Learning to Say "Goodbye"

My Little Friend Chewy and me! Whose haircut looks nicer!

Anyone who has read my blog knows and has seen pictures of my little dog Chewy.  He brightens my days - starting early in the mornings.  He sleeps with me every night that I'm home, and I miss him as much as he misses me when I'm gone.  Little Chew-Boo (one of several names I call him) greets me at the door when I return home everyday, or at the airport when I return home from a trip abroad. The old adage "dog is man's best friend" might want to add "and woman's too!"  Chewy is - without a doubt - my best friend. 

Chewy is the first dog I've ever had from the puppy stage to older adult dog.  He already had his name when I got him, otherwise I would have named him Bear, or Jack, or some he-dog name.  But Chewy stuck.  Got to admit, he does look like Chewy from the Star Wars movies.  For the little squirt he is, Chewy truly believes he is my protector.  He hates my lawn guy - well, except when I'm not home; he'll bark ferociously even at loved ones until they call him out at his crime, then Chewy will whine like the little baby dog he is, and runs to me for protection. I can't help but roll my eyes when he does that, and pick him up for assurance -such the guard dog!!

Dance with me!!!

I think some time in the last 10 years I forgot that Chewy is getting older.  He's always been my little boy - my best boy, as I like to remind him.  Probably his small stature keeps him looking young - ageless.  We get gray hairs and wrinkles, he was born with gray hair.  

Unfortunately, several weeks ago, Chewy gave me a fright when he started convulsing from a seizure.  At first I thought he was choking from something, and screamed to my sister for help. I held firmly to him as she tried sticking her finger down his throat to make sure there was nothing obstructing his breathing, which there wasn't.  All I could do was hold him as his little body twitched and convulsed ( I later learned from the vet that I shouldn't hold him just in case he bites me as his loses control).  Once the seizure stopped - what seemed like several minutes - probably more like very few minutes - we rushed him to the vet.  After a blood test, she gave him drugs to try controlling the seizures.  And they seemed to help - for about a week.  Nevertheless, the beginning of the next week the seizures returned, and with a vengeance.  After suffering from multiple minor and finally a major seizures in one day I took him to the Pet Hospital.  The vet on call gave me the sobering news that an overwhelming percentage of dogs that develop seizures at his age are most likely suffering from a brain tumor.  But because of his age and the costs involved, surgery isn't an option.  So, more drugs were administered, with notes of how to care for him, and to realize his end is sooner than I would have ever imagined.  I questioned when that time would come, and the vet said when the quality of his life diminishes to the point where putting him to sleep is the most humane option.  GULP!!


If I stand on this gizmo,
maybe it will stop shaking!!!

I've never watched or seen a pet die.  Ironically, I've watched two loved ones pass through this life to the next - but not a pet.  I know that cats have an inate ability to know when their time has come, and often leave their families and homes to pass on alone.  It's as though they don't want their family members to suffer from their loss - as if a lost cat doesn't make a family suffer.  We definitely had pets and many have died, but with many brothers and a sister, the pets often ran away - probably for their own sanity!!  I think while growing up we often think life goes on forever.  Pets don't die, they just run away.  Fish - well, fish aren't really pets.  Try pulling a fish out of the water and petting it, or taking it out for walks.  But dogs are faithful no matter what we do to them. Chewy has been my faithful friend for ten years now.  He's never been the prettiest of dogs, but he's adorable to me.  And he loves me no matter what!

Hark!!  who's that I hear???

I am honestly dreading the day I will have to say goodbye to Chewy.  We humans have "white coat syndrome" when we visit the doctor, dogs have the same syndrome.  How will I react when the nurse takes him from my hands?  Will they allow me to carry him back there?  Do I hold his head as drugs are administered, or do I just walk out of the door crying, which I will do either way; but then I realized, I don't want him dying alone.  I have to be there with him, there's no question about it.  The vet won't walk him back there, I will do it.  I will hold him as the vet starts administering his drugs.  I will kiss his little wet nose as he drifts off to sleep for the last time.  And  I will take him to his final resting place.

But until that day, I will be grateful for his excitement when I get home.  I will pick him up and hold him tight - and even let him lick my nose!   I won't even complain when he doesn't obey and wants to follow me to the bathroom even though I tell him to "stay!".  I will enjoy everything about him, because there will come that day when I won't hear him scream when I come home;  that he won't follow me to the bathroom and not 'stay', or that I won't hold him close, or let him lick my nose.  It's all a part of the process of learning to say 'goodbye.'