“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of
the Lord.” Job
1:21
I am supposed to be a
writer. In the past, I have made my
living by jotting down thoughts and feelings about this and that; yet at this
moment, I find words inadequate to tell the story I want so desperately to
share. I can write descriptive words
about a large black dog whose feet perpetually smelled like corn chips, but I
want to do so much more – I want my readers to bury their faces in the softness
of her fur; to feel her happy tail thumping against their legs and above all,
to truly know the place she will always have in my heart.
 |
| My girl and I |
Mavourneen is not the
first dog I have loved and lost.
However, she was in my life longer than any of the others, and has been
with me through a myriad of good, bad and traumatic events, so this loss has
cut more deeply. Although I have worried
about losing Neo since he has gotten older, somehow it just seemed unfeasible
that Mavvie could die. After all, it
has only been the blink of an eye since she was just a little puppy …
She was born in this very
house on December 4, 2002; one of two “runts” in a litter of ten puppies. The proud mama was my daughter Rachele’s dog,
Brownie, and the papa was… well… Brownie’s littermate Neo. Obviously not an approved union; indeed,
several of the puppies did not survive, including the other, smaller runt,
which Rachele named Angel. Mavourneen’s original name was “Little
Guy”. When we realised that she was, in
fact, “Little Girl”, I christened her with the Irish endearment meaning “My
darlin’” – and she has been Mavourneen ever since. Over the years, she learned to answer to many
names – Mavvie, Darlin’, Beautiful Girl, Marvin, and various other monikers.
As a puppy, she was pushed
around by her larger siblings, and nearly always had a worried look in her eyes. When the pups approached the age to give away,
she was still small. By that time, we had
resorted to keeping them confined in the utility room. One evening, Rachele happened to go into the
kitchen for something and saw one of the larger puppies knock the gate out of
the doorway and bolt out, followed by the others. She started to laugh until she realized that
there was a fire. We had a gas water
heater at the time, and the animals had scattered dirty laundry on the floor,
where some of it was ignited by the pilot light. Of
course, a trembling Mavourneen was the last puppy to get to safety, and,
although she wasn’t injured, all her whiskers had been burned off, and some of
her facial fur singed. I think that was
when I decided to keep her, and she got to sleep with Neo and I from then on.
Even after the other pups
were gone, Mavvie remained somewhat fearful of what life might bring. She willingly gave place to Neo as Alpha Dog,
although he was never mean to her. As a
matter of fact, he and Brownie taught her bad habits, such as bolting with them
any time someone left the door open. She
loved to run with them, although if she happened to get loose on her own, she
was pretty easy to catch. During her second winter, I thought I had lost her.
The dogs had escaped on an extremely cold night. A few hours later, Neo and Brownie came back,
but no Mavourneen. By that time, a
freezing rain had begun. Rachele put her
arms around me and said, “Mommy, I’m afraid Mavourneen’s not coming back”. I sobbed and prayed, and to my utter
amazement, early in the morning, a small black dog showed up at my back door,
literally covered in icicles.
When Mavvie was walked on
a leash, she would get so distracted that it usually took a long time to get
her to go potty. She was sidetracked by
anything – a person, a bug, an airplane, or car down the block. She wasn’t always the smartest dog,
either. Once, I had left some windows
open, trying to let in some fresh air.
Knowing that the cloth mesh screens on my windows were not dog-proof, I
thought I had adjusted them to where air could flow, but no canine could
exit. Wrong! Hours later, I was sitting on my front porch
with a jar of rubbing alcohol, picking ticks off my renegade mutts before they
were allowed back in the house. I
remember the big doggy smile on her face, and how soft her fur was, even when
she was so dirty. After going back
inside, I pushed the window down a few more inches, but left it open. As soon as my back was turned, the naughty
trio ran to their former escape route.
After one or two tries, Neo and Brownie realized that there was no
longer room for their bodies to fit under the sash. They retreated to go lay on the couch. Mavourneen, on the other hand, was
baffled. She kept trying different
positions to fit herself under the window.
At one point, she looked up at me, and there was such a look of
confusion in her eyes… “I don’t understand it – I USED to be able to do this!!”
Sometimes, instead of
taking the dogs outside on a leash, I would take them out one at a time and
chain them up so they could do their business, then bring them back in. Once, when Mavvie was tied up in the back yard,
I started washing dishes. I looked out
the kitchen window, and noticed that it had started to rain. Instead of barking or howling to be let back
in, Mavourneen had crawled under a tarp that was over a pile of stuff in the
yard, and was just laying there, peeking out and looking mournful. Needless to say, that picture broke my heart.
