Today My Dog is Dying
I had a piece to post for today.
But now my dog is dying.
I had a whole list of errands, assignments and people to see but it’s all fallen away.
As my dog lay dying.
I’ve come through that part where she might get better, where I thought I could offer her a miraculous piece of chicken or string cheese, but she takes it like she’s doing me the favor.
And continues to lay dying.
They say she has kidney failure, but eleven isn’t old. We all have something. And we’re not actively dying. Or maybe we are.
But she definitely is. Today anyway.
Up until last night she padded around the house, following me. Or the most available of us, not wanting to be by herself. This morning she’s choosing alone time.
I want to offer her peace on the way out. I wipe wet eyes with the back of my hand. After all, what was all that training for besides teaching her the importance of retaining a modicum of decorum?
My appointment to let her go is at 11:00am. I wake up every hour. Time stops moving. Or maybe that’s her. Her thready breathing reminds me of my mother’s on that very last day. More spasm than life giving inhalation. She is not my mother, I tell myself. She is everything else. I really do hope there’s a rainbow bridge.
With a swell of love and affection, I focus on the licks she gave me. All the time. Always trying to give me kisses no matter how long ago our honeymoon ended.
She followed the children around as if she was just another one of my babies. One of two dogs rescued from North Shore Animal League, she was more playmate than attack animal. Sure, she’d bark when it was expected but as soon as I opened the door, she ran upstairs to hide behind the bed. It was ok, I was prepared to defend her.
She was the first to take me for walks in the woods. In a desperate attempt to burn off hers, and ramp up my, energy, we trolled the magnificent Suffolk County Parks. Happily, she skittered through brush off the path as I battled depression demons, soft, steady ground beneath my feet, hoping she would chase some deer instead of our elderly cat. I never had to watch for her; she was never far away.
When the darkness was heaviest on my chest and I didn’t think I could crawl out of bed, she was always there, looking at me, licking the air with her oversized tongue, ready to follow. Or grab that one thing she knew I’d chase her for. Like my wallet. Or the remote. So I’d have to take off after her. Which I would happily do in perpetuity despite my rage filled rants.
And now she is dying.
When they were in school, she and I anxiously anticipated the kids’ homecoming — she on the cedar chest she battered, me by the window. While I turned away so they wouldn’t know I’d been waiting, she flung herself at them when they came through the door, plying them with affection that didn’t have to be earned, and wasn’t as embarrassing as Mom’s.
Once, my 80lb middle aged dog jumped off a balcony to be with me. No one has ever loved me like that. Nor should they, but it doesn’t make it less intoxicating.
The kids would come talk to me because her soft belly was there to pet as part of the package. I will be forever grateful that she gave them the excuse. If she was lucky, someone threw her a ball she’d contentedly ignore like she did the children‘s barked, mispronounced, bilingual orders.
When my husband came home for the pandemic, she took to sleeping on his feet wherever he made his desk. He loved her warm worship that required nothing more than presence. I didn’t mind sharing custody. I knew what a slobbery balm she was.
Kashi is part of us, part of our family love language, woven into both our waking hours and our sleep.
As it was meant to be.
To you who do not understand the ways of canine love, I have had great losses in my life and also pet grief. I know the difference. And I pray the humans and other animals she loved so dearly are there to greet her with open paws and arms.
For today, my dog lay dying. Tomorrow, I will mourn the sudden emptiness she miraculously filled with her overly attached canine best. Tomorrow I will be grateful for however long we had her.
But today my dog is dying.
