This letter from Mommy to Oscar was written on Wednesday, July 9, 2014Oscar

Dear Oscar,

June 17, 2014 will forever hold a place in our hearts as the day we bid you good-bye. I’ll never forget as daddy’s truck pulled away, you in the front seat on a towel. At one time, you would be jumping up and down looking out the window, wagging your tail and watching us wave at you. That day, however, you could barely raise your head as you took your final journey to the vet. Not a dry eye was found as the neighbor’s watched Gregory chase the truck down the road. I’m sure you must have heard his cries as he begged daddy to stop and not to take you away. After all, you were his bestest friend and the first to greet him when we brought him home from the hospital as an infant.

Remembering back to 2005 as I looked through all the adoptable Dachshunds on the rescue site, I still see your face and recall reading your bio written by your foster mom: “Oscar loves stealing socks so watch out!” When we decided to adopt you and have you join “sister” Courtnie, another rescue Dachshund, you waltzed into our home as if you owned it. From that moment on, you did, and our hearts as well. When Gregory joined us in 2006, we were nervous, as you were a jealous pup, and we held our breaths bringing him home. You were a kind little soul, guarding the baby against Courtnie (but we soon learned it was because he threw Cheerios on the floor for you to catch). You grew together and were often found chasing soccer balls in the yard and sliding down his playhouse slide. We bought you an “indestructible” ball and it is still too raw for us to move it from where you left it in the yard. You adored children and taking Gregory to and from school, and they, in turn, loved “Mr. Meyer.” We always tried to remember to tie on one of your bandanas.

We took such good care of you, Oscar, but sadly, like people, everyone at one point or another becomes ill despite the care, no matter how excellent it is. The vet noticed your blood work was off on one of your visits and advised us you were in renal failure. We took precautions and bought special food which you despised, and provided medication which would help carry you into June. The vet was amazed your will to live was so strong; she was not so hopeful when you had first been diagnosed, especially since you had surgery for a tumor in March.

Everyone adored you – even the surgeons at the emergency clinic who met you for only a day. Once they heard of your passing sent our family a lovely fruit arrangement. All I could think of as we enjoyed it was “if Oscar were here, he would be begging for a strawberry!” We knew when you wouldn’t eat your favorite – cheese and baloney, that your time was nearing and I couldn’t allow you to suffer. Your breathing was so terribly labored, your breath, uremic – a sure sign of renal failure. Your once-shiny coat had turned dull and your hair had begun to fall out in clumps. You had lost so much weight and our “little sausage” was so frail.

Daddy called after you were gone letting us know that you had passed away peacefully at 12:12 PM, your paw in his hand. You simply closed your eyes and went to sleep. You were now at peace, at The Bridge, and ready to take on new adventures, steal yet more socks, and prepare for our someday-arrival. And when I hear the clicking of your nails on the hardwood floor and see a soccer ball rolling across the backyard by itself, I’ll simply smile, knowing you are with me still.

See you in my dreams, Oscar. I love you.

Farewell, Friend, but not “farewell.”

Where I’ve gone, you too, shall dwell.

I am gone before your face –

A little time, a little space.

Once you’ve walked where I have stepped,

You will wonder why you wept.

• E. Arnold