Sometimes I would fasten
their chain near the back door. When
most of the dogs were ready to come in, they would tear at the door as though
attempting to claw their way in. Mavvie
would sit on the stoop and rake one paw down the door once. She would then sit and wait, and if no one
let her in, she would do it again.
The bank in the small town
where we live, like most financial institutions, hands out candy at the
drive-through window. They also hand out
dog biscuits to any canine passengers in the car. I think it only took one visit for Mavourneen
to remember that fact. From then on, any
time she went with me to the bank, her head was hanging out that window,
waiting for her treat.
Perhaps one of her most
bizarre and endearing qualities was that when she wanted to be petted, sweet Mavvie
didn’t come up to a person and wag her tail or nuzzle the object of her desire. Instead, she would sit at his or her feet,
look them in the eye and growl. When she
first greeted Roger in that manner, he took a step back. I said, “No, it’s okay – she just wants to be
petted!” For some reason, he was
unconvinced, if you can imagine that. He
finally did tentatively reach down and rub behind her ears, and became her
friend for life. She was his girl.
 |
| Getting treats from Daddy |
Children loved my Mavvie
dog. She was always the first dog little
Guy would go to. He would throw his arms
around her big body, then start giving her kisses.
 |
| Mavvie and Guy |
No doubt partially as a
result of her inbreeding, Mavourneen had some strange features. When her silky ears were back, you didn’t
notice, but when she stood them up a certain way, she looked exactly like
Yoda. She also went bald one summer,
from the waist down. That affliction
turned out to be the result of a severe flea allergy, which finally got under
control with Frontline. Ever since she
was a baby, her back legs were bowed, which may have been one of the factors
that led to her ultimate fate.
Eventually, Mavvie and Neo
were the only dogs left in the house.
They were both my constant companions, although my relationship with
each was different. When I got Neo, he
more or less became my canine soulmate.
I had just lost my husband, and the the little bundle of fur was just
what I needed. He provided me with
unconditional love and warmth, and just someone who was “mine”. Mavvie became more of a loner, which I could relate
to, but was as much a part of my heart as Neo.
As previously mentioned, she knew that he was “top dog”. Somehow, all dogs seem to establish their own
hierarchies within their environment that everyone accepts – that’s just the
way it is. There was also the matter of
physics – when the three of us were walking through the house, my hand could
pat Neo’s head, without any special moves.
However, to pat Mavourneen’s head, I had to reach down, so he got patted
more often than she did, simply on a technicality. She knew she was loved, though, and if she
was hurt or scared, she wanted her mama. Before
I could afford to get her fixed, she had two litters of puppies, and she wanted
me in the delivery room with her. When
she was finally spayed, she stayed by my side after returning home from the
vet, usually leaning against my leg.
By the time she had babies
and went through her surgery, she bore very little resemblance to the tiny,
frightened puppy she had once been. When
we acquired other dogs, the now fairly large girl made it quite clear that she
was Alpha Dog #2.
Mavourneen had some
uncanny spiritual connections. We once
had a cat who was dying. I knew the end
was near for poor Dr. Hex, and was cradling him in my arms, softly singing to him. Mavourneen walked up and gently touched her
nose to his side. She did not sniff him; it was a purposeful
gesture. What’s more, three other dogs
were lined up behind her to do the same thing.
Afterward, they all returned to wherever they were laying. It was as though, led by Mavourneen, they
were telling their friend goodbye, and affirming that they would meet him again
one day in Heaven.
 |
| Dr. Hex |
Another time, a couple of
months after my sons’s death, I was the only human in the house. I was on my knees in the dining room, praying
– just my everyday devotions. No dogs
were in the immediate vicinity, and I do remember that Mavourneen had been lying
in the bathroom. Suddenly, without
warning, the impact of losing my child hit me.
I fell forward, helpless. I
remember telling God, “I can’t do this – I can’t be alone!” over and over. I could barely breathe, and I knew I needed
someone’s help. I also knew that He
would answer my prayer, and I was expecting to hear a car door slam and see my
friend Marie’s face at my front door.
Instead, I felt something touch my side.
I actually wondered for a second if maybe God had sent an angel to
minister to me. When I looked over, it
was Mavourneen. She looked at me with
such love in her eyes, and then pushed her head under my arm so that I would
have to hug her. As I held her and wept,
I couldn’t help but laugh. Who would
have thought that God would send me a fat, black dog? Her presence was truly healing; not only
because of the love and warmth she brought, but also just knowing that God had sent her to comfort my hurting
heart.
