November 7, 2022 ~ Monday (a difficult day)
Today I said a (very, very) tearful good-bye to my sweet companion of 17 months … Annie.
She came into my life on an extremely hot (for the NW) day in June 2021 as an 11 year old, relinquished, sweet old lady, black lab. Her owner had dementia and she needed rehoming. A friend of mine worked with the local lab rescue and had placed my last lab rescue (Clara) with me a few years back. She knew I was yearning for another.
And so, on that day – the day after I arrived back from Colorado with my 92 year old mom, in the middle of a high 90s heatwave, and 11 dogs on my calendar to be arriving at my home for doggy daycare the next day – I got a call saying there was a dog, and the gal in charge wanted no one but me to have her. How could I refuse?
And so, Annie came home. Home for the next 512 days.
I am so grateful I had her in my life. So thankful the rescue group thought I was worthy. So heartbroken that she is now gone. She was a beautiful big old girl … 90 pounds on a lean day, sleek black fur, a big square head, soulful brown eyes, and the heart of an angel.
Today was Euthanasia Part X for me. She was the tenth pet I’ve put down … and I tell you, it seems like it should get easier each time. But it doesn’t. She was the hardest one yet. I didn’t want to let go of this dear, sweet soul. And yet – I had to.
From the start, Annie fit right in … easy, sweet. She’d wake up from a nap and come find me and plant a big, fat dog kiss on me. Just a little “something” to remind me of her love. She was that way.
She’d lie on the couch with me, head in my lap – asleep … or just looking at me with those beautiful brown eyes. She was a constant companion. Lovely, loyal, loving.
Last fall, she underwent surgery for lipoma removal and dental issues. She came through weary, but intact and happily healed. We went on countless walks down the cliff road … I’d take her to the forest … we’d go up to the top of the meadow where the off leash dog area was … and we’d walk the beach. I loved watching her run into the water. She’d swim about – showing off her mermaid and synchronized swimming skills to all the local walkers and birds. She loved the water. I loved our outings.
She loved people … and she seemed to love other dogs.
But, late last year things changed. Not with people – she still adored everyone, but she’d had enough of other dogs – mainly small ones. Her arthritis was increasing and she didn’t want to have other dogs around her … “fear of pain” is what the vet called it. So, I put up gates and she was relegated to the front of the house … and Bea, my tiny, old chihuahua and other small guest dogs, were kept in the back of the house. She didn’t mind bigger dogs – so, if I had one, they were welcome to hang out with her. It worked out very well.
Before the move this past Spring, I noticed her slowing down … more pain/aging body. So, we up’d her meds and kept an eye on the lipomas which started popping up again. She was a lumpy old gal. Her back legs were wobblier than ever … and I think it was around then that I dubbed her “Baby Walrus” because her movements were like one. She’d flounder around, back legs caving in and I’d lift her up and get her going again. She’d climb into the back seat of my car with relative ease – but when getting out of it, she’d practically fall out like jello plopping out of a mold.
Her body was not cooperating but her loving ways continued. She was always ready to give a kiss or show her pleasure with a body/tail wag. And, boy, did she love her food!
On the second day of our trip from Washington to Denver, she got her front paw wedged under the driver’s seat as she was trying to extricate herself from my tiny Fiat. It was horrible. There we were, at a dusty rest stop in Utah, with people thinking I was beating my dog – both of us crying. I finally managed to push her walrus-like body back into the car and get her paw loose. She limped for a week. I felt AWFUL.
And that leg never really got much better. She favored it. I noticed a lump at her shoulder. Small/I’d keep my eye on it. Was it from the incident? Or, was it something else? Over the next few months, she slowed even more … I thought it was the heat. Cuz, god knows, it was an awfully HOT summer in Denver … the coolest of days here could compare to our warmest island days. We were roasted and I attributed her malaise to the summer heat.
A few weeks ago, she was not moving much. I had to help her stand … help her wiggly old legs hold her body up to go outside/to walk to the back door/to get her down and up the stairs. I used a harness … hoping my back wouldn’t go out before hers. A visit (and xrays) to our vet confirmed back and neck issues (one of the worst backs he’d seen, he told me) … he wondered why she wasn’t paralyzed. But, a bit of prednisone and some careful, slow walking seemed to make things a whole lot better.
Until this weekend.
She had been favoring that right front leg more and more. As I snuggled next to her on the floor on Saturday morning, I was telling her I was going to take her to a chiropractor to align her spine and that she’d feel so much better. My hands massaged her body … flanks, head, legs … and then under her neck and to her shoulders. It was then that I realized that the golfball-sized lump was now about the size of a softball and it was as hard as a rock. NOT good. How had this gone unnoticed? It dawned on me then that we were dealing with something very aggressive for it to grow in size, that much, in the matter of a few weeks.
I cried all day but made the call to have a service come to the home to relieve her of her pain as soon as they were able … I couldn’t let her go on. All weekend I hugged and fed her, petted and talked to her, helped her outside, and kissed her until her lips were chapped (well, practically). I cried my eyes out and second guessed my intentions. Maybe I could do … x,y,z? Maybe this or that? Maybe surgery? Maybe … whatever? Needless to say, it was a rough weekend.
But then, I remembered what I told a good friend when she was facing the end of life for her sweet, little dog. I said that we never regret helping them along too early … but we would always regret helping them along, too late. I needed to heed my own advice. I knew she wasn’t going to get any better and why prolong things? Why put her through pain or any discomfort, knowing that I was just putting off the inevitable? I could tell my sweet baby was uncomfortable … so, I gave her a few extra pain pills here and there … I figured they couldn’t hurt.
This morning I woke to her without use of her legs … she was worse than Bambi on the ice. I got her standing upright, then walked her outside – me straddling her, arms under her tummy, crab-walking along – and then back in. I was glad I made the call. I gave her a hearty breakfast and an hour later a second breakfast. Why not?
The attending vet arrived at 10:30 … and was so sweet, kind, patient, and compassionate. If helping a pet to go forward could be peaceful and beautiful and “good” … it was all of those things. She looked Annie over and thanked me for making this hard decision. She looked at the mass on her shoulder and said she’d seen these before – they start out small and then all of a sudden they are massive (and inoperable). She said my timing was good … as another few days and it could have resulted in a fracture of that leg … or impaired breathing. I was thankful for her reassurance. It made it all a bit easier.
Annie was on her dog bed, snuggled in a purple blanket, with a little pillow under her head. She looked like she was all cozy in a sleeping bag, ready for a nap.
I gave her a million kisses, talked to her, petted her head and legs, fed her chicken and a chocolate cupcake. The sedative took effect after a few minutes. Her breathing was deep and she looked so content and relaxed. The next injection was the lethal dose … and after a few minutes, the doctor told me that Annie’s heart had stopped. She was gone. She left this world peacefully – with crumbs on her lips and knowing she was so very much loved. What more could I ever ask for her – other than more time? And, once it was all over and the vet had left with her, I stood, with a broken heart, in what felt like a too-empty house … and cried my eyes out again.
It’s going to take me a while to rehydrate from all these tears shed … and to have that hole in my heart start to heal. I’ve had plenty of other pets … lovely animals all … but I don’t know what it was about her … but she was a special gal. One of those soul-connectors. I am so thankful I had her in my life. I am so thankful that rescue chose me to care for her. I loved her dearly and completely. She will be sorely missed.
Good-bye, my sweet girl. Good-bye, baby walrus.