I am almost 50 years old, but I still feel like a little girl inside. My husband and I have been in love for 20 years now. I know it’s not a very popular choice, but we have decided to walk the path of our lives alone, without children. Probably some circumstances have influenced us, such as being in different cities, work reasons, etc. But we never regretted it, and we never looked back. Thanks to this “state of freedom,” we have been able to seize many opportunities that life has offered us so far. Even right now, I am sitting at my desk in a building on the 41st floor, in the center of Manhattan, facing a breathtaking view.
We arrived in New York City a year ago. Wow, what a great experience! I love this city, even its noises. It surprises me every day, for every time I think I know it all, I discover something new. Since I was a child, however, I have had another great dream. Until recently, there hadn’t been the time or the right place to make it happen. In Italy, I worked a lot and never had time to devote to this “dream.” But in Manhattan, I could because I don’t work now, as my husband brings home the bacon.
Just a month after our arrival, I was holding a very tender poodle puppy, Joy. We didn’t think much about giving her that name, but it represented our mood. I will never forget the thrill of holding her for the first time or the day we went to pick her up to take her home. Everything was ready before she arrived: bed, toys, poop bags, food. I felt like an expectant mom!
I confess that at the beginning it was not easy. I felt inadequate because she didn’t like the food I gave her. She bit everything, even our hands and feet. Sometimes I was even afraid she would hurt me. Yet, she was so small! She peed everywhere and disturbed our everyday routine, even when I worked out at home. Little by little, things changed. She didn’t bite anymore, and she wanted lots of pampering. She loved the food I made for her at home and had learned to pee just on the mats. She was so smart and so cute! I carried her with me everywhere, in a small bag. We saw many places together, and I protected her from the wind, rain, and snow.
It had become my reason for living with my husband in New York, as she was part of my family. At night, she would fall asleep on our bed, and I was even jealous if she slept on my husband’s head. I wanted to feel her close to me. She was my first thought in the morning and my last thought in the evening. Just like love. I loved her so much. She was my first and only bestie, too.
It had been six wonderful, unforgettable months. At some point, however, something was wrong. She was different, she didn’t want to go out, and she hid under the sofa. Often in the morning, she vomited and refused the food she loved so much.
The umpteenth time at the vet, the usual checkup: This time, however, she didn’t go home immediately. She stayed to get exams. The innocent therapy began. Nothing serious, so they said. But my heart was starting to tremble. I didn’t understand everything they said to me, due to anxiety and my language problems. I waited for her after the therapies, and I went to church to pray.
After three days, they told me we had to take her to the hospital. Her condition didn’t improve, and her kidneys didn’t work. The world collapsed on me. I was desperate, and I didn’t understand why this had happened to me. I just wanted my Joy. I needed her.
The days in the hospital were the worst. In the evenings, she no longer slept with us. We could only see her once a day. I have never cried and prayed so much in my life. I was looking forward to seeing her, but then I tormented myself because she was increasingly thin, sad, and suffering. They gave me no hope, and I felt in my heart she was leaving us.
In the end was the final verdict. She had been sick from birth, we couldn’t help her, and nobody could save her. My husband and I had to do the most painful thing. We were with her in that room when they sweetly put her to sleep. We looked each other in the eyes one last time. I promised her that she would stay in my heart forever. She was just a puppy, my puppy.
I am proud of myself because, despite the many tears that flowed down my face, I was able to finish this story.
Surely you are wondering whether I have adopted or will adopt another little dog. I don’t think so. Before Joy, we were not so aware. Adopting a dog is not that different from adopting a child. Anyone who has a cat or dog can understand me very well. So, no children, and no dogs!
Throughout my life, I have known pain in many forms, but that loss was different. It hurt me close to the heart, and the lump in my throat has never gone away. How many times, during the night, have we been awake because she couldn’t sleep? I held her in my arms, and for hours we looked out the window. Today I often stand and stare at the view. I know she is there somewhere, looking at me. I smile, and I feel happy.
Michela Taddeo, a native of Milan, Italy, is 47 years old. She came to the U.S. in 2020 with her husband. She spent 15 years in the insurance banking sector. She works out every day—goes to the gym, does pilates and yoga. She loves reading books, cooking, traveling, and shopping. A student at the New York Public Library’s Stavros Niarchos Foundation branch, Michela Taddeo’s teacher is Sandra Ham.