We lost our little doggy, Titan yesterday morning.
My sister called me at about 9.30, her voice choked with tears: "Michaela, oh my God, Titan died". I didn't want to believe I just heard her. "What? I can't hear you? What happened!?"
She told me he'd been hit by a car. But even that was a bit hard for her to get out.
I promised I'd be over right away.
Death is strange, in that you can feel its presence lingering, after it's been.
My beautiful, full-of-life, puppy-dog sized best friend was gone.
My dad's big house seemed even larger without the little fluffball around.
Emptier.
We've had Titan since I was about 5, and was in year 1 at primary school.
Which is a fucking long time.
He's only a year younger than my brother.
And even though for some it will be hard to understand, because he's "just a dog", he was with our family through it all.
He was with me when my parents divorced. Comforting me in his own little doggy way.
He was always there, sitting beside me. He was able to instantly make you feel better. Partly because of how fucking adorable he was. He'd look up at you with those gorgeous black eyes, and melt your heart.
Well, he would when you could see his eyes. They were always covered by so much fur and fluff. He actually was a little fluff-ball.
Titan had two names. Titan, was obviously one of them. But the name we used more often was "Scruffy".
"Come here Scruffy-Dog. We love you Scruffy. What have you been up to Scruff-ball? Come on Scruff!"
People refused to believe us when we told them how old he actually was, because he looked like, and had the energy of, a little puppy.
He was always super excited whenever any one of us would come home. He'd jump around and wag his little tail, with his little "woof", whenever someone picked up the keys. Because he thought we'd be going on an adventure.
He sat by my side when I was killing myself over the HSC, and he sat by my side at times when I actually felt like killing myself.
He has been with me through all of it.
And not only that, but he has helped me get through it.
As he got older, he started to lose his sight and his hearing, and we think that's why he didn't hear the car. He loved adventures. He loved wandering up and down the street, finding a new tree or bit of grass to mark his territory with. There have been a few times we thought he'd just forget to come home, because he'd get excited about the next tree that came along on his journey.
But he never did. As he got older, he started wandering less and less. He'd wander down to the front yard and just chill there. Then wander back up into the house.
He was always so welcoming, and so accommodating. We've had a few cats over the years, and never has he had a problem with them. He'd always wander up and sniff them and try and play with them. The cats weren't always happy about that.
He loved visitors, and children, and pretty much everyone who he met. He wagged his tail, licked their hand and made them his friend.
He really was man's best friend.
I balled my eyes out, as I walked to J's that morning, after visiting my sister and my dad. I continued crying for the next hour or so.
To be honest, I'm still crying.
This poor little dog was taken in such a horrible way. Ripped away from our family, before his time.
I'm devastated I didn't get to say goodbye to him.
Devastated that it's even time for goodbye.
Devastated, and angry.
He was such an amazing companion.
My gorgeous little Scruffy dog.
I love you.
