Today I Said Goodbye to Dingo

Today I Said Goodbye to Dingo
Written by C.J. Martin

Today I said goodbye Dingo, the gym mascot. It was harder than I could have ever imagined.

Sarah (aka, Dingo) was 14-years-old. Ten years ago I picked her up from the San Diego Humane Society. She was in there for her third time. She had a rap sheet and I was warned that she would be a handful, but for most of the time I was in the room she sat on my foot and looked straight up at me. It was as if she claimed me. I was proud to be saving her; she probably felt the same about me.

Sarah was the most consistent thing in my life over the last 10 years. She was by my side during both the most difficult and the happiest times in my life. She helped me through a painful divorce and a drastic career change. During the most difficult times she was my reason to get outside, where I could think clearly, process and plan for a better future. She was in the gym serving as our mascot nearly every day in the early years as I created my dream job, and she was there when Courtney and I brought our son home for the first time.

If a pet’s role in our lives is to serve as our tireless companion and provide unconditional love and support, she did so perfectly. She brought my family and me so much joy.

We did our best to give her the same unconditional love. She was part of the family, and we treated her as such. She spent most of her nights sleeping curled up in the bed, often forcing us into uncomfortable sleeping positions. When she herniated a disk in 2008 and couldn’t climb, we put a mattress on the floor and slept with her down there. When her back legs started to betray her later in life, we bought a lower bed and an ottoman so that she could get up and down off the bed. When it was time to buy cars, we bought cars that were convenient for transporting both dingoes and babies. We considered her in every family decision we made.

The final decision was by far the hardest though. I didn’t want to let her go. For the last year she’s battled a spinal condition that has largely disabled her hind legs. Despite the lack of control of her hind legs, she continued to fight hard for her independence. She always asked to go out, and maintained her ability to go the bathroom on her own despite unstable legs. She hated to be picked up, but would tolerate it for outings to the park. But toward the end it became clear that she was fighting to be by our side. She was working so hard just to keep up with us. To the very end, she just wanted to be our companion. I laid next to her as the anesthesia was administered; she never reacted other than to lick tears off my cheeks.

I let her go so that she could rest. She had done everything I could have asked of her. She was the ultimate companion who got me through my toughest times and stayed by my side until I had found my dream job, a wonderful partner, a son I love and another child on the way.

Rest in peace Sarah. May the squirrels be abundant and slow, and your legs fresh and fast when you arrive.