Cows and Licks

I was driving by a big, juicy, grassy area today and I had to think about Sparks. He was definitely excited whenever I let him loose on our neighbor's patch of grass. He would roll around, rub his snout, grunt and snort, bite into it, scoot across it face first ... He was ecstatic! Eventually he would just stand there like a little cow and he would graze ... and graze ... and graaaaaaaaaaaaze. Every morning the same routine, with me ending up promising a big meaty breakfast if he'd kick it into next gear. I miss those little moments of just 'us'.


There are quite a few friends in my life right now, who are going through tough times with their pups. I want you all to know that I think about you daily, and that I do pray for you all and wish you the best. There's nothing worse than feeling helpless when your fur child is suffering and you're not able to help. Above all, there's nothing worse than trying to figure out when their quality of life has decreased to a point that life in general has become meaningless to your sweetheart. I found this website to be extremely helpful in making an informed decision...

http://www.caninecancer.com/endoflife.html

We always wonder whether our furbabies will give us a sign when they are 'ready', and I think most of them will. But it depends whether we want to see those signs and acknowledge them. For me it was important to not listen to my heart (which was screaming at me to continue to hang on) but to listen to my head, and be rational, and most of all, be compassionate.

During Sparky's last few days, there was an improvement at one point and I eagerly called my girlfriend to tell her that Sparks was fighting back. She had the compassion and the insight to tell me that he would never get better, that things were only going to get worse. For some reason, as intelligent as I thought I was, this had to be pointed out to me ... I don't know how I had missed it up to that point. The day he passed away, after a long weekend of not being himself, he came over to where I was sitting, and for the first time in 3 days he was 'present' and he licked my cheek, as if he wanted to lick away all those tears and tell me that it was okay - that he was ready to go, and that I would be okay without him... Oftentimes I think about this moment and I think how big it was of him to do this, and how very wise and so much more mature than I could have ever been.

I truly think they do give us a sign, and all we have to do is listen ...

Home

I finally was able to go and get his ashes. Since I got the call last Monday I could do nothing but think about it. People told me to wait if I wasn't ready. I know I wasn't quite ready yet, but to leave him there was even worse. I was hoping it would give me closure.

I left work early because I've officially entered the anger stage of grief. I caught myself getting snippy with the receptionist, and that wasn't a good sign. My boss was, as always, fully supportive of me. So I drove straight to the vet. On my way there I was reminded of that last drive we took together and it brought tears to my eyes. I felt my hand reaching down next to me, where he had sat on his very last day and so many times before.

When I arrived at the vet, I assumed I would be able to at least tell them why I was there, but I couldn't even do that. It was just a tough task to do, but we figured it out. He's in a light wooden box now. It's heavy, much heavier than I anticipated, but then I never had anyone cremated before. Still, it was good to have him back with me.

On the way home I placed 'him' where he sat that very last day, right next to my lap. My hand was draped over the wooden box, just like I had it draped over his head 9 days ago. I did feel a little bit relief having him by my side, even if he was in a different form.

I found a nice spot right where he used to lie in front of the TV. I placed a couple pictures there and a vase of white roses. The roses where given to me yesterday. I had arrived in class and on my table, these beautiful roses were left for me. They were sent to me by one of my previous professors, because she had found out through the grapevine that my Sparky had passed, and that he had been an amazing companion and my little souldog. I have talked to this professor maybe once in two years. It was such a beautiful gesture and while it brought quite a bit of happiness that moment, it also brought sorrow because I would have loved to share this moment with Sparky. It made me so proud to be his mom. He was such a wonderful dog, such a lover, and everyone he's ever met, he's touched so deeply in their heart.

I miss you sweetheart!

Our Last Journey Together

I don't know where to begin, except I let my soulmate go.

I had a lot of doubts yesterday. I felt guilt. I wasn't sure if this is what he wanted, because I was confused by his last rally to be perky and cute with me. But deep down I knew - my heart knew - it was time. My friend had offered to go with us, but thankfully he was considerate and kept his distance. He knew that Sparky was a Momma's Boy. He knew that he would want me all to himself, and anything different would be cause for 'concern'.

I had fed him another hefty dose of deli meats before we left, placed him in the car on the passenger seat beside me, with his paws draped over my legs. The entire way to the vet, I was able to pet him and talk to him. My friend decided to take his own car, giving us even more space. I had read somewhere to stay as calm as possible, to not let your emotions run wild, to not upset your fur child in any way before "it" was done. It was difficult, but I told him how much I loved him, how proud I was of him, how much joy he gave me, how he was the best puppy there ever was and ever will be, and how it was time for him to return to puppyhood, and to have a good ol' time at the Rainbow Bridge. I think he was listening to me.

