Memories of a Dying Dog.

It was 9:00pm on February 2009, when I took Rocco outside, as it became routine for every night of the past 3 weeks. He suffled each paw forward, taking in air short and suddenly for each breath. He idled in the middle of the pavement, his ankles shaking heavily, his head lowered and his back arched; he was so exhausted.
Only a minute passed when he almost collapsed to the ground as his ankles could no longer bare the weight.

The rottweiler continued his heavy breathing. There I stood awkwardly a metre behind him. A short blonde girl, in a plain t-shirt and jeans. My knees shook nervously as they always had the past three weeks. I took in a deep breath and pushed my feet forward, one by one, walking beside him before coming level with his head, and joining him on the floor. The wind was crisp and cold, but it was a nice cold. As child of owner and pet, brother and sister, we both enjoyed each others' company in the cool state of weather.

I finally lifted my head and placed it upon his head, petting him slowly. I shortly realised an odd feeling in the back of his head. A lump. Another one.
I felt down his back, feeling another just below the middle of his spine.
My chest tightened, I could tears rolling down my face. I wipped my nose on my sleeve, and threw my head to my knees and wrapped my weakening arms as tightly as I could around my legs. And I cried. Only 24 hours ago I had also been crying in physical pain; but this was a different kind of pain. I could feel my own heart ripping in two, the irregular heart beat making me choke. I knew so well that this day would come, but it didn't feel like it was real. Not at all. The dream I had of him dying the night before had felt way more real than this.
The knowledge that he was going to die.
It was just like how my grandad was gravely ill exactly a year ago; and he had died the following day on March 1st. I couldn't come to terms that it was really happening. All I could think of was I was going to see him again. That was exactly a year ago, tomorrow morning.

I felt weight on my foot. Rocco's head. He was laying there, looking up at me. I had words echo in my mind, in a voice I recognised all too well.
"Please don't cry."
I smiled at him. Even though he was dying, he was happy. Only his body was wearing away; his mind was still sharp. It was the things we would do with him around the house that really made him brighten up. You always know someone loves you, when even in their dying days will thank you for your kindness to them and give you warmth and love in return.
It made me happy, knowing that even though he was in pain, he was actually happy.

So there we sat together, for at least an hour. I needed to be alone, but I needed to be with him. I started singing; because I had been crying, it sounded horrible- but it was funny. I laughed.
"'Cause you were amazing. We were amazing things. And I wouldn't change it, 'cause we were amazing things."
In the eight years that we had him, it felt like he was going to live forever. I remember the first day we met, I was sitting with you in the back of the car, while you were standing in your cage, it was large enough that I could fit into it too, so I found out soon after. I remember how we welcomed you to our home. I remember how you used to lay in front of our closed doors, slipping you tounge underneath it, for whatever reason it was for. I remember how you used to sleep outside my room at night, and kept me awake with your snoring for weeks. I remember how I used to have frequent nightmares, and waking up in a cold sweat listening out for your loud snores to be reassured our guard dog was there to make me feel safe, and how I would fall back to sleep to that noise. I remember how you used to throw up in blind spots, and I used to slip over in it when running through the house. I remember watching my dad pick you up and place you on the scales in the vet to make sure you we at the right weight. I remember the problems you had with you ankles as a puppy for jumping off the furniture. I remember the olive green collar you wore, which you quickly out-grew. I remember sitting in the car with you next to me when we left on the long road trip to broome, leaving our home in Roebourne. Back then, you were my baby brother. At times you loved me, at times you hated me, I was the same. But we still loved each other.
I was 8 when you turned 2. You were already at your full size, only a year ago had your head been the same size as mine. Now you were as big as you were gonna get, you head almost twice the size of mine. But you were still my little brother. I remember when you pushed me off the couch every day. I remember when you added to my dad's game to fool us, which we all laughed at. I remember when I fell off the hammock and landed on you. I remember how you used to sleep below me and Jacob's bunkbed, and still snored in your sleep. I remember being welcomed by you at the gate every day after taking the long bus ride after school. I remember teasing you with my mother for having a 'crush' on Jabba, the blue healer who lived at the Roebuck Roadhouse. I remember walking you through the bush and truckyard that was behind our house. I remember how you chewed up my favourite pokemon toy. I remember making sure you never got a hold of my toys ever again.
Then we moved again. I was 8 and you were 3. I was still growing, but I hadn't caught up with you. I remember how you slept on my bed one night, snoring louder than ever before, and you actually kept me awake. I remember having my friends coming over, and being scared of you. I remember walking you proudly down the streets, people looked at us differently. A short chubby blonde girl, pulling along a massive rottweiler. It was a sight to behold.
I remember how I changed as the years passed. I got taller still, while you stayed the same.
For a few years, we thought you were a pain in the ass. I quote my father;
"It only took Saffra to come along, to prove how well-behaved Rocco really is."
That was back in November, not too long before your 8th year in our lives. We knew you were getting old by then, but we thought there was still a few years left in you.
In early December, two days before your birthday, it was confirmed you had tumours. It shook me to the bone, only being 2 weeks before my birthday. We didn't know how much longer we would have you for, which scared me.
I had almost grown up with you; from my hometown to that day, you had always been there. I remember how much I cried that day, how I wished I could have been home with you. My little brother was now titled as 'dying'.
It had been awkward for me, the last two weeks of school. I constantly cried about you. I even remember staring out on that boat on my River Cruise, thinking about you.
Almost 3 months later, your coming has come. And I will always remember this day, and the remanding of our days to come...

[I got confused with remembering the ages really.]
In the end Rocco made the decision to go inside. I felt a lot better that he made the dicision, not me.
I'll cherish our memories. Until the day I'll know how it feels, to Take Your Last Breath as a Dying Dog.
I love you Rocco, and I hope we made your life something beautiful.