Attachment, loss, and childhood memories

Last night I was IMing with a friend who was talking about their remaining three kittens from an unexpected litter, and the plan to take them to the local animal shelter since they had not been able to find homes for them. I asked when they would be going and was told the end of the week. They were waiting a bit so as to mentally prepare their kids for the departure.

I know how that is. I understand the attachment that can form between a child and a pet animal and the sense of loss when they are gone.

When I was born, my family had a dog named Sandy. He was a part Cocker Spaniel, part whatever that had been adopted from the pound. From day one, Sandy was my dog. He was my friend, companion, and loyal protector. I loved him so much.

One afternoon when I was in the second grade, I brought a friend home from school. My mother supplied us with milk and Oreos. As we sat at the kitchen table eating our snack and talking, I noticed that Sandy wasn't anywhere to be seen. I asked my mother where he was, and she came clean. He had apparently been showing signs of being in pain. She had taken him to the vet who had diagnosed testicular cancer. She had him put down that afternoon.

Needless to say I was devastated. My friend offered his condolences, the best he knew how, and had my mother call his mom to come get him. I was stoic for the next couple of hours, but by the time my father got home from work, I was ready for a good cry. And cry I did.

That was one of the few times (I can count them on the fingers of one hand) that my dad was a real dad to me. He held me, comforted me, and let me cry all over his white dress shirt until it was my bedtime.

I can still feel his facial stubble on my cheek.