"Oh, Mulan! Mu?" I cried. I then yanked my suitcase up onto the kitchen floor. Suddenly, a black and white ball of fluff slowly prodded up to me.
"Mu face!" I shouted with glee, happy to see my puppy after that long, one week vacation at Disney World. It was fun, riding all of the roller coasters, and going to Bush Gardens and so many other places. But I missed my little Shih-Tzu.
I then nervously glanced at her food and water bowl. Full. I shuddered. My sister Lizz had volunteered to watch her while my family was gone, but the day before, she said that Mulan wasn't eating. I then thought, "No... don't tell me that she's sick again!" By again, I mean that five months earlier, in March, I was happily playing with Mulan. Then, my Mom came home, and I brought her outside. In a split second, there was smelly, brown puke near my foot. My heart skipped a beat.
"M-Mommy! M-Mulan's throwing up!"
I was crying. She quickly told me to call the Grove City veterinary hospital. So, I did. I was crying, but the woman that answered told me to calm down, and to bring her in. Quick. She was left at the hospital. I was so afraid. But the next day, when I got home, she was in the living room, waiting for me.
But, now, I had to worry once more. Not good for a girl about ready to start a new school year. So, I waited for a couple days, and when finally I couldn't take it anymore, I asked my Mom to take her to the hospital.
Mulan had lost the energy she once had. Before, she was so happy and chipper. Now, there she lay, on my lap-cold, sad, and sick.
They admitted her in, and I held her, while my Mom called my Dad to tell him where we were. Again. My nephew Lucas sat by the fish tank, playing with animal shaped blocks. The vet took her a while later, and I sat there. A lady with a huge Labradoodle looked at me, and smiled. Her dog had a cone around his neck.
"What's the matter? Your puppy sick, too?" I nodded. "Don't worry. The doctor's know how to heal a doggy," she reassured, and left after paying her bill. Those words cheered me up for a bit, giving me small hope-again. The mysterious cats that roamed around the lobby did, too. They would look at me, rub their heads on my leg, and stride back to their room.
The woman at the front desk gave me a funny smile, and said nervously, "I think that he just claimed you as his territory."
My eyes widened, and she laughed. My Dad arrived a few minutes later, and then Mulan's vet called us in.
"Hello." she said. "I see that Mulan was here before, correct?"
"Correct," my nephew replied. I nudged him. "Ow."
"It seems like Mulan was diagnosed with kidney failure last time, huh?" We nodded. "M-hm. Well..." she began to tell my parents scientific things. I was then asked, "Do you want to put her to sleep?"
"What?!" I cried.
"I'm sorry, but she is really sick. She could die in her sleep, or even while she's awake." I hung my head.
"Do you want her to suffer?" my Dad asked. I looked at him.
"I'll come back in a bit to get your decision," and with that, she shuffled away.
I gave Mulan a sad look. Her eyes were dull-not bright like the time I first got her. I stroked her back. Her fur was damp and matted. I then gently rested my head on her warm body. Her tiny little breaths got faint, and tears came to my eyes. I looked up at my Mom and Dad. Lucas petted Mulan. They were all crying-except my Dad. That made me mad.
"Why aren't you crying?! Don't you care that we'll have to put her to sleep?" I cried out.
"I'm sad. Don't say it as if I'm not. I love her, too." My Dad replied gruffly.
"Then why aren't you crying?" I asked, wiping my burning eyes. He didn't answer. The vet came back in, and looked at us.
"Have you decided to…"
"Yes," my Mom nodded.
"Okay, I'm going to go get the drug."
I kissed Mulan. She looked at me. Her eyes seemed like they were saying: Thank you. I don't need to suffer anymore. I love you! I'll visit you every day. Bye bye, Mommy.
Tears came once again. "I love you too, Mulan!" I whispered. I gently hugged her. We said our final good-byes. As soon as the drug was injected-she parted away. I swore that I saw her angel wave good-bye, and zoom through the ceiling to Heaven.
My Mom turned to me. "She left as soon as the needle went into her."
The vet turned to me. "Honey," she began. I looked up. "Would you like a clay paw print to have? And a fur clipping?" I nodded really fast. She smiled. Then, she asked my parents if we'd like to bury the body, or cremate it.
"Bury," my Mom said, ignoring my Dad's wishes to cremate her. On the way home, I called Lizz, to break the news.
"What?!" she shouted into the phone. Later, she called her boyfriend, John, who lived across the street, to help my Dad dig a hole in the back. I gathered up things to lie in the box. A silky doll blanket, one of her t-shirts (which was just a pink Build-a-Bear shirt, with Hot Puppy written in green highlighter. I had written that, which made relatives laugh.), and jasmine flowers. Her body was cold. We said our prayers, and John and my Dad tossed the dirt back on. I was sad. I cried myself to sleep. She died: Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. We bought her a tombstone, and decorated her grave with two statues of a kid and a dog, bells, and flowers that bloomed the next spring.
A week after the death, the Westside Animal Clinic in Columbus sent me a card, with the poem of the Rainbow Bridge. The vets signed their names. They probably did this for every death of a patient, but I felt special. Reading that poem made me smile, having high hopes. I knew that when I get old, and fragile, I would pass. I would meet Mulan again- along with many more dogs to come. Another death that happened recently, was of my cousin's Pomeranian, Shadow. He died at the age of twelve or thirteen. Soon, my precious mutt Princess will pass, too. And, six more Shih-Tzu's-Jazzmin, Zander, and their four puppies Poe, Zeuss, Lucky, and Bella. All of them living in Ohio. So, hey, when I die, I'll be greeted by not one, not two, but nine (and probably more) friendly licks.
What did Mulan teach me? Well, she taught me a lot. She taught me to always look on the bright side of things, to smile even through the toughest times. The most important lesson, though, was to have hope. I had hope that she would make it through the first time she got sick. I hope that I will become a veterinarian one day, and treat more furry (and scaly) friends. But my biggest hope of all-to play with that furry ball of fluff once more. I'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge, Mulan!