# Hike



## bearycool (Dec 31, 2010)

*I forgot when I made this. I found it on my flashdrive a while back, and I suddenly remember that I wrote a piece for hike. I'm putting this in the non-fiction area because it's a short story, and plus the things that happen in it all really happened. I don't know when I made this, so be easy on any critiques. 
EDIT: Talk about error central on the above.... 
Thank you all for liking this old piece. It's very nice to know that this piece wasn't all so bad. In fact, I'm re-reading it right now, and it really didn't turn out so bad. Again, thank you all!
* 
My first dog was a dog name Hike. He was white furred pug with the flattest face you could possibly imagine. We only had him for 2 years, but he was the most loyalist dog I have ever had, or will have. We got him from a family when I was around 5 years old and begging my mom for a dog. It took a few months, but she finally told me that she found one.  It took a while to get to where the family was, but we finally did. I remember vaguely that we were at a house, or shack, that was far away from any urban area. My mom and I walked up to the patio and knocked on the chipped door. We got a rough slurry voice telling us to come in from what I recall. My mom opened the door, and the next thing I knew I was pushed down on the wooden patio. This was the first time I saw Hike. He was scrawny little black faced pug that was hoping around my chest and starting to lick my face. My mom looked down and chuckled, but suddenly stopped as she looked back into the house. I don’t remember much from here, only that she told me to head back to the car with the dog. I didn’t know there was a fight, I didn’t know there was a discussion about the dog, and I didn’t even know that my mom found this family from legal findings. Nope, that was later in life and a completely different story all together…. The final things I remember of bringing Hike home was that he was trying to lick my eyebrows, and only my eyebrows, as were approaching and entering the car. One final thing was that he was scarred up, esp. at the belly area. And that was it from what I remember, expect for being driven home and sleeping with Hike for the first time after we got home. 
The first year went smooth enough. Every day he would follow me, and I would feed him doggy treats. I would take him for a walk, because he would only go outside with me and with no one else. We would throw toys and I would have a laugh whenever he started huffing and puffing to get it. All those memories are blurred together expect for one thing he did when I picked him up. I remember every time I picked him up, he would just lick my eyebrows and nothing else. I wish that this would’ve lasted longer, because the next year was the exact opposite. 
I remember it started in December, the issues. He started having bladder problems, he always had that sad “puppy” face, he didn’t want to play anymore, and he started looking chubby in abdomen. One day, he just sat at my bed, motionless. I asked mom if I could take the day off from school to watch him, and she told, to my surprised, that she would call me in sick. I tried to feed him his favorite treats, but he didn’t eat it. I threw one of his balls across the room, but he only stared. I didn’t know what to do; all I could do was hug him and repeatedly tell him to get up. He only licked my eyebrows and went to sleep.
Months later, I was told the news by mom. She kept it sweet and simple for my childlike mind to understand. She told me that Hike had to be taken somewhere, where he could sleep for a while and rest off the sickness. I sort of understood what she was getting at, and it was enough for me to begin to cry. 
It was April when we started our drive to the vet. I was holding Hike in my lap and looking out on the spring view. I looked down at Hike; he was only sleeping like one of the older dogs around my neighbor. I bent down a little to give him a hug, in which he woke up, and gave me a lick to the eyebrow. The car stopped, and I was told to get out. 
As we enter through the front doors, I suddenly remember the first time I met Hike from entering a door. I don’t know why my mind suddenly remember that, it just did. A few hours later, we were in a white washed room that was completely void of everything, save for a small table. I was still holding Hike and I suddenly didn’t want to let go of him. He was my best friend; he was someone that I could always play with. I know it was childish, but I believe I would still do it today if it happened now….
The doctor came in and told me to set him down on the table. He looked up at me, right in the damn eye. I couldn’t help it; I let the tears streamed down from my eyes and fall to the ground. I put my face close to his as the doctor slowly injected the liquid in the needle into his system. I looked at him, he was already beginning to lose consciences. I asked if I could pick him up one more time, in which the doctor told me I could hold him for a few seconds before I would have to put him down. I gently put him into a cradle in my hands and placed him near my face. And right there, with his last strength, he gave me a final lick to my eyebrows….
I know this is clichéd, but I just wanted to tell his story because today marks the day I first took him home. And also, three years after we took him home, marks the same day I learned on how he died in the first place. My mom told me she found the family from legal findings, (don’t ask, I never asked what she met by that….) She told me that Hike was badly abused, and had a liver problem since we first got him. The final truth, the one that sent me crying and has always has, is that if we had taken home a day or two earlier, he wouldn’t have gotten any problem and would’ve lived a perfect healthy life.
I don’t know what to think of how his death could’ve been prevented. All I want to do is too talked about his story, even if just one person reads his story. Even if there are millions like his, I still want to tell the story of a dog that was loyal since the beginning and to the end.
I miss you Hike!


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## Divus (Dec 31, 2010)

Beary.     This subject - the death of a pet - is always a very sensitive one.    In my lifetime, I have taken the decision to have put to sleep several faithful companions, both dogs and horses, and I know for myself  only too well the pain it can bring.    Sadly for the caring owner the memory of the animal and its final moments in this life never go away.      When reading your work the thought crosses my mind as to why you chose to post your piece at this time.       

There are some grammatical problems in your composition which an editor would no doubt amend.    I have noticed that if a piece of my writing has lain within my computor for some time then before posting it, usually it pays for me to read it again and perhaps edit it myself.     I might at the time even add to it.

But when I write of euthanasia I am well aware that I am treading on sensitive ground.      The problem being that the better I am at writing the more pain I will leave with the reader.       As I write this note now, a 15 year old terrier bitch sits at my feet.    She is doing well for the moment but I know what lies down the road for me.  I just hope that one night she goes to sleep at bedtime and doesn't wake up.     That is the way all pets should finish their life.  The pity is that in this modern world where the vets are so clever, the animal mostly lives longer than it might have done in years gone by.  Sometimes too long.

So, you see Beary, you have touched me with your tale of Hike.     My Father once said to me that _if I had not had the love of my dog, I would not have felt the pain of its death._      You caused me to remember Sam and my Father on New Year's Eve.   Not a bad thing really - none of us die until we are no longer remembered by someone still living.

Dv


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## stonefly (Jan 2, 2011)

Good story, bearycool, and well told.

I've had dogs all my life, and I'm 64 years old.  The dogs I've known and loved, and who loved me, afforded me some of the real richness of my life, and perhaps the greatest illumination. (I have a great dog right now, so let my previous sentence reflect some present tense.)

Your story is both sad and joyous.  Thank you for telling it.


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## bearycool (Jan 5, 2011)

Thank you all for the replies, I will try to make this a better piece if at all possible!


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## garza (Jan 5, 2011)

There are a few minor nits the nitpickers no doubt will be along to show you, but as stonefly says your story is both 'sad and joyous'. Thank you for letting us read it.

Edit - As for making it better I do have a few suggestions. The first is to drop the introduction and get into the story from line one. The second is to add line breaks between paragraphs to make the story easier to read. The third is to rework the last paragraph.

Do not do anything to spoil the tone of the piece. Your voice comes through, and that is how it should be in this sort of writing. Don't do anything to change that.


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