Being the eternal worrier that I am, I had some fears before I left to go abroad. What if something terrible happened back in the United States? Would I be able to come home, or would I have to deal with the situation from thousands of miles away?
Until several days ago, I handled my worries fairly well. I call home every day or so to check in, and try my best to keep up with close friends. But the other day, something terrible did happen. While to most it won't seem to be an extremely big deal, it has left me feeling sad and left out.
Yesterday my dog Molly was put to sleep. While my family was on vacation, Molly suffered from kidney failure. The veterinarian put her on an IV and waited for my family to come home before telling them the bad news. After consulting with the vet, my parents made the only decision that they could: to put my dog down.
I got Molly for my eighth birthday. I wanted a dog for awhile, and on my birthday my parents took me to the Humane Society to pick out a dog. Molly had been given up several weeks before, and shortly after being dropped off at the Humane Society had given birth to puppies. People had eagerly snatched up most of her puppies, but Molly remained in the shelter. For some reason, she stood out to me more than other dogs, so I chose to take her home, saving her from becoming another un-adopted Humane Society reject.
Molly liked to wear purple bandanas and go for walks around my neighborhood. She was some kind of mutt, but my family and I could never pinpoint her exact origins. I think she had some collie and husky in her white and tan fur. Her pointed ears always perked up when I mentioned the word "cookie" and threw her a dog biscuit, which she would then catch in her mouth.
Although we never could figure out her exact age, my family and I estimated Molly to be about two when we adopted her. We considered her birthday to be the same as mine, since she was adopted on June 30, so this past June marked her 14th birthday. As I went off to college, eager for the future ahead of me, Molly began to lose her hearing and stopped liking to take long walks.
When I left for Italy, the thought of coming home to her empty dog bed crossed my mind, but I quickly pushed it out of my mind. I still expected her to be waiting for me in the garage as I got home from the airport. But now I know that she won't be there.
I know that what I've just written isn't about being abroad in Rome, but more about not being at home while I'm here. I feel guilty that I wasn't there to be with Molly in her final moments, but I know that it doesn't really matter. When I decided to come here, I knew that I had to take into account the fact that something like this could happen. It's an important thing to realize before leaving to go abroad, but it's something that everyone must think about.
