In Loving Memory: A Tribute to Our Dogs

It was a Tuesday morning. The sun was out. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Who knew how dark a day it would become for us. We noticed immediately that Maggie wasn't herself. She wasn't eating. She wasn't interacting. Her eyes appeared to be glazed over. It was like she was in some kind of trance. We were very concerned.

For a month, she'd been receiving treatment for a severe ear infection. She was at the tail end of her treatment and had just been seen by the vet the day before. Everything looked good. We couldn't imagine what was wrong.

Then it happened. My husband and the kids had just gone downstairs. Maggie followed. Then, as I descended the first level of steps into our split-foyer, I saw her. Maggie had collapsed. She was laying on her right side, her limbs outstretched, in the midst of an apparent seizure. My God, it was awful. It was the worst thing I'd ever seen.

I called for my husband and rushed over to her. What I remember the most is the feeling of complete helplessness. All we could do was stand there and watch her, stroke her head and whisper soothing words as her little body convulsed into spasms. This continued for a few agonizing minutes, her eyes bulging, her body moving involuntarily.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

Gasp. Was she gone? No, within a few moments, it began again. I remember thinking, "Dear God, she doesn't deserve this. Please, make it stop."

And, a moment later, it did.

We waited, holding our breath for what seemed like an eternity, until we finally realized that our little girl was gone. Her eyes were open, but there was blood trickling from her nose. She wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing, she wasn't with us . . . not anymore.

Photo courtesy of more than the sum of my parts.

Stunned and shaken by the horror of what we'd just witnessed, I dissolved into tears as my husband struggled for composure. Then, a thought occurred to me: Mom. I realized that I had to call my mother at work and tell her that her dog, her puppy-girl, was dead.

Though I couldn't see her face as I delivered the awful news, I knew what she felt . . . shock, horror, pain . . . because I felt them, too. She came home right away.

Then, we told the kids.

Our 3 year-old son and 2 year-old nephew had been playing downstairs during Maggie's ordeal. We knew that they were too young to understand what had happened, but we still gave each of them a chance to say good-bye. When our oldest son came home a bit later, I broke the news to him as well. He was so upset. He just kept saying, "I didn't want her to die!" He even went to get his magic wand in an attempt to bring her back to life.

Like the rest of us, he knew, but didn't want to believe, that she was really gone.

Photo courtesy of CWMGary.

We still do not know the exact cause of Maggie's death, nor will we ever know for sure. What we do know is that, until the ear infection, she'd been perfectly healthy for eleven years. The stroke was only a piece of the puzzle. Her vet suggested that perhaps a blood clot, or even several clots, were the underlying factor. Would knowing the answer really make a difference, though? I doubt it. An explanation would be of little comfort in dealing with the sudden and inexplicable loss of our dog.

Maggie had touched us all. She may have been my mother's dog, but we all loved her. Eleven years ago, she came to us as an insecure, anxiety-ridden, love-starved puppy. What she became was so much more. She let us in; she allowed us to love her, and, in return, she loved us in the best way she knew how.

We'll never forget our little Maggie. She was unlike any other dog we've ever had, but she meant no less to us because of it. She shared what she could and we will be forever grateful that she came into our lives.

In his grief over the loss of a dog, a little boy stands for the first time on tiptoe, peering into the rueful morrow of manhood. After this most inconsolable of sorrows there is nothing life can do to him that he will not be able somehow to bear.

James Thurber

Buy at AllPosters.com

Daisy's tragic story began on a Sunday evening a few months ago. We came home and found that something had happened to her. She appeared to have had a stroke. Not only did we find evidence of an "accident" and vomiting, but her behavior was very strange. The first thing we noticed was that her head seemed fixed in a constant tilt. Then, when we looked into her eyes, we saw that her pupils, though unfocused, darted from side to side. When she tried to walk, she was very unsteady and staggered quite a bit. Obviously, we were very concerned. She'd always been so healthy, so full of life, and, at that point, even basic functions, like drinking and relieving herself, were a struggle.

With a feeling of dread, I called the Pet ER. They confirmed that, while her symptoms mimicked those of a stroke, what she probably experienced was canine vestibular syndrome, a health condition common in older dogs. It is usually caused by an inner ear infection and, as such, was entirely treatable. I can't tell you how relieved we were.

Photo courtesy of svilen001.

The following morning, our veterinarian reiterated everything we'd been told by the Pet ER and prescribed antibiotics for the ear infection. He also drew blood and sent it for testing as a precaution. He felt confident that she would recover her equilibrium and probably lose the head tilt as well. My husband and I left his office that day feeling very hopeful that Daisy would make a complete recovery. Little did we know that our relief would be short lived.