During other times of
sorrow and trials of being a single mom, she was a presence in my life that I
counted on. I so miss opening up the
kitchen door and seeing her face; hearing her distinctive “woof” when the
neighbor dog wanders into the yard and even her warning growls to the other
dogs if they get too close to “her” food bowl.
A while ago, I thought I
felt a tick on Mavourneen’s back. When I
tried to pull it off, I realized that it was actually a growth of some
sort. I was somewhat concerned, but with
my income, barely kept up with the vaccinations. I just prayed that she would be okay. Some time later, I also noticed a fatty
growth on her side, as well as what looked like an extra foot pad on one of her
back “elbows”. I was truly concerned
then, and inquired at a vet what it might cost to get her taken care of. The answer was that, depending on the exact nature
of the problem, anywhere from $50 to $300.
Wow. Even though I was no longer
single by that time, we just didn’t have that kind of money. I began to put aside a few dollars at a
time. When I had the urge for a soft
drink or a cheeseburger, I would instead put some cash in a special place. I had to save my dog.
Unfortunately, I had
medical issues of my own, and had to have my gallbladder removed. Besides being off work for a few weeks, the
bills not covered by insurance were astronomical, and, with much guilt, I used
the money I had saved for household expenses.
Mavourneen seemed to feel
fine, although she was not as active as she used to be. She spent more and more time just laying
around the kitchen, guarding her food bowl.
I didn’t realize that anything else might be wrong with her until I was
brushing all the dogs one evening. With
Mavvie’s allergies, even when treated with Frontline, she would still get itchy
spots on her lower back, and she loved
having those spots brushed. However, this
particular evening, as I was brushing her lower back, she startled me by
yelping. She immediately crawled under
the table, and didn’t want to be brushed any more. I assumed that there must have been an
irritated spot on her back that I had hit with the brush. I was, of course,
sorry that I had hurt her, but really didn’t think that much about it.
A couple of weeks later, I
was sitting at my desk in the kitchen, with all the dogs laying nearby. Without warning, Bianca, who weighs about 25
lbs., jumped on Mavourneen’s lower back with her front paws. Mavourneen howled. It was the most mournful sound I have ever
heard. I jumped up and knelt down to
her, and saw that her entire body was shaking.
I had no idea of what was going on – since by this time, Mavvie was nine
and a half years old, I thought she must be getting arthritis, and that Bianca
had jostled a very tender joint.
However, I was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I petted Mavvie and tried to comfort her, and
she finally stopped shaking and nestled her head in my lap.
I had to leave for an
appointment, and I worried about her the entire time I was gone. When I came back, I noticed that she was
shaking again, and panting very hard.
She had never been that much of a panter before that time. By this time, Roger, who works nights, was
awake, so we both went in to check her out.
We were trying to feel her back and legs to see where the problem
was. He told her to stand up, and she
tried to obey, but when she tried to raise her back end, her legs crossed and
gave out. We looked at each other,
horrified. I felt like I was going to
throw up. I was shaking, with tears
running down my face – this was my Darling! I had not managed to save up any more money,
but I did have money that should have gone for the mortgage payment. I called the vet, and Roger carried her out
to the car.
The news was grim. To even diagnose such a problem would cost
hundreds of dollars, and if she required spinal surgery, we would be talking
thousands. I would gladly have spent
that much on her if I had it, but I simply did not. The vet said that the most common cause of
such an affliction was a bulging disk, and that we could try treating her with
steroids and painkillers. If that was
the problem, it was possible that the inflammation could be controlled and she
would recover. However, after examining
her, he discovered that she seemed to have no feeling whatsoever in one
leg. He regretfully had to tell me that
her chances of walking again were not good, because “nerves don’t forget”. We discussed various options and
possibilities – if she did recover but could not walk on her back legs, she
could still have a good quality of life, although it would require dedication
on my part. She would have to be
towel-walked outside several times a day, although eventually I might be able
to invest in a “doggy wheelchair”. With
a 55 lb. dog, this was not going to be easy, plus the medication might not even
help. The issue could also be caused by
an internal tumour, or a blocked blood vessel.
Filled with sickness and guilt, I left Mavvie there overnight. By morning, I had to figure out the next step
to take.
I poured my heart out to
God during the night, and discussed the matter with family members. I liked my son Crys’ advice – “Sit down and
talk to her, and ask her what she wants
– then follow your heart”.
