For Luma

Today was a day that I had hoped would never come.

After a string of sudden health issues, we made the heart-breaking decision to let Luma go. She gave us 15 wonderful years. A long and happy life, but no amount of time could have ever been enough.

Luma —

Thank you for being the absolute best girl we could ever ask for. Hard to believe that the tiny little girl we first met cowering under a rocking chair would become such a bossy and confident powerhouse that would keep us all in line.

You were so smart, and loving, and protective, and curious, and I can’t think of a single day since we brought you home that you weren’t here by my side.

I still think of all the times that you and I spent together, hanging out downstairs, just you and me.

Maybe you were just hoping that we’d share in a snack, and to be fair, I didn’t often give you a reason to think differently. But even when that wasn’t the case —

— if I was isolating myself to avoid passing on whatever illness I had come down with…
— if I was staying up late to catch up on a show…
— if I was just making a quick trip down the stairs to grab some forgotten item…

Every time, without fail, I’d hear you coming down the stairs, your nails clicking on the hardwood floor as you followed after me. You’d always come to find me, and once you did, you’d lay with me. Never right up next to me — you were never much of a “cuddly” dog. But you were never far away.

It’s hard to think that today would be the last day that I’d have you by my side.

We love you, Luma.

  • I love how clever you were, like how you used to bark to distract your sisters and steal their treats in the commotion.
  • I love that you’d never let us fall off schedule. Like all the times that you (very vocally) let us know that we were staying up a little too far past our normal bedtime, or remind us to give you a treat when you’d come back inside. And sometimes you’d bark just to see if you could trick us into giving you another one. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I just let you think it worked.
  • I love that you helped inspire the name Killer Pom so many years ago, a name that I still use to this day.
  • I love how fiercely protective you were. You’d always try to quiet any chaos that was going on, and you never let your small stature stop you from squaring up to whatever it was that you were facing.
  • I love how you kept up with your younger sisters, even as age set in and your legs started giving you problems.
  • I love how much you loved soft, warm, fluffy bedding. You’d always steal my spot in bed the moment I got up, and our house is filled with far more dog beds than anyone should have. But they were for you, Luma, so you’d always have a comfortable spot to lay close by.

There are so, so many things that I’m going to miss about you, Luma.

  • I miss when you were a puppy, laying in the center of the bed right by our heads, and you’d wake me up in the middle of the night by licking my eyes.
  • I miss how you loved to lick a wet spot on my pillow exactly where I would rest my head.
  • I miss you waking me up at the crack of dawn to take you outside to hunt cicadas.
  • I miss how you’d run to us when the fireworks would scare you. (I, however, do not at all miss how terrified they made you.)
  • I miss how excited you’d get for walks, even though your legs couldn’t take you the full way, and you’d end up being carried in my arms before we made it home.
  • I miss your smelly breath as you’d lick me on the nose.
  • I miss how the grass would stain your fur and give you little Grinchy feet.
  • I even miss how your favorite spot right after grooming was the dirtiest spot you could find. Figures that you were our lightest-colored dog and also the one that most loved dirt.

And that’s not even scratching the surface. So many of my habits and daily routines have you at the heart of them. Our whole bedtime ritual. The kinds of food we buy. The bowls we use to feed you. The way I unconsciously reach for your medicine at specific points throughout the day. The way I walk through the house and peek out of the corner of my eye at all your favorite spots — like if I turned my head fast enough, if the lighting was just right, I still might find you there.

There is so, so much about you that we are going to miss. 

Our Luma-duma. Our Skitter-butt.

You may have only been 6-pounds, but this house feels so much bigger without you in it.

I hope that in a life after this one, you’ve found yourself the softest, fluffiest spot to nestle into. And when I eventually come to join you, I hope to hear you once again barking to greet me before I can even open the door.

We love you, Luma. And we miss you so much. More than you could have ever possibly known.