Our hopes were dashed just one day later when the vet called with some upsetting news about the bloodwork. Apparently, the blood test showed evidence of a severe case of pancreatitis, an abdominal disorder. This had weakened her immune system, resulting in the ear infection. He was also concerned that, because of her advanced age, there might be an underlying issue causing the pancreatitis . . . quite possibly cancer. I didn't know what to say. Unfortunately, that very thought had already occurred to us. At 15, Daisy was no spring chicken, and I think that the older a dog gets, the more you come to expect such a diagnosis. Still, I was terrified, both for her and for us, at the prospect of losing her.

Photo courtesy of Ydiot.

For the pancreatitis, our veterinarian prescribed a very strict diet of lean meat and rice. As for the other issue, there was little that could be done. He suggested an x-ray to check for large masses or a sonogram for a more thorough examination. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee that either procedure would yield results because the tumor could be too small to detect. Still, we had to try something. Since cost was a factor, we opted for the x-ray. They found nothing. So, we continued with the medication and special diet. Daisy seemed to be responding well . . . until a few weeks later, when she suffered another stroke.

The vet visit that followed was a grim one. More blood was taken, more meds were given. This time, though, the meds were only a band-aid, not a cure. The tests confirmed that the pancreatitis was still present and was just as severe, if not worse. The diet hadn't helped at all.

What could we do? Oh, there were specialists who could do exploratory surgery to pinpoint the exact cause. But to what end? Not only did such treatment cost several thousand dollars (which we did not have), but what would we gain? A few more months at most?

No, we wouldn't put her through that. She'd been through enough already, and the worst was yet to come. So, we took Daisy home to care for her, and where she'd be surrounded by those who loved her, for as long as possible, and, Lord willing, pass away peacefully in her own home, on her own terms.

Over the weeks that followed, we looked painfully on as Daisy steadily declined. Her appetite gradually faded until she refused, not only her special diet, but all other food as well. Since she was not eating, she lost her strength and was no longer able to walk. I began carrying her from room to room. She lost control of her bowels and, at some point, they were only barely functioning. She had trouble drinking from the water bowl and, in the end, we gave her water through a syringe.

We knew it would not be long.

It was heartbreaking to watch my baby decline so rapidly. I can't tell you how many times I assured her that it was okay to "go", how many times I prayed that the Lord would take her peacefully in her sleep. Unfortunately, that time never came and my husband and I were faced with a difficult decision that neither of us were prepared to make.

I can't imagine what it must have been like for her. We had no idea if she was in pain or not. The vet didn't seem to think so and Daisy herself gave us no clues. She didn't whine or even utter a single peep, not a single sound . . . until those last few days.

Photo courtesy of weatherbox.

A few days later, Daisy took the decision out of our hands. We awoke at 5am that morning to the awful sound of her moaning. She was clearly in pain. We decided immediately that the time had come to have her euthanized. So, we waited for the veterinarian's office to open and made an appointment to take her in shortly thereafter. Those were the longest few hours of our lives.

In the meantime, we tried to calm and soothe her, all the while telling her repeatedly how much we loved her. Everyone took turns watching over her and saying goodbye. My sister even made a special trip over to pay her respects to this special dog who'd once been hers as well. Then, when the time finally came, my husband picked up her frail body and we took our Daisy to the vet's office one final time.

In the end, we were by her side as Daisy passed away quickly, quietly, and peacefully. I'm just sorry that it took us so long to get her there. The truth is that I feel like I let her down, and all because I just couldn't let her go. I don't think I realized that until just now. Daisy was my baby, my friend, my confidante. She shadowed me every day since the first day I brought her home. She meant more to me than I can say . . . and thankfully she's now finally found the peace that she deserves.

"For those who love dogs, it would be the worst form of a lie to call any place where dogs were banned "Paradise." Certainly no loving God would separate people from their canine friends for eternity."

Stanley Coren

Writing this lens, telling their stories, reliving those moments all over again has been nearly as heart-wrenching as living through them. With a heavy heart and tears in my eyes, I've written these words as a final farewell to our girls. Maggie and Daisy may be gone, but their memories will live on in our hearts forever.

Photo courtesy of Dawn Allynn

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remembered them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. The bright eyes are intent; the eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to break away from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. YOU have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together . . .

Anonymous

Imagination: Mountain with Rainbow Art Print

Buy at AllPosters.com