Sick Sad Little Pet

So many of us have had to say goodbye to our beloved pet; so many of us have had to bury them; and so many of us were left heartbroken.

The death of a pet scars us in ways that we can't fathom into words. It is an immeasurable level of pain that few of us can bear to endure. I remember the day my dwarf hamster died. His name was Apollo and his behavior was more feline than rodent-like. He responded to the name I'd chosen for him, and he ate more food than was necessary. But none of that mattered, because he was all the more cuddly. The healthy glow about him belied his sickness. A tumor which had formed on his stomach grew to great magnitude, threatening to devour him inside. It struck silently, dangerously, finally snuffing out the life of a beloved friend. 

Apollo died in my hands. He writhed and wheezed and struggled to force air into his lungs, the tumor conducting one last attack. Lifeless he lay, the hamster who strove to be a cat and who ate voraciously. The hours leading up to Apollo's burial proved to be distressing, and I refused to take part in the ritual. I could not bury my friend; I hadn't the heart. My dad dug a hole in the yard and lowered Apollo's make-do coffin into the grave. His final resting place. 

I have long since coped with the death of Apollo, but every now and again, I am reminded of the pain of his absence. However, I know, deep down, that my friend has crossed over Rainbow Bridge--a place in heaven reserved for our dearest friends.

Two years later, I rescued a goldfish and took him under my wing. Two days later, he died. The cause? Underoxygenation. Down he went, eyes vacant and bulging, in a swirling tornado of toilet water, navigating the tunnel that will show him Rainbow Bridge.