My Saddest Christmas Memory

It was just a couple of days before Christmas when my baby girl, Chloe, jumped the fence in our back yard and took a little stroll through the neighborhood. Chloe was my two year old standard poodle. I was 11 years old at the time. I loved my baby girl. We used to play fun games such as "Hide the Face," where I would bury my face in my hands, and she would try to lick my nose.

I went out and looked for her everywhere. I ran up and down several streets until I finally spotted her. I called her over, and she finally sauntered over and stared at me from across the street. A car was coming down the road, so I held out my had and told Chloe to stay, but for some unknown reason, she started walking toward me. I began freaking out, and held my other hand up, waving at the car to stop, while continuing to yell to Chloe to stay.

Nothing worked. Everything started moving in slow motion, and then I heard a loud crash. Chloe jumped through the air, but landed on her feet. For a second, I thought she may be alright, until she started wobbling toward me. She never made a sound. She just laid down at my feet, and panted slowly with her tongue sticking out. She looked peaceful.

My parents heard the noise and came out to help. I learned later that there was an argument in the car that struck my baby, before a young man got out of the passenger side to help us. I was too busy worrying, and trying to make my baby comfortable. We all got her ready to go in the car so we could take her to the animal hospital.

On the way to the animal hospital, I kept talking to Chloe, telling her how much I loved her, and caressing her face. She was peaceful the whole time, as her breathing slowed more and more, until there was no more breath. I didn't know how to speak. I finally made a small sound. My mother, sensing my reaction, asked if she was gone. I nodded my head and made another sound, but couldn't get out the word, "yes."

I later learned that the young man had been arguing with his mother about whether he should get out and help. He wanted to help us, but she just wanted to hurry and finish her Christmas shopping. She never did get out of the car.

A few weeks later, I saw that same young man again. He was walking past our house with a friend, and began telling him about what happened, and that the dog had survived, and what a miracle it was. I was saddened to remember what happened, but I never said anything. I thought it was actually nice to think that, from his perspective, Chloe had survived, and it was a Christmas miracle.

I will always remember Chloe and, in a sense, her whole life and what she contributed to my life was a miracle. She had been very sick when she was first born, so it was really a miracle that she could be with us at all. RIP in doggy heaven, sweet Chloe, I love you.