After a basically
sleepless night, I spoke to the vet in the morning. He had good news and bad news. The good news was that she had improved
strength in her back legs. After being
lifted to a standing position, she could now stand on her own for about 15 seconds. The bad news was, he happened to notice that
one of her eyes seemed to be bulging out more than the other one. He said it might just be how she was made,
but it was also possible that she had a tumour behind her eye.
I decided I had to give
her a chance. At any rate, I needed to
bring her home long enough to talk to her, as Crys suggested. She had such a happy look on her face as we
drove home!
The vet had been unsure if
I would be able to towel-walk Mavourneen by myself. I knew that I would have to. Yes, it was difficult. Besides the fact that a dog’s hindquarters
seem to weigh as much as the entire dog, I had to bend slightly while lifting
her. Since there was nothing wrong with
her front legs, she wanted to move MUCH faster than I was able to. Several times, the towel slipped from my
grasp, and my beloved animal collapsed to the ground. I was terrified that this might be causing
further damage to her spine. One of the
times she slipped, she immediately began dragging herself, practically
running. Thankfully, it was in a grassy
area, and not on concrete. I dug out my
back support belt and a sunhat. I
worried about what would happen if I hurt my back. Who would take care of her then? With some of my health issues, how would I
manage taking her out once it started getting really hot (which, incidentally,
began just a day or so after her death – I think God was watching out for
me…)? I was supposed to go to my son’s
in Illinois the first part of August – how could I leave Mavourneen? I was determined to take things one step at a
time, and try not to worry about what the future would bring. In my worst case scenario, I pictured her
running around with wheels; still a self-sufficient being.
In the house, she was
secluded in a small area, which I tried to pad with rugs and blankets to
prevent injury when she dragged her back end.
I sat with her and had a heart-to-heart talk. I explained the situation, including my guilt
at not being able to provide necessary medical care. I held her and wept. She looked at me with eyes that said, “It’s
okay – I know you love me”. I told her I
would try to help her get through this, but that it was okay to give up any
time it got to be too much for her. I
told her that I could even help her to go Home, where she would never hurt
again and she just had to let me know what she wanted.
I had taken that day off
work to be there for her, but had to go back the next day. When I got home from what seemed a
never-ending shift, she was listless. I
took her out, and she let me walk her and stand her up, but her heart wasn’t in
anything. She had no appetite. When we got back inside, she just lay on her
side, as though she was already preparing to depart this life. I thought maybe seeing the other dogs would
perk her up a bit, as the night before, she had wanted to go in the other room
where they were. I opened the door and
let them come in where she was. She
ignored them. When I stroked her, she
acknowledged my presence, but seemed to have no initiative or energy. I could feel tears burning behind my eyes as
I lay beside her and held her. I
whispered “It looks like you’re giving up, Darlin’”. Although my heart was breaking, I told her it
was okay. I told her we could end it and
she could go home as soon as in the morning if it was what she wanted, or if
she thought she could hang on, we could have the weekend together. At that point, my dog looked up and seemed to
try to smile, and I knew that was what she wanted. She even began to interact with the other
dogs a bit after that.
Of course, I still hoped
and prayed that the pills would help, but I could tell she was getting worse
physically over the next few days. She
was getting bald spots from dragging her back end on the floor, and I feared it
was just a matter of time before her skin became raw. The numbness that began in one leg seemed to
be taking effect over her entire back end.
I could squeeze either paw or even her tail and she couldn’t feel
it. Her tail, normally straight, was
hooked in an odd way. When I took her
out, she no longer stopped to attempt to squat – she began to do her business
as she walked, all over her back legs (and usually my feet as well). Sometimes she would be lying in a puddle when
I went in to get her to take her outside.
This hurt. She had always been
such a good dog about going to the bathroom outside, and I knew she would never
want to be like this. I felt so sorry
for her, even though I’m not sure she even realized it when it happened.
She stopped drinking water
out of her bowl, although she consumed practically every drop of water out of
the ditch after it rained. At first, she
would drink chicken broth, then she turned away from that as well. Desperate to get liquids in her, I gave her
milk, and she continued to drink that.
She refused even canned dog food, yet when I offered her a bite of bread
crust from my sandwich, she gobbled that up as though it was a T-bone
steak. It was a challenge keeping her
fed. She loved bites of cheese, but
since she already seemed to be having some issues, I was afraid of her bowels
getting backed up. I made her some
scrambled eggs and she enjoyed them. She
ate some vegetables. I ended up pulling out
all the stops – I went to the store and bought round steak and pork chops just for
my dog. That is the food she was served
over the weekend, along with baked potatoes and fresh baby carrots, and the
occasional bit of cheese or whole grain bread.
