But of course

She was the last one left. We hadn't wanted to get a Dachshund--Gary said a German Shepherd was a dog, a Dachshund was a type of rat--but we had come already decided we'd be taking home one of the rescue dogs, so we did.

This dog was one of the rescues from the Jersey flood. They told us she'd been found on top of a snag of trees in the middle of Ketchum, one of the towns that was inundated. Her owners had never come forward. It was hard to believe--she was about as cute as a button, with little brown "eyebrows" that always looked worried, and tiny ears. At the shelter they said they thought she was less than a year old, and would get a little bigger, but I was hoping she was a miniature Dachshund and was always going to stay so tiny. Small enough to ride in my backpack as I biked around the park.

We named her Daisy. That fall, Gary lost his job, and I first started experiencing the grinding exhaustion that would be diagnosed 2 years later as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I missed a lot of work, and Gary was home when he wasn't at the library. We fought a lot. One of my clearest memories of that time was of Daisy sitting between us looking back and forth at us, her tiny eyebrows giving her the most fretful, vigilant expression.

I wish I could say that she became my comfort during those long months when Gary moved out and then we split entirely just as I was becoming unable to work. But by then, Daisy was gone. It was the oddest thing. I had been worrying about everything--about Gary, about how I was going to support myself, about how I was going to take care of the dog when I didn't even have the strength or energy to take her for a walk most days. And one day I let her out into the yard, and she never came back to scratch at the door. And I, God forgive me, didn't even notice until she'd already been gone for over 24 hours.

I don't know what I could have done. I suppose if my neighbor and I had gone out driving around the neighborhood sooner we might have found her, but I have to wonder if Daisy knew what she was doing. If leaving was her way of trying to help me.

When I thought of that I thought of her, alone, on that snag of trees surrounded by flood waters and how her owners never claimed her, this cute little thing. I wonder if she'd left them in order to make their lives easier, too, somehow. Of course I miss her and her funny little expressions. But of course I was relieved, too, when I realized she wasn't coming back.

Googled "She was the last one left" and went off this picture.