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I understand

I must confess, there’s something I always used to have trouble understanding.

I could never fathom whenever someone I knew had a pet, usually a dog or a cat, that died or had to be put down, the way in which they handled the situation.

They treated them as if they were a human in a sense, and celebrated their life as such.

Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t to say I had a problem with it, I absolutely didn’t. To each their own, I just couldn’t understand the emotions they showed and the way they treated the situation.

And then last week my family and I had to face the realization of putting down our yellow lab, Dexter, after 13-plus years.

My feelings suddenly changed, although it took a while.

I was in high school when we got him as a puppy and as I look back on it, I think about all the changes he saw in me.

He saw me go from high school to college for four years, probably wondering why I wasn’t around the house as much.

When I graduated from college, I moved back home for a little while and commuted to and from Bradford for work. I would usually get back really late, around 1 a.m., yet I could always tell he was waiting, because the sensor light where he slept would always flick on when I pulled in the driveway. I’d come home and eat, and he would always get some food too.

Eventually I found a place in Bradford and he again probably wondered why I wasn’t around as much.

Two-and-a-half years ago, I came back to Warren to assume my current job, and, although I had a place of my own, I got to see him much more.

I’m sure he was happy, because he enjoyed seeing everyone in our family when they would come ‘home.’

I realize I summed up 13 years in a very short amount of space, but you get the gist. And that was just the changes I went through, say nothing about my parents, sister and brother.

I didn’t really think about Dexter’s life in these terms until last week, when the Friday date loomed when we had to say goodbye.

He was fed like a king in his final 24 hours, treated to steak and McDonald’s. I’m pretty sure he was in pre-heaven.

I abandoned my usual routine and spent that Thursday night back at my parents house. Dexter slept in his ‘bed’ next to me, spending most of the night panting, unable to get comfortable.

That morning, he heard my mom calling him upstairs, but it just wasn’t working.

The mind was willing, but the body was no longer able. He eventually made it up the steps, but it took every ounce of energy he had.

I’m sure many of you have had to make this difficult decision, and I wasn’t that upset because I knew it was time.

We took him a little after 4 p.m. I came into work early that day, figuring I’d leave and come back afterwards and it wouldn’t be a big deal.

But it was.

It was hard to say goodbye, even though we all knew it was time.

And it was probably the hardest night of work I’ve ever had in my life, and I feel bad because I didn’t even anticipate it, although I probably should have.

And that’s because I realized that nothing quite compares to the joy of being a pet owner. The love and affection they show you, how excited they are to always see you, it just can’t be duplicated.

We really don’t deserve them.

So yes, I used to wonder why people cried and had such a hard time saying goodbye to their beloved member of the family when that unfortunate day comes.

But I don’t anymore.

I understand now.

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