A Life in Eight Months

By Hannah Treece

Eight months.

I guess in the grand scheme of things, eight months really isn’t that long. If you live to be 70 years old, you’ve gone through 840 months. But eight months was all it took for you to leave a lasting impression on my life.

June, we adopted you because you were the runt of the litter, the tiniest of all your brothers and sisters, and also the sweetest. You just lay down on my lap at the Humane Society and stayed snuggled up the whole ride home.

July, the runt temperament didn’t last too long. As soon as you warmed up to us and realized you were home for good, your inner craziness came out. There wasn’t a person or thing in sight that didn’t feel the wrath of your puppy teeth. Furniture gone, shoes destroyed, even a little blood (mine) drawn. And yet, we were all obsessed, you were the cutest little fur ball there ever was.

August, we knew the summer was coming to an end, which meant I had to leave you to get back to school; it was the hardest goodbye I’ve said yet in my four years. It’s only a 2-hour drive, but not having you in my lap every morning as I did quiet time, or not having you to trip me up on our runs was hard.

September, Mom sent me a picture of you standing where we would sit every morning, looking around for me. So naturally I found the solution of every millennial, I made you an Instagram account. I badgered Mom daily to send me adorable pictures of your crazy adventures to post for all 17 of your followers to see.

October, I got to go home for fall break, a whole weekend of snuggles and selfies. You had gotten so big, and frankly a little weird looking. You were a cross between Dobby the house elf and a Pterodactyl, and I had never seen a cuter dog. We went apple picking and you ate an apple, and my hand holding the apple, and I couldn’t even be mad because you looked were so happy

November, Thanksgiving came. It was your new favorite holiday because you were snuck human food all day. Your ambitiously athletic owners also forced you on a 10-mile hike; you’ve never been more exhausted. That picture was your first double-digit likes on Instagram, a real milestone even if you had no clue.

December, all of the family and friends are back, and you could not have been happier. On Christmas morning, you got your own stocking and presents, but you liked the wrapping paper and bows far more than the $15 raw hide we got you.

January, you got more out of breath than normal playing at the dog park one day, and by the time the night rolled around you were so short of breath you couldn’t even lie down. The emergency vet said you had congestive heart disease, but you came home a few days later so full of energy, no one would ever know you were sick.

One week ago. I was walking out of class; my phone rang, it was Dad calling, and I just knew.

Dany, you were the most loving, energetic and joyful dog I’ve ever known. My heart still aches at the loss of you; you deserved years and only got months. But those eight months were all it took for you to have a lasting impression on my life.

Eight months.

Treece is a broadcast journalism senior