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The Golfer and Domino

When we moved last year there was lots of stuff that we had to leave behind.  We were moving across the country from a 2500 square foot house with a huge back yard to a 1400 square foot townhouse with no yard.  We knew that it was a small price to pay when you are chasing your dreams, and we were cool with that. 

Half of our house remains in a 20 by 10 storage unit back home.  There really isn't a single thing in our storage unit that we can't live without.  But there is something that we had to leave behind that we have greatly missed--our two dogs. 

We are dog people--always have been.  I gave my husband our first dog 14 years ago when he was still only my boyfriend.  He had always talked about wanting a Dalmatian, and when his birthday rolled around I decided to give him one.  Not one of my brightest ideas considering that we were both still in college and didn't need the responsibility of a dog.  I'll never forget the Golfer's face when I walked into his room with the large, spotted puppy--total shock. 

We decided to name him Domino.  The vet told us that he would be a big dog because his puppy paws were so big.  He was such a beautiful Dalmatian with all of his spots in just the right places.  And besides being a little hyper (what puppy isn't), he was a perfect dog.

The year we got engaged, Daisy joined the family.  One boring Saturday I saw an ad in the paper for Dalmatian puppies.  "Let's go," I told the Golfer.  "We'll just look.  I promise."

Anyone who knows me knows that I don't do well with "just looking" especially when it comes to animals who need a home.  Daisy was ours the minute we saw her.  All of the puppies we darling (what puppy isn't) but Daisy's nose was shaped like a heart and she seemed so sweet and gentle compared to all the others.  We wrote the owners a check and took her home to meet her brother.

We loved our dogs and couldn't bear the thought of having to give them away because we weren't ready to bring them to California yet.  If we gave them away, we'd never be able to get them back.  Luckily, the Golfer's sister offered to take them in, keeping them for us until we had a yard to bring them to.  We've been sending her dog support money ever since.

We knew that Domino was getting pretty old, 14-years-old this past fall, and the chances weren't great that he'd ever get to see our sunny new home.  But we held out hope. 

It wasn't meant to be.

Domino died last week.  When the Golfer told me, I was loading clothes into the dryer.  I stood there unable to talk as he told me that my brother-in-law had buried him in the backyard that afternoon.  The guilt and sadness overwhelmed me.  Domino was our first dog as a couple, our first dog as a family.  I'm crying now just thinking about him.  I felt terrible that we weren't with him when he died and didn't get to see him one last time.  I'm heartsick over the whole thing.  There was a Dalmatian on a television commercial the other night and the Golfer and I both got a little choaked up.

Good dogs can be hard to come by, but we've been pretty lucky.  Domino will be missed always, but when Daisy's joins us out here next summer she'll meet her other brother, Freddie, that we rescued from the local animal shelter.  Like I said, we're dog people.

   Rest in peace, Domino.