#hamsterthoughts

So this wednesday my parents had to let our oldest dog go to sleep. She was so tired. Apparently the veterinarians called her a miracle dog, because she almost made it to 15, which is very old.

I remember the day my parents brought her home. I was around 6 or 7. We had never had a dog before, only birds, and had spoken about getting one for ages. Finally we would have one. 

She was younger than expected. The owner said she was 4 but she was really only 2. She had so much energy, running around her new home, checking out every little corner. It was adorable. 

We always forgot her name in the beginning, because Ghanda isn’t exaclty that common, so we would call her Ghandi or Gandalf instead. 

Eventually we realized she needed a friend, so we got her one. Her name was Smulan, a very scared and thin dog. We don’t know what had happened to her, but it couldn’t have been good.She did like Ghanda though, and after a while she wasn’t as skinny and was also running around, still scared of strangers but not as much. 

So now we had two that were close in age, still young and lively. We moved to a bigger place and found another dog that needed a home, so we took her in. Her name was Isa, and she would sometimes get into arguments with the others, because she was so damn jelous, but they still liked eachother. A small family of three, Ghanda being the leader.

But then one day, shortly after we had moved again, Smulan suddenly got sick. We were told that it would pass, that it was only her stomach not feeling well and that’s why she could barely walk and didn’t want to eat. But that night when we went to sleep, she didn’t wake up again. 

Now there was only Ghanda and Isa. Ghanda was getting old by now, and we didn’t expect her to live longer than a couple of more years, so we decided to bring home a younger dog so that Isa wouldn’t end up alone. She was 2 and her name is Nova.

But again, horrible things can happen without any warnings. I went downstairs one day to get some water, and Isa was laying on the floor barely breathing. Mom was trying to get a hold of a veterinarian and my sister dissappeared outside, not wanting to see (which I get. It was difficult seeing her like that). I stayed though, sat down where she was laying and tried to calm her down, while also telling myself not to panic. That it would be different this stime. This wasn’t Smulan. It wouldn’t happen again. 

I followed my mother to another town to get her to a veterinarian. She stopped breathing in the waiting room.

Now we had Ghanda and Nova left. A lively puppy and an old grandma. 

You could tell that both of them changed. Ghanda lost her last friend from the old days, and Nova always followed Isa around, sleeping beside her under the stairs, almost laying on top of her. So we had to get her a friend.

Her name is Hallon. Barely 2 years old and has more energy than all our previous dogs together. 

But it was different this time. Hallon would follow Nova and pretty much ignore Ghanda. We always saw Ghanda as the leader in the group but now when she was so old, Nova seemed to have taken her place.

She was still so strong though. So damn strong. She would get up and down the stairs even though her back legs were shaking. She would jump onto the couch and always come jogging everytime someone came home, just as happy as in her early days. Sometimes she was sleeping, but as soon as she noticed you had come home she would get up. 

Even on long walks she carried on, never stopping even though she was tired, because she loved walking, exploring. 

But even though her will was unbreakable, her body couldn’t keep up for that much longer. So, the day had to come eventually. 

Her death wasn’t a surprise. I said goodbye before I left because I knew I wouldn’t see her again. But it was nice knowing for once, not waking up in chock because a seemingly healthy dog had passed. I’m more relieved that she got to live a full life unlike the others.

She was our first dog. I love her with all my heart and she will always be special. Our strong little Ghanda, stubborn and smart. I’m so glad you lived for so long, but I have always felt that if someone would get that old, it would be you, because you have always been like that, carrying on even when you’re tired. You stayed strong till the very end.

But I also remember apologizing, a lot. After each chapter I would write a small comment, about how I hoped that people would like it and that critique was very welcome. But I would apologize. Apologize for “the shittiness”, for it being “too short”, for it not “being good”. As if it was in my power to suddenly make it all perfect and without flaws? 

I would apologize for simply making something, for not being good enough. 

At one point when I was writing one of these parts I kinda...stopped. I looked at the apology and suddenly realized that it had no meaning there; it was just an empty word in this context. I asked myself “what am I apologizing for?” 

I now believe that I wanted to make sure that people knew that I didn’t think my writing was perfect, and that I could see the flaws. I didn’t want them to think that I thought I was good, because thinking you’re good at something “is arrogant”, and coming off as arrogant was...is my biggest fear. 

My “sorry” wasn’t an apology. I wrote it to push myself down, to make sure that I didn’t believe too much in myself and what I had made. Because I had to make sure that I didn’t go blind, get arrogant. 

"I’m not supposed to think that I’m good enough, and I have to apologize for it.” 

This is only something I’ve realized recently though. Back then I just questioned it, and I realized that what I was doing only had a negative impact on myself. I wanted to like what I made, I wanted to be able to like what I made. The empty apology was standing in the way, and while the thought of actually enjoying what I made still scared me, I wanted to take a small step towards it. 

So I stopped. I deleted the apology. 

I can’t remember if I ever did it again, I wouldn’t be surprised if that is the case, but it isn’t common. Of course such a small thing had no huge impact on me and how I look at my work. It might actually seem very insignificant to you. But it has stayed with me since that moment, for all these years, and I’m happy I took that step. 

Why would I apologize for simply trying? For making something? Unless someone is hurt by it and comes to me, there’s no reason for me to say that I’m sorry. 

Because I’m not sorry for not making perfect things. I’m not sorry for the flaws in my work.