Once when I was at work, Roger texted me to tell me that he had gotten
her to eat six Milkbones. I then had a
new worry, albeit a pleasant one – what if she got better, but then we had to
keep feeding her steak and potatoes because she refused to go back to dog food??
She really didn’t seem to
want to stay in her confined area, plus we wondered if maybe she would be more
inclined to eat and drink if she was back with the other dogs. Yet we worried not only about her dragging
her useless back legs around a large area, but also definitely didn’t want her
going out the dog door. We finally found
a solution – the vet had sent her home with a short leash around her neck to
help guide her as she was towel-walked.
I kept that around her neck and fastened it to the leg of my heavy desk
in the kitchen, and provided her with bedding.
It worked well – she did seem much happier when her “family” was all together. It also helped with the jealousy that was
beginning to develop among some of the other dogs, who were realizing that
Mavvie was getting a lot more of Mama’s attention and some special treatment. When Roger is at work in the evenings, I
spend much of my time at my desk, with my best friends at my feet, and that is
also where I have my devotional and prayer time in the mornings. When my girl was laying there during part of
that weekend, with her head up, she looked happy. There were moments when things seemed normal,
and I forgot that she was slipping away from me, only to remember with a pang
when she would attempt to move.
With heartache and guilt,
I set my mind on Monday being the dreadful day.
I was not scheduled to work Monday or Tuesday; part of me wanted to wait
until the last possible moment, but I knew that I would need as long as
possible to recover before going back to work.
On Sunday afternoon, I gave my dog one last bath. As I soaped her with sweet-smelling baby
shampoo, I softly and tearfully talked to her, explaining that if the vet could
schedule her in, we would do it the next morning, and tried to prepare her for
what would happen. Even though I had
previously felt that this was what she wanted, I felt as though I was betraying
her. How do you just decide to kill your best friend?
Sunday night, in a bizarre
twist of fate, as I sat at my desk, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I
saw Mavourneen’s foot move. Sure enough,
a few moments later, she stretched both legs.
When I exclaimed to her that she had moved, her tail moved half of a
wag. Could she be getting better? When we went outside later, she actually
squatted for the first time in days.
After we got back inside, I sat with her once again and told her we
might have to re-think our plans.
As welcome as this new
development was, it brought with it a whole new bittersweet set of
worries. What if she got better but then
got worse later in the week when I was obligated to work? I simply could not imagine dropping her at
the vet for the final goodbye, then going my merry way to work, smiling and
saying “Hi, how can I help you?” Not to
mention the fact that I wasn’t sure if I simply could stand another drop in the
roller coaster ride. I had not mentioned
it to anyone, but as I was stroking her front paws during one of those days, I
felt what appeared to be another growth in one of them. Whether this was what was causing her back
problems or not, it was obvious to me that my beloved dog was being consumed by
odious neoplasms. The familiar guilt
once again enveloped me. What if I had
taken her to the vet at the first sign of a problem and gotten the very first
one snipped out? Would that have solved
the problem, or would we still be in the same boat? There is no way to know, of course, but that
didn’t stop my mind from torturing my heart.
I didn’t take her in the first place because I couldn’t afford it; yet I
had managed to come up with money to take her now. Yes, it was money that should have gone for
something else, and was going to put us in a severe bind, but what if I had
simply made that same choice sooner?
Adding even more guilt was
the fact that I wrestled with the choice at all. If she was getting better, how could I even
consider ending her life? Do you get rid
of a family member for your own convenience?
However, by the next
morning, any progress that her furry little body seemed to have made had
vanished. (Destroyed by my negative
thoughts? Okay, no… I’ve got to stop
going there!) She seemed to be in pain,
and just simply tired. As I took her
out, I watched her closely for any sign of improvement, but saw only
regression. I attempted to stand her on
her back legs. Normally, once I got her
paws set down with the pads to the ground, she could stand on them for a short
amount of time. However, that final
morning, I could not even get her pads to the ground. All her poor little back paws could seem to
do was knuckle under. We looked each
other in the eye, and in hers I saw, “I’m sorry, Mom, but I’m ready to go”.
Love is everything; yet
sometimes love isn’t enough. My love
couldn’t save my dog any more than it could keep my kids from making bad
decisions. With a heavy heart, I called
the vet’s office. We made an appointment
for 1:30. I looked at my girl lying
under my desk and realized that we only had a few more hours together. After feeding her and taking her out, I lay
with her on the floor, holding her close.