When we arrived at the vet, I decided to keep him outside on a juicy patch of green grass. He always loved grass and he loved to rub his face and whole body across it. This time he kept circling for a good 5 minutes before sitting down and watching other dogs go by. It must have been a lab convention somewhere because we saw countless labs, right and left. Sparky was a big lab lover, probably because of his heritage. But this time I could tell that he had grown tired. Even though he kept an eye on everything, it wasn't the usual excitement I was used to. Another sign that things were not right, that my boy was tired. Suddenly the door to the vet opened and an older gentleman with a black female lab came out. Sparky showed immediate interest, rose, ears half-way perked, and his tail wagging as much as he could in his position. It was wonderful to see him one last time; he saw something that made him happy. It was almost as if he was trying to show off; as if he had forgotten what brought us there. It was bitter-sweet.

Soon thereafter the vet tech arrived with the first shot in hand. We had decided to give him the sedative out on the grass to help him relax, and we would later move him inside to a room to give the second shot to stop his heart. I watched my baby-boy get sleepy and offered my hand to rest his face in. The entire time, 20 minutes, I kept repeating how much he meant to me, how this was the right thing, how I would be okay, and how I would insist on him checking in with me every week, if not every day. My heart was breaking into a million pieces but I made it without crying. I didn't want to worry him in any way.

Even though it had been 20 minutes, I felt the lab techs came back too soon to put him on a gurney and carry him in. When they had turned his back to me, he immediately rose up in high alert, looking for me... I'll never forget. We settled in a room, where they gave me another 10 minutes to talk with him, to pet him, to explain to him how everything will be alright, and to make absolutely sure that he had been the best dog to ever walk this Earth.

The vet arrived and explained the procedure to me. She said she would shave his leg a little, find a vein, and once the injection was completed, he would be gone within seconds. I asked her to tell me when, so I could make doubly sure that he would get one last final squeeze from me. The entire time I remained on eye level with him, and whenever he opened his eyes, he would see my smiling face, no matter how hard I wanted to cry.

In true Sparky-fashion, he refused to make things easy. The vet told me how his vein was "uncooperative", and how she couldn't believe she had such a hard time. I had to laugh a little, because it was so Sparky. He had many health scares in his lifetime, and he should have died quite a few times before, but he always insisted on fighting the fight, on sticking around. Eventually she found the vein: "It's time". I held his paw, stroked his face, whispered to him how much I loved him, kissed his face and that was it. Over. So quick. But it was peaceful and just what we needed. When she listened for a heartbeat and shook her head, I fell apart... gone. I sobbed, like I have sobbed so many times in the last few days. I was overwhelmed by the immediate emptiness. Years and years of absolute devotion to this little guy - gone. My life's purpose - gone. He meant the entire world to me. He came before everything else. Nothing was ever done without him on the forefront of my mind.

The vet was in tears as well. Sparky had been such a lover, such a ladies' man; every woman, human or canine, always fell for him. His vet was no exception. I didn't want to leave him there. It felt wrong to walk out of there with my companion left behind. But I somehow got the courage and walked away.

I didn't really cry when I got home. I felt a strange comfort when I was standing in my living room. I looked over to his favorite spot in front of the TV. Years of him lounging there have discolored the tile, and I always refused to clean with chemicals there because I knew my baby slept there. Now I have a brown spot in the shape of a sleeping dog there ... Sometimes it feels comforting, sometimes it causes heartbreak.

I cried when I came home from dinner. It was 8 pm and I felt lonely, and empty. Even though I had prepared myself and actually told myself when I walked up to my house, that Sparky was not going to be there, my initial reaction was to look for him when the door swung open. I spent the rest of the night crying for my little boy and kneeling in front of the TV, where carpet meets the tiles, trying to be comforted by his scent that still lingers there ... I miss him so much.

Broken

I'm watching the last 2 hours tick by slowly. It still feels surreal to me at times, like I don't fully comprehend the tidal wave of heart break und sorrow that is about to unravel over me. It didn't make it easier that Sparky perked up last night. For about an hour he was his old self, and then he passed out snoring in front of the TV. My first instinct was "Improvement!!!!!" but then reality set in: there is no improvement with this terminal disease. Throughout the night he slept restlessly. He would wake every hour, almost exactly to the minute. He was always good with time. I used to call him my canine alarm clock, because he would wake me every morning at exactly 8:11 am ... until he got sick.

Today he refused the chicken too. I tried other things, but no, nothing appealed to him. I dug out some more lunch meat and fed him sliced turkey and ham, a big hit! Surprisingly, he even refused his cookies. Another big sign that things were coming to an end. I sat on the floor sobbing when suddenly he perked up, got off the floor all by himself, and came over to nudge me and wag his tail. I was elated, I was excited and I cancelled the appointment. I ended up going to work, thinking that he must be well. But within 2 hours I had a really bad feeling of doom in my stomach and I went home. When I got here, he was asleep, didn't hear me, and when he finally did, he didn't rise. I helped him up and we went outside, very briefly. He peed, stumbled, and sat down in it. At that moment I saw my desperation, my drive to find 'anything' that would make me put this off. And again I needed to remind myself that this disease is not curable, that he will die, and probably very soon, within days. One of my friends said "What if his tail wag wasn't a "I wanna live", but instead a "It's okay mom, don't worry, it's time". I sobbed. He was right. Another friend asked me whether I really wanted to wait till the last minute to do this, when he was seriously suffering. Again, I sobbed. Of course not. I called to reschedule to 4:15 pm.

