I was visiting my Aunt Martha a few days ago, and was struck by how beautiful she and her cat, Black Kitty are together. 
My girl is now three weeks gone. My eyes tear up and my nose stings as I write that. But my tears are now more easily controlled. I miss her with an ache in my heart. But the exhaustion of standing upright has lessened. I’ve started to make plans on ways to remember her. I’ve made a change to her Dogster page. Friends continue to send condolence cards as the news spreads, and each new one brings on my tears–but it’s more like leaky eyes instead of a sobbing waterworks. Small steps.
I have not had an uninterrupted night’s sleep in four weeks. Her bed is still at the foot of my bed, the imprint from her body from that last night still there. Saying “Goodnight pup” has become a part of our bedtime ritual.
We realized tonight that we need to sweep the kitchen more–there’s no pooch to “vacuum” up the crumbs from under the table after we’ve eaten.
My heart continues to ache, but the ache is starting to get a little numb around the edges. Small steps.
Janet and Elmo (Elmo is the one in the patriotic bandana)
Janet is an old friend of mine. She helps consumers, retail customers, breeders, and Veterinarians on our toll-free phone lines. She’s been with Pet Care for over 9 years.
1. What pets share your life?
My husband and I have one child, a furry one named Elmo. We sometimes refer to him as Elmo The Wonder Dog. He is a 7-year old, 65-pound, English Springer Spaniel. My husband has taught him many tricks and he is always willing to do them at our request, as long as he sees a treat in my husband’s hand.
2. What is your pet’s funniest habit?
Elmo doesn’t care to get baths. (Yes, I know, he is a water spaniel). When he hears us say the word stinky or bath in conversation, he knows bath time is going to happen again in the near future. He then wants us to forget about him so he moves himself into the dining room or tries to hide his 65-pound body behind one of our living room chairs. He manages to hide the front half of his body pretty good, but the back half is pretty easy to spot!
3. What’s your favorite story about pets in the office?
One of my teammates in Consumer Relations had a very large Great Dane and because of his size, he had an imposing presence. She was very proud of the dog’s stature and the comments she would receive when she brought him in the office. One day, another coworker happened to have his small Jack Russel Terrier in the office, too. As the Great Dane walked through the department, the Jack Russell barked at him and startled him and the Great Dane turned around and ran and hid under the owner’s desk, which flabergasted the proud owner, but the rest of us thought was pretty funny.
4. What is your favorite part of working at Pet Care?
There are several things I especially like about my job which I get to experience on a regular basis. I enjoy educating people on pet nutrition and helping them to pick the best food we offer to meet their dog’s or cat’s needs. Another rewarding conversation is the one I get to have with new puppy owners, or owners who are in the midst of of the first year with their puppy and finding themselves very frustrated. When I can help make the adjustment for both the owner and the puppy a smoother one by giving them tips, I feel that I have helped them to have a smoother adjustment and therefore a closer bond. And finally, I get to hear some of the most heart warming stories about animals being rescued/adopted, and about how much love and care so many animals receive. It is truly heartwarming.
Meet Truman!
New photos from my friend Daniel! He adopted an Iams Home 4 the Holidays dog in late December.
Truman is a 3-year old Cocker Spaniel mix. In his email to me, Daniel says:
“He’s a fantastic little stray rescue but clearly has a loving owner in his past – he is brave, smart and extremely well behaved and is settling in nicely to his new home. No surprise that our home is an Iams home, and he goes crazy for his Lamb & Rice meals. The shelter described him as ‘the perfect little cocker spaniel with a perfect little way about him’ and I couldn’t agree more!”
I am so happy for Daniel to have such a wonderful new companion in his life! And I’m thrilled that Truman has found such a loving furever home!
Somewhere my little Bailey is giving a paws up to Daniel and Truman for their good fortune in finding each other.
I came across a blog post that made me smile the other day–Chow Hounds on The Daily Dog Blog. Some really sweet photos and a very funny video reminded me about that whole “life goes on” thing. The Husky puppies at the Lazy Husky Ranch love their food–especially on their face and paws!
I took some time today to read back through the January posts from the time the puppies were born. More beautiful photos. And Shannon (the writer) shows such a love for her dogs and the puppies. The Lazy Husky Ranch must be a very happy place with so much love being shared.
Shannon and I share that love for our dogs.
One sweet puppy, Lucy, almost didn’t make it. The runt, her sibs often pushed her out of the way when it came to nursing from mom. But Shannon refused to give up on her. She gave Lucy extra care, keeping her warm, using an eyedropper to give her extra nourishment. Lucy and Bailey each turned their corners at around the same time. Lucy is now a lovey, chubby pup. Bailey is gone.
