Zizi was a pure-bred Shih Tzu and my parents bought him for me when I was about 16 months old. My mom always says he was small enough to fit in her hand when she bought him and was so cute, she knew she just had to get him and even borrowed money from my Aunt to do it. Because she helped pay for him, my Aunt named him Azizi, which means "precious" in Ibo. But we just called him Zi or Zizi.
I was too young to remember, but when she first brought him home, I didn't understand he was a little living thing. I accidentally squeezed him a little hard, but after I learned how to play with him, I never stopped.
I had my dog my entire life until now. When my parents divorced, when we moved out of the house I grew up in, when my grandmother died, Zizi was always like a rock for me and could comfort me even if I were otherwise inconsolable. He was never trained and always had free run of the house. He practically lived like a temple dog, which is what Shih Tzu's were bred for.
He liked Pepsi, though he only had it twice by accident. Anytime someone opened a can, he'd beg for it.
When no one else would deal with the little brat, I would, because I am one myself. When my grandmother died, Zizi (who was also attached to her) started sleeping in my room because we both needed the extra comfort. He liked to lick people and would do it incessantly. He liked to have his belly rubbed all the time and would roll on his side the moment someone showed any interest in him.
My freshman year of high school, possibly the worst year of my life, was bearable because I had my dog with me. The thought that no matter what happened, ZIzi would still be there for me, kept me from true isolation and depression that year and made my life better every year afterwards.
Zizi died at the vet's office while I was away in Arizona. He was about 16 years old, and I had been expecting his death but it still caught me off-guard completely. We were raised together, so I don't remember any point in my life until now where I didn't have my dog with me. I was his main caretaker, he slept in my bed, I fed him, and walked him. Aside from my mom, who occasionally offers her sympapthy, nobody else in the house seems to notice or care that he's gone, but I've been coming home after school and crying for nearly two weeks.
I don't like being around people with dogs anymore. I stopped talking to one of my friends because she's always playing with her three dogs when I call her. I'm feeling burned-out all the time, though I can never fall asleep, and I can't concentrate on my school work.
I had always wanted to be there when he went, and I suppose that's what keeps me up at night. I knew I'd cry, but I never really expected it to be this bad. I miss my little boy, he loved everyone, but as equals in his little kingdom, not as "masters" or "owners." He knew I was not the greatest person ever, but still loved me. I loved him back and the hardest thing in the world to get used to life without him.
