I'm not ready to type this. I haven't even been ready to admit it to myself. But I have to accept
it in order to heal and move on. It's been 4 months and it never gets easier. These have felt like
the longest 4 months of my life. I never understood how much animals can mean to people. If
someone took her, they took a piece of my heart with her and it may sound silly, but if she was
The stray saw me and ran up to me, viciously got ahold of my coat. If my coat hadn't been so
Masha was my girl. Sometimes it seemed like she was my very best friend. Other times, I
knew in my heart that she was the only daughter I had. She truly loved her mommy, daddy, and
brothers and even my mom. It truly felt like she was my middle child and I treated her as such.
She slept in bed with me, stayed up late with me, and kept me company in the early days of my
maternity leave. She greeted her new baby brother when we brought Devin home and she always
came to get one of us if he was crying. She played with Draven as much as he would let her. She
stayed under Thomas's feet whenever he was on the computer. She loved us and we could tell.
We got her two days before Christmas of 2017 when she was 8 weeks old. I fondly remember
carrying her around in one of Draven's old baby blankets because she was always sleeping and
she was a tiny little thing (she was part Chihuahua and part Wire Terrier). The first few months
were incredibly rough when it came to house training her and keeping her confined. My whole
reason behind getting her was because we were trying to conceive with little to no luck. She
filled that void when we thought we had fertility issues. I could tell the difference. I wasn't sad all
the time and I hardly ever thought about not being able to get pregnant.
She and Draven knew I was pregnant with Devin before I did. She stayed curled up next to my
stomach (I had a cat that did the same thing before I found out I was pregnant with Draven).
From the moment I found out, when I wasn't working, she was glued to my hip.
I had a dog when I was a kid named Pac (after Tupac. When we got him and his brother, my
dad named him Pac and the other one was named Suge after Suge Knight). He was incredibly
protective of me and my brother and sister. He followed us everywhere we went, even if we were
just driving to the top of our hill to get on the bus. He would break loose and come running. Our
neighbors would complain when he would get loose and because of that, my dad would try to
take him and dump him off in places, but he always came running back. He always knew where
to find us.
During one winter, there was a stray dog roaming the neighborhood (it was large, black, and wolf
like. It would have reminded you of Sam Uley's wolf form in the Twilight movies). I was at home
watching the Texas Chainsaw Massacre with Daddy and when I got too scared, I threw on my
coat and went to walk next door where my mom was.
The stray saw me and ran up to me, viciously got a hold of my coat. If my coat hadn't been so
thick, I would have needed stitches in my right side. I was about 7 at the time, so I was pretty
small. It easily towered over me if it stood up on it's hind legs.
When it hopped on me, it knocked me to the ground (by this time, I'm screaming bloody murder
because I just knew that it was going to hurt me. My screams could break glass and still can to
this day so it was odd for no one to have come outside). I heard it growl and lunge at me while I
was on the ground, but by the grace of God, Pac heard my screams and broke loose just in time
(even if we were outside playing and screaming, he'd think we were in danger). I swear that it
was like something out of a movie.
I covered my eyes and could only hear their vicious growls (which is why I'm still terrified of
hearing a dog growl to this day). After a few minutes, I heard the stray whine and Pac was at my
side licking my face. I looked up to see huge red splatters staining the snow on the ground and
everyone in the neighborhood was on their porches. The stray dog limped off and that was the
last time I ever saw it. That was when I realized how loyal dogs could be. He literally saved my
life.
It wasn't until that summer that I had to learn to live a life without Pac. I would come home and
stick my head out of my window to check on him and one day I looked outside and he was gone.
I remember running outside and around the house to see if he was just in his doghouse, but he
wasn't anywhere to be found. I fell into the grass and cried my little eyes out. My little heart was
broken for so long.
Masha favored Pac tremendously and that's another reason why she got so close to my heart.
The day she went missing, we let her out to use the bathroom like usual and it wasn't until that
night that we noticed that she was nowhere in sight even after we called for her and checked
with all of the neighbors.
I'm at a point now where I've finally come to terms with it all. There was one night where I just
broke down, hoping and praying for her to be safe if someone took her or for her death to have
been quick and painless. I'm also still hoping to see her perched at the door when I come home
from work. But I realized that things like this happens with pets. My heart still hurts, but I'm
proud that I didn't let my depression take another turn for the worst.
