ve never had to help ease one of them out of this life before. It was more painful than I could have imagined. There is a deep burning hole in my heart right now. I miss you. I have missed you while you’ve been away. And now you’re gone. I don’t want to be so sad but I am. I don’t want to be dramatic but this feels awful.

Ilsa you were such a spectacular part of our lives. I loved you with my whole heart. And that’s why it feels so so hard. I wanted to hold you forever and ever. My sweet girl. I kissed your face a billion times and it wasn’t enough.

Experiences like this bring so clearly into focus what life is all about. Isn’t it our job to love as fiercely as we possibly can while we are here? Does anything else actually matter at all?

I will always love you Ilsa. One post could never come close to summarizing what you meant to me, to us, or all the wonderful memories I have of you. And I’ll remember you and all the fun times we had and treats we ate and adventures we went on always.

Djongosai?