Caligula

My family had to have our dog Callie put to sleep this morning.

I am not a fan of dogs, but I loved this one. She acted like a cat. She would lie around and lick herself all day. She was extremely good natured, and yet she had enough psycho tendencies to fit right into our home. We got her when I was 13 or 14, after my mom had sworn off pets forever. She originally belonged to my aunt Barbara's mother, and I don't know all of the circumstances in the decision making...but I'm sure Barbara was very persuasive. Mom would get mad when I'd call her Caligula.

Callie got older, as all things do. She started developing weird moles and sores, and eventually you could see the cataracts growing over her eyes. She would run into legs, furniture, walls; she was tormented by Sam, the demon kitty (who I still love), until her final day. But she was still affectionate, even as her dependence on Mom and Mamaw increased due to her disabilities.

I knew this would be coming, and I've even tried to convince Mom in recent months that putting her out of her misery would be for the best. She seemed relatively healthy when I visited in September, all things considered, and I didn't expect her to be gone so soon. She had a good life, a peaceful death, and a cozy plot in the backyard in which her body will deteriorate.

She was a good dog. She will be missed.

And now I know for certain that I'm never getting my cat back. But Mom and Mamaw need Sam more than I do right now, so it's okay.