I told her again how sorry I was, and whispered to her that she was
going to be the most beautiful dog in Heaven.
For my own comfort as much as hers, I brought us both before the mighty
throne of grace. I felt loving arms
around both of us – arms that had once been spread-eagled upon a cross, but that
were now tenderly holding a hurting woman and her beloved pet dog. I know Mavourneen felt it, too. I’m not sure how long we stayed like that.
I decided to leave a
little early for our appointment so we could just go for a last ride. Mavvie loved car rides. I let her sit in front, buckling her in the
best I could, so that I could touch and caress her during the trip. The CD in the player was U2’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, and I
remember thinking if only the movie could end here, and we could just fade into
the sunset while Bono sang to us about Yahweh or Love and Peace. However, even though Mavourneen enjoyed her
last car ride, the reality of the situation reared its ugly head every time I
hit a bump and she whimpered.
When we arrived at our
destination, the staff was very kind. Mavourneen
was weighed, and it was noted that she had lost two pounds. We were taken into a room off to the side, and
I sat on the floor with her. I was told
that once the injection was given, it would be very quick – usually within 30
seconds, and that she might make sounds as though she were struggling, but it
would just be bodily reflexes. I found
myself selfishly wanting it to take longer – of course I was relieved that she
would not suffer for a prolonged period, but I had had visions of she and I
exchanging a meaningful look at the end, and affirming that we would meet again
in Heaven. By this time, a steady stream
of tears was flowing down my face, and I was supplied with a box of
Kleenex.
Mavourneen had settled
with her head in my arms; my big, sweet, trusting baby. The vet entered the room, with a very large
syringe in his hand. He started to kneel
down beside her, then asked me if I would mind switching sides with him. As I started to stand up, my dog thought I
was leaving. Immediately, she pulled
herself up on her front legs and began to drag herself after me. She was easily soothed, though, once I sat
back down on the other side of her. The vet
took hold of her right front leg and inserted the big needle in her vein. Before he could do anything, my poor baby
cried out and jerked her paw loose, pulling the needle out. She looked at me with stunned disbelief in
her eyes, like she simply couldn’t believe I had let this man hurt her like
that. I think I must have prayed, but
all I really remember is the white hot pain – not only was I losing her, but her
last thought must be that her mama, whom she trusted implicitly, had betrayed
her.
Sobbing, I held my dog and
told her it would be okay. The vet also
talked soothingly to her, and she relaxed against me again. What a humbling trust this precious creature
had in me. Thankfully, when he made his
next attempt, she did not fight it. As
he sent the medication into her vein, I said, “I love you – I’ll see you when I
get to Heaven…” I hope she heard
me. There were no gasps or struggles; my
beloved darling just went limp in my arms.
The vet took a stethoscope from around his neck and held it to her
chest.
“She’s gone,” he said
softly.
A moment of panic surfaced
in my chest. I wanted to scream, “Bring
her back – I changed my mind!”
“She went easy,” he
added. I thank God for that. I was left alone with my beloved, having been
told to stay with her for as long or as little time as I wished. I was also given permission to go through the
back part of the office to exit, should I not wish to encounter anyone in the
waiting area. I’m not sure how long I
stayed, memorizing the last feel and smell of her. She didn’t look dead – she looked comfortably
asleep, on the big red towel I had walked her in with.
Beginning at 1:31 p.m., my
pocket vibrated intermittently. Although
I didn’t read them until I got home later, I knew they were messages of support
and love. One of the hardest things
about losing a pet is that there are so many people who don’t understand that
you have lost a family member; it was comforting to have people to help hold me
up.
I wasn’t sure how to feel
about the fact that not one of the other dogs seemed to miss Mavourneen, or
indeed to even notice that she was gone.
I had thought that Neo would feel something, since the two of them had
been together for so long. Maybe he is
more narcissistic than I had realized, although I do worry about what he would
do if anything happened to me. I guess
it’s a good thing that the others aren’t hurting for her, but I felt somewhat
sad for her sake.
Her passing has definitely
left a hole in Roger’s and my lives.
After a month, I still weep for her. Since I was spending all of our bill money
anyway, I paid extra for a private cremation, and have her ashes. When I was alone, I opened them. Among the ashes were tiny pieces of her
little black claws. For some reason,
even as I type, that makes me smile through my tears. An indomitable part of Mavvie that could not
be destroyed.
I believe she is now in
Heaven and that I will see her again.
