The sun is shinning today. The second day in a row that the sun was up before us. The past week the sun hadn't bothered to break through the thick cloud cover until late afternoon. Strange how even the sunniest days can seem so dark. I'm sitting here waiting for my phone to ring. It will be the hubs. He will be letting me know that our little girl had been relieved of her impending misery. And that I'll never see her wagging tail or caramel brown eyes again.
I haven't stopped crying since the words the tall blonde and very direct woman examining my frail little animal said to me had finally sunk in. Our little girl was sick. Very sick. We had 2 choices. Prolong her death or accept the inevitable and give her some relief.
The more practical thinking, less emotional part of my team made the decision. We took her home. For one last night.
It's funny when I think back to all the times I swore I'd kill these little monsters myself. All the times they dug up my planters, peed on the rug and tore up anything and everything that was thrown over the wall. This included FedEx packages that just happened to contain job acceptance letters and their accompanying forms... to which I had to sheepishly pick up the phone and explain to the HR manager that they would have to send me out another packet due to "delivery complications".
We'd come home to pieces of colored rubber and cardboard strewn all over the yard and look at each other in confusion until we finally found the tiny scrap of paper that explained the reason for the new addition to the landscaping. A surprise birthday present shipped via UPS and sent sailing over the wall to meet the dog's great delight. Only one slightly mangled rubber duckie managed to make it out alive. It's the thought that counts.
Looking back, no matter how many times I wanted to send them to the "corn field", facing the reality of really losing one of them is devastating. And now, watching the other one stare at the gate, pacing back and forth – anxiously waiting for the little girls return – is just heartbreaking. They have been together since they were 6 months old. Now, 7 years later, he's alone without his partner in crime.
The phone finally rang.
I could hear the crack in my hubs voice when he said hello that squelched the hope that he was going to tell me that she was miraculously cured overnight and that he was bringing her back home. The doggie doc had relieved him of some of his guilt, I'm sure, of having to play the part of the Grim Reaper, by telling him we made the right decision. That prolonging it any longer would only be prolonging the inevitable. Words I had already heard yesterday, but refused to believe after seeing her this morning. The shot they had given her to ease some of the pressure in her stomach had obviously made a difference. She seemed better. Happier. Somehow back to the sprite little thing she used to be. It made me question whether we were doing the right thing or just taking the easy way out. But I kissed her head and looked into her caramel eyes one last time before the hubs took her out the door to meet her fate. I agonized over this until the hubs let me know that the doggie doc had confirmed our decision, no doubt relieving some of my guilt as well.
Knowing that the hubs was there with her, comforting her as she drifted to sleep one final time made me feel only a tiny bit better. It was something I wanted to do myself, but couldn't imagine how I would make it through the process. I had never experienced the death of a pet any lager than one you could flush. And though I had flushed many a stiff fish, It really couldn't possibly prepare you for this. This, to my surprise, is overwhelming.
So now she's gone.
I have to keep reminding myself that she is no longer suffering. That the sickness that was ravaging her body and made her almost unrecognizable was over. That this was the right decision. But It hasn't sunk in yet that she's not coming back. That we only have one dog. Just Strummer.
I can't possibly cry anymore. There cannot possibly be anymore tears left. Even with all the tears, my eyes feel so incredible dry. Like there are a dozen pieces of sand clinging to the insides of my eyelids. Scratching with every blink. And my eyelids are so swollen I can barely see clearly. If this had to happen, I'm only happy that my kiddo is too young to understand what is happening. To really grasp why his mom is trying to smile through eyes the size of baseballs and not drip snot all over him.
People say there is always something good that arises from something bad. I'll be on the look out for that something good. I hope it comes real soon.
