in memory of a friend

It's late. Usually I would wait to write until tomorrow, but this is too important. If I wait, I'll get it wrong. This I have to share while the tears are still fresh in my eyes.

Tonight I finished my book club book (told you I was old!) The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. The book is based in Seattle and seemed like a perfect pit for our club, entitled the Alleged Book Club...because really we're there for the company, the food (catered!), and the champagne! The never-ending train of champagne! I digress....
The book is told from the perspective of the man's dog - Enzo. He is a philosophical canine whose eloquence for all things racing held my attention into the wee hours of the morning. See his owner, Denny, is a race car driver who suffers an insufferable tragedy. Partly at the hands of lawyers. But this post isn't necessarily about Denny and Enzo. This post is about Lindsey, Ian, and Brandy.
She was my best friend (oh no...here come the tears again). As a child, I was the loud one. the attention getter. the annoying kid who wouldn't shut up. But for all of the attention that I got from my behavior, I had very few friends. I had Karina Pickett and Danielle Smart. And then Stephenie Blair. I'm sure I had more than I thought I did. But as a perfectionist, I wanted everyone to like me. Naturally I failed. I had friends. But there was no one, NO ONE, like Brandy. My beautiful red-tinted golden retriever with endless patience for the child with too much energy. She would lay with me when I was tired. Hell, she would let me lay on her when I was tired! She never got tired of my games, my outfits, and my tent/forts in the wreck-room. With her big, only-goldens-have-it smile, she was my shadow. Mom and Dad got her for Ian and I when I was four and he was 6. She was with us until I was 17.
I can remember how excited I got when it was my turn to have her sleep in my room. Ian and I took turns. As the quite child, I'm sure Brandy preferred Ian's organized living. But I like to think that she enjoyed my chaos every other night. See, I've always been a night owl. After Mom and dad would tuck me in, the real fun would begin! Brandy and I would play with my American Girl dolls. Making up stories that always included us as the main characters. duh. (not much as changed eh?) When I finally tuckered us both out, We'd pass out on my twin bed: me under the pink comforter Mom made me; Brandy on top of the covers. As the night progressed, my sleeping space would slowly and methodically be invaded by Brandy's warm body, until finally she had taken over the entire bed and I waved the white flag of defeat. I wish Mom had counted all of the times she discovered me asleep on my floor covered only by my white baby blanket (which is currently draped around my shoulders as I type this). It was bliss and I couldn't be happier.
Through the loneliness, there was brandy.
Through the confusion and hurt I experienced from moving houses (like...3 blocks), there was Brandy.
Through my "grueling" 3 mile runs, there was Brandy.
Through the ecstasy of my first boyfriend and finally fitting in at school, there was Brandy.
For the good and the (significantly less frequent but significantly more important) bad - I had a friend.

It broke my heart when she could no longer race around with Ian and I. Ian was stronger than I. He buried her next to our garden with her leash and her tennis ball on the day of his high school graduation. Even my "if you have to cry go outside" Dad (who's really the biggest teddy bear of us all) cried. She was my best friend.
I still miss her. And I'm still crying. Enzo said that when a dog is done with it's "dogginess" it comes back as a human. I hope someday I'll get to shake her hand: female to female, and tell her how much it meant to me that she listened to all my problems. That just being with me when I needed her the most, meant the most.
aaannnddd.....now I'm crying more. I really hope my face isn't all puffy in the morning. That really ruins even the best outfit. Tomorrow I'm wearing my pink dress. (again, not much has changed).