So I'm sitting here, still crying, with Sparky across the room from me, in front of the door, his favorite spot since getting sick. He's sleeping and thank god for his near-deafness, he can't hear me cry. I'm torn. I don't know whether I am doing the right thing. But everything taken together and looked at objectively shows me that he has no good days left. He's still a bit perky, and I doubt he has any idea what's about to happen, but I hope he will be okay with it.

There's a lovely woman here on Blogger. She reads Sparky's Blog because she has her own story of losing her canine soulmate. In her "About Me" section she wrote one word: BROKEN. And that is me now. I feel I'm stumbling on the rim of a really dark pit, and when Sparky leaves my side, I will fall. He has been my rock for the last 7 years, 1 month, and 3 days. I'm gonna miss my boy so much. No one has held my heart so intensely as he has. I am so scared.

Our Last Day

It's for the best. Keeping him longer would be cruel. I know that he's trying so hard to hang in there for me. When I was sobbing earlier, he suddenly bounced up, acting like nothing was wrong, and I knew exactly that he was doing it for me... I've spent hours laying next to him, talking to him, trying not to cry but my tears always win. I wish he wouldn't see me like that. I am so afraid.

I keep trying to look at it as giving him one last gift, and less of how his death will rip my heart out. I promised him I'd do the right thing, and so it will be done. Tomorrow. At 3:00 pm. I was hoping the vet could come by my place, but it looks like I'll have to take him in instead. I'm going to be there all the way till the end, holding his paw, kissing his ears and his face.

I went to the grocery store to get some deli meats and cheeses, some of his favorite chewy treats, some vanilla yogurt and some vanilla ice cream. I want to spoil him one last time.

I'm not sure if he knows. But I'm pretty sure he knows something is wrong with his mommy, I wish I didn't have to worry him.

I'm so afraid of tomorrow. I keep wavering between It's Time and Not Yet. But it all comes down to the same thing: He's not getting better, he's only getting worse. Letting him go with dignity is so important.

I wish I could change things. I wish I'd been more diligent in trying to find this cancer. I wish I'd never fed him commercial food. I wish we had more time together. I wish I could go with him ...

I Can't Imagine

I've been talking to Sparky all day today. We've hung out more than ever and I've been trying to let him know that it's okay. It's okay to let go now. I can't forget what the vet said: "He's hanging in there for you. He shouldn't have made this long". I sobbed most of the day. I tried not to let him see me like this, but how am I supposed to do this in private. He's been sitting all day by the front door, looking out, checking the neighborhood. It pains me to think about what will be next. I've made a plan. I had to. The way he's looking at me ... he's looking to me for guidance, to make a decision, to make it okay for him to pass.

If he's not remarkably better by Monday, I will call his vet and arrange that we 'do this' Tuesday morning. I know I have to. I owe him this.

I can't imagine life without my little boy. I can't imagine coming home and not seeing my little fuzzball greet me at the door. I can't image not being able to bury my face in his fur. I can't imagine not being covered in black dog hair on a daily basis. I can't imagine seeing his goofy grin when he does something he knows he's not supposed to. I can't imagine not kissing him good night every night. I can't imagine not seeing his tail wag like a propeller when I get home from work. I can't imagine not going on our daily walks. I can't imagine not making his meals in the morning and evening. I can't imagine not having his stinky feet in my face. I can't imagine not taking him with me when I go to the beach. I can't imagine not hearing his gentle snore at night. Most of all, I can't imagine not being loved by him.

I just can't imagine.

Not good

He's been declining again since yesterday afternoon. The usual, lots of panting, seeming restless or anxious. He slept okay, but his overall condition was just not good. Today in the morning he didn't want his usual breakfast, even after I didn't make him take the Neoplasene. He ended up eating a couple of Wieners and some Cottage Cheese. I left a message for the holistic vet, telling her I was stopping the treatment, because I felt it wasn't working.

Two hours later she called me back and gave me the bad news. She agreed with stopping everything and going into full pain control mode. I was surprised because I had hoped she would try to convince me that we could beat this thing. No.
She told me that she had a chance to take a lot at the x-rays from a month ago. She had stopped by my regular vet to take a look. What she saw was not what she had prepared for. She told me that his entire chest, and especially his lungs were so badly affected by the cancer, that she was surprised he was still alive after a month. When I ask her what it meant, she said that he could probably 'go' any day now. She told me to hang in through the weekend, and if he didn't make a turn-around, it was definitely time to let go.

I am crying my eyes our while I am writing this. I would do anything if this didn't have to happen. I don't want to be without my boy. We're a team, and we have always been one since he mooched his way into my life 8 years ago ... I can't imagine that as early as 2 days from now, my boy won't be with me anymore. What am I supposed to do then? Everything is going to remind me of him. EVERYTHING. There's not one spot that will not make me break down in tears, it already does now... Right now he's sleeping on the floor. I've noticed that I've been silently hoping for him to just go to sleep ... I don't want to have to do this. But I just don't want him to suffer anymore either ...