Shannon and I both feel the same about puppy breath (nothing sweeter!), but we disagree regarding snow. I guess as a musher it makes sense that she would like snow. Bailey never liked snow, so I never liked it either. And now, perversely, I wish our snow had not melted–her paw prints were all over our patio and the small, fenced-in yard. Now they’re gone. My girl is gone.
Ugh! I continue to work through my grief. It’s been 2 weeks which is at once an eternity and yet no time at all. Friends and loved ones continue to send me cards and kind thoughts. I am surrounded by people who care about me and who loved Bailey and even though I’m not very good company right now, I so appreciate everyone’s kindness. I miss my girl so much, but I am so thankful that there are puppies in the world.
My friend Emily over on Eukanuba Unleashed posted today about how to throw a “pawty” on February 6 when Animal Planet broadcasts the AKC/Eukanuba National Championship. Em has got all the bases covered–from invitations to decor to drinks. She even includes a scorecard–the Bone Collector Grid–that you can use in a game to keep track of which dog is moving forward for the win. Actually, I think the Bone Collector Grid might be a fun game to play at any dog show–especially for kids who might become a little antsy during the judging.
I am trying to pick up the threads of my online life, but it’s difficult because Bailey is so deeply embedded in every profile or avatar I’ve ever created. I haven’t been on Twitter in what seems like years–just don’t have the heart. I’ve tried to catch up on my favorite blogs on Google Reader, but I just loose interest. The closest I’ve come is to enter into a couple of arguments on a couple of forums that I haven’t messed with much in the past. But even there I feel like “Yeah. Right. Whatever.”
As I write this, I’m sitting at my desk. Bailey’s bed is gone from underneath. But I still have the urge to put the plate that had my toast on it down on the floor so she can lick the crumbs off. I am a little desolate that I don’t “see” her–don’t people always say after they’ve lost a family member that they “see” them in the usual places? I sometimes “hear” her–a rustle in the newspapers, like she’s getting ready to rip a piece away and run with it because she knows I’ll chase her to try and take it away so she can’t eat it. Or a soft little inquiring moan, “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?” But I don’t “see” her.
Bit by bit, the little evidences of her life are being moved or disappearing. I have a box of meds on the kitchen table that I’m going to take to the GDHS, along with her left-over bags of food. It’s been there for over a week. Don’t have the energy to do it. We’ve moved her 2 dogbeds into our spare bedroom in preparation for “putting them away.” I don’t have the courage yet to do that with the bed at the foot of my bed. We’ve picked up all the ugly scatter rugs we put down so that she would have sure-footing over the wood floors. The babygate to my mom’s bedroom is now always open, which feels crazy because I know Bailey will get in there and tear into the toilet paper and anything else she finds. Not. I still close the babygate in my bedroom door when I go to bed at night. Not that I needed to for the past 5 years because once the lights were out Bailey would snooze and not get up to explore in the dark.
Oh my girl, I miss you so!
I can have a conversation about her without crying–that’s a step forward. My ability to concentrate is better than it was, and yesterday I found myself laughing over something. But my head still feels like I’m recovering from a bad head cold, and I continue to have an off-again-on-again low-grade headache. I feel empty, but my head feels like it’s so full it might explode. And the greyness of January is doing nothing to pick up my spirits.
I’ve made a half-hearted attempt to gather some of Bailey’s stuff together to give to the shelter. It was easy to gather up the things she never used–the little tee-shirt that says “Leashes? We don’t need no stinkin’ leashes!” She hated that shirt! And the squeaky ball that she lost interest in several years ago (when I worked in the phone center on Saturdays, Bailey and I used to play soccer in the hallway outside of my boss’s office–she was a very aggressive player!). Her left-over meds. Her leftover food. The blue harness and leash that she hardly ever wore (she preferred her black set).
But there are still some things I can’t move–like her bed which still has the indentation of where she lay those last couple days.
I miss her cuddles, and the sunshine of her cheery little doggie smile.
Four years ago, just after Bailey had her cancer surgery, I purchased a digital camera that also took videos. At the time we thought her life would be very short because of our choice not to do chemo/radiation, and I wanted some good photos of her. Silly humans! Of course my contrary little dog would live longer than the dogtors said she would!
Five of the videos I took back then ended up on my YouTube channel. I see a difference in my girl between that time four years ago, and recently. The videos are Bailey in her prime–demanding, noisy, and singing for cookies. This is the way I want to remember her.
This last one has had over 40,000 views!! All I can think of is that it’s sitting on somebody’s website racking up views.
