Goodbye sweet little Timer dog.

Timer died on Friday. Timer was my thirteen year-old beagle that I loved immensely. Her dad, Lucky, was the state field trial champion from Pennsylvania, and her mom, Tinkerbell, was the state dog show champ. I'm sure they're both gone by now too. Long gone. They say it's a sign of an exceptional beagle pup when its ears stretch all the way around its nose. Timer's overlapped by at least an inch. She was a petite little beagle, never got fat like most beagles do. She stayed fit and spry right up until the end, at least until the last couple of months of her life. She went downhill fast, perhaps the result of a short bout with cancer this year, perhaps due to organ failure. Whatever her ailment, she couldn't beat it and it became too painful for my mom to watch.

My mom called me tonight to tell me, and as soon as she let the words out of her mouth she started choking on them, crying hysterically, saying "I've never cried so much in my life." My mom put her to sleep because she was having trouble standing up, she was totally deaf, and she was completely incontinent, and my mom could tell that she was in pain. The vet said it would be the best thing to do. I already cried a lot when I said goodbye to Timer before my mom drove me to the airport for my flight to Cairo, so when my mom told me on the phone today I just felt numb. I had been expecting it—but still, I think it just hasn't hit me yet.

God I loved that dog. Sometimes I loved her more than anyone else in my family—don't be hurt by that comment if you're reading this, sisters, it's just that she was a really special dog. She was always there, always happy, and always excited to see me. I hope she's happy in dog heaven. I bet she's eating a lot of cookies and running free as fast and as far as she can go, sniffing everything in sight and loving the fact that she doesn't have to wear a collar or get electrocuted all of the time. I just wish I could chase her around the yard one more time, and watch her leap toward me with her teeth bared, one paw raised to strike, totally faking it, because she didn't have a violent bone in her body, and then she would cock her head to one side, anticipating my next move, just for a split-second, and then she'd take off into the next room, sliding on her paws on the wood floor, trying to take the turn too fast, but escaping all the same. But she would always come back, and the second I made the overture of peace, a change of facial expression, softening around the eyes, a gentle "come here girl," rubbing the floor with my hand where I wanted her to come and roll over, she'd be there, sucking up the attention, soaking in the love, belly bared to the ceiling, loving the dog's life, loving me.

How I'll miss those satin ears, cocked in curiosity, always on the verge of bounding away, or bounding into my arms.