Thinking back, I feel like I shouldn’t be bothered by this, seeing as though it happened it so long ago, but it still does. My dog for my life until the age of 11, Cody, was an old, golden, stubby mix of everything. He was possibly the most loyal dog when he was younger, but towards the end of his life he was quickly deteriorating. He was half blind and half deaf to the point that he seemed senseless -- meandering around aimlessly if he wasn’t always at you heel or asleep elsewhere. But earlier in his life, he would be the one to come out with you anywhere and stay right beside you. Whenever I come across his collar and smell him, I can’t help but get a little teary eyed, going back to when he was still alive.

A week into the summer, I had already got the news that my parents were going to temporarily separate when we move from Kansas back to Michigan -- later, we found that was going to be permanent and we all fully expected it -- but now my dad made the decision to put Cody down.
It was as abrupt as that, no sugar coating, just blunt force trauma. Even though I knew it was coming from the start, it still hurt because I never thought it would come; hoped it would never come. I thought that my parents would just keep pushing the envelope for ever, and he would live forever. He made his statement and moved on as if it wasn’t such a big deal, but now I realize that that should be expected of him because he, like many others, is too afraid to confront his feelings for too long because of that terrifying feeling of that lump in your throat; too afraid of the confrontations with their feelings.

I felt weak and helpless, my dad was making all these decisions so fast and I had no time to adapt from one to the other. I felt betrayed. I ran away, maybe it was a subconscious metaphor, that it was life I was trying to run away from, trying to run back to better days, or maybe I was just sick and tired of all these changes that were happening all so fast. This was the beginning of the next 5 years going into the gutter.

A few weeks later, I came up from the basement for breakfast and began to instinctively look around for Cody. After a quick glance and a sense of the atmosphere of the entire house, I could tell something was off.

I walked over to my mom, who was at the dinner table, and asked, “where’s Cody?”

“I’m sorry,” she said while horribly trying to hold back the tears and reaching out to hold me both to comfort me and herself.

I couldn’t consciously understand it at the time, but after she told me that my dad had taken him, the puzzle pieces slowly forming in my subconscious. It felt my insides drop, like when you check your pockets for something and it’s not there. That feeling that something was wrong and you couldn't go back.  All I could do was hold myself up, hugging my mom, and cry.

I was crying in sadness and anger at Dad for not telling me that it was Cody’s last day. He didn’t tell me that he was leaving. He didn’t give me a chance to give my goodbye, and that hurts the most. I never had the opportunity to scratch him for the last time and apologize for all the mean things I did to him, like push him out of the way and make fun of him just because he’s old.

Even now, I still don’t feel right treating elderly people with disrespect for the sole reason that they’re old. Cody has taught me a lot, even though I’ve forgotten what he looks like but that doesn’t bother me anymore. I’ve realized that the only thing that should matter is the fact that you’ve learned something. He taught me that no circumstance should justify treating somebody like they’re less of a person only because they’re less able than you. Instead, they deserve your respect because they have more struggles to go through.