OK, if you really want to make yourself nuts, hit the go button on all five videos at the same time.
I look back now and realize that Bailey’s illness didn’t happen overnight. It’s been going on since before Thanksgiving.
On a normal evening, I’d lay down on the couch and read or watch TV or whatever and Bailey would always cuddle up with me. But several weeks ago her cuddle positioning changed. Though she tried to lay as she normally would, she could not seem to get comfortable and so would move to the end of the coach in a kind of a frustrated huff. A couple of times she even gave a very soft yelp, as if she hurt herself.
This also happened at bedtime. We had a routine–I’d put a couple of kibbles under her pillow, and after she ate them she would crawl under the covers, cuddle for a while, and then move back up to her pillow. But her cuddle position changed, again as if she couldn’t get comfy.
This never struck me as something major–in fact, I’m not even sure I conciously thought about it until Thursday night.
Watching her on Thursday, I realized that all week I had been seeing her gait degenerate, especially her back legs. As she walked, her butt was swaying left-and-right and her back legs seemed to swing outward and away from her body instead of just back-and-forth.
Over the week, her squats when she pottied had become more-and-more clumsy till she finally just wouldn’t squat anymore. By Wednesday I would carry her outside, she would look like she couldn’t figure out what to do, and then walk back to the door to be let in. Twice her bladder released its load just as we got inside the door. I know now she could no longer squat.
I gave up trying to get her outside to potty. I kept her gated in my room/office. She was welcome to pee on my carpet. And for once she made no objection to being barred in the room. In fact, she didn’t seem to want to leave her bed. When she looked up at me, it was like she didn’t see me, as if she were in her own world. It might have been the drugs–I kept her pumped with pain meds–but I don’t think so. I’m not sure the pain meds were taking care of all her pain.
Thursday evening I again brought her out to the sofa to join us. The prior evenings she seemed to notice we were there and every time I got up she kept track of where I was. This time she had no interest. And she could not get comfortable. I finally carried her back into her bed in my bedroom.
And I started thinking about the times when she seemed to be experiencing what I thought was arthritis pains, and the light bulb went on–we’d been looking in the wrong places. The problem was in the area around her back legs. Over the past week, it was her hind end that had gotten progressively weaker and troubling.
I left her in her own bed. During the night I heard her get up and lay on the carpet. Around 3 she shifted again and I realized she had again had an involuntary bladder release while she slept. By 6 AM I think I had made the decision. I gathered her up, put her on my bed and lay down beside her to tell her it would soon be over. She allowed this to go on for maybe 10 minutes and then indicated that she wanted down. Up until Thursday she made an attempt to indulge my cuddles. Now she wanted none of it.
For the third morning, I called Dr. B to speak with her before her appointments started. I told her about my theory about Bailey’s hind end. She agreed that it made sense and we both wondered if perhaps the cancer was back.
Doing x-rays of the area would cause her needless pain because of the way her body would have to be twisted (we had been forced to do this a couple years ago and I had promised myself I would never put her through that again). Even if we did discover it was the cancer, we had already made the decision of no chemo/surgery.
And now that I knew where to look I could see that with all the treatments we had tried over the week there was no progress, only degeneration in her condition. She was not responding. She was in pain. So we made an appointment for the big sleep.
For the 3rd morning, Bailey was coaxed into her Sherpa bag and my mom and I drove to the clinic. We were met at the door by one of the techs and taken to an exam room. We talked through what was going to happen–all of us in tears. Bailey’s groomer, Aunt T came in to say goodbye. My little pooch touched so many hearts at the clinic! They took her back to the hospital area and put a catheter into the vein in her leg, then brought her back to us. My mom and I had spread one of Bailey’s blankets out on the table. Dr. B joined us. We said our goodbyes to her and as Dr. B gave her the final injection through the catheter she so peacefully hid her head in the folds of the blanket just like she used to do when we would go to bed at night. Eventually, Dr. B wrapped her in another blanket and took her away. She really looked like she was just having a good sleep.
As we left, we were hugged by the receptionists. Later that day I heard from Dr. T–he was not at the clinic on Friday, but her had called in for something and they told him that Bailey was gone. Friday evening T (Bailey’s groomer) called us to see how we were doing. She told me that everyone at the clinic was affected by Bailey’s passing. They are such wonderful people and took such good care of my girl.
So many people–friends, family, co-workers, neighbors–have reached out to me with kindness. It warms me to think that Bailey had such a large group of friends and fans, and I am so grateful for the thoughts and prayers that you all have shared. Thank you so much.
I look at her bed that still holds the indentation of where she lay only 48 hours ago, and I feel the empty loneliness of her absence. I miss her so much.
