I’ve been in a tough place this week; like my skin is thin as tissue paper, and it bleeds raw at the slightest chafe. Yesterday the imbecile at the college financial aid office started arguing with me when I called to inquire about a billing issue. She thought I was complaining, the bitch, when clearly I was merely clarifying. By the time I ended the call, I was brimming with rage and frustration. I thought for a moment that maybe I was the one primed for a fight. But no, she really was unreasonable (the bitch – did I say that?). I was on a cell phone, and I pined momentarily for the ability to slam the handset back into its cradle. That would have felt more satisfying. And I thought: Technology. It sucks, too.
Maybe it’s more like walking around with my insides on my outside, and my flesh and bones and organs clanking noticeably as I walk around, like wares swinging on the flanks of a pack mule. You bruise easily when you walk around like that, so I’m more wary and jumpy. I also want to beat the crap out of somebody.
Chile is dying. And I’m so sad about my boy, but I’m also angry and exhausted along with the worry and fear and sense that I’m perpetually overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the sheer hours spent at the hospital this week, the convoluted conversations with specialists that I struggle to comprehend, getting right the dosage of the half-dozen medications that he’s prescribed.
Exhausted because I don’t sleep well – never knowing whether he’ll still be here when I wake up. I approach his still body quietly each morning, waiting to notice the rise and fall of his red furry chest before I exhale my own sigh of relief that he’s still with us.
And I’m angry: Angry because I feel so helpless to do anything at all to make him breathe more easily and rest without panting, like he did only a day or two ago. It feels excruciatingly unbearable to sit around and do nothing to help him, but instead to go on as usual — to go to work and show up at meetings and answer some emails and toss some laundry in the machine and hear about my daughter’s school day and think about planting those tomato seedlings in a pot on the deck….
Part of me feels slightly crazy and desperate when the vet gives me the latest update on his condition – like I want to shake her thin shoulders until her kind eyes loll around in her head, commanding, “FIX HIM!” But my rational side knows better, and it shushes that inner freak to focus on what we’re dealing with here, and to listen closely for the subtext, which I don’t want to miss. I have to be sure to hear the part when she’ll answer the unspoken question: “Will he get better?”
And I’m angry because I’m feeling gypped out of more time with him – he’s only 9, he’ll be 10 in August (if he makes it is what that inner crazy person just said pointedly). Nine isn’t unreasonable for a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. But it isn’t reasonable, either. No time ever is long enough, when you are talking about someone you love.
Are you thinking – even a little bit – he’s just a dog? Yeah, he is a dog. But not “just.” Chile has been with me the longest; longer than the other three dogs in our house. I would like to use this paragraph to relay some amazing anecdote about his life, to recall his fearlessness in the face of tragedy and recount the courageous way he led a child through a burning building to safety, the smoke searing his own brave lungs. His demise should be trending on Twitter.
But of course the truth is anything but that: He was a difficult little dog; we called him “complex.” He was riddled with anxiety and fears. He saw shadows where there were none. He was ridiculously picky with food. He had bad teeth. He was afraid of thunder and swimming pools. He didn’t warm up to most people; he barked through the fence at the neighbors. He was an asshole to other dogs.
In other words, he lived an ordinary life, like most of us. He loved his walks. He chased seagulls on the beach — running like a lunatic through the muddy surf, his eyes full of expectation that maybe he might bag one this time. (He never did.) Later, he would roll in the sand and emerge looking breaded, like a cutlet. He made his body boneless and cozy when he pressed it into mine on cold nights. He followed the conversation, shifting his big brown gaze from person to person as they spoke, in a way that made him look weirdly human. I guess he was nothing special. But he was extraordinary.
Was. I just realized I’m using the past tense.
He’s not gone yet. But if I’m being honest with myself — much as it pisses me off to be — I know he won’t be with us much longer. If he manages to squeak through this crisis (inner crazy person: Shut up! He will! Goddamit!), how long before the next? Or the next after that? His body is compromised; it’s a matter of time before he’s too tired to rally; too weak to try.
And so this is the place where I’ve been before – and where you’ve maybe been, too, if you’ve buried someone you love, because every death reminds you of other deaths. It’s not quite a march toward the end but a roller coaster of ups and down, with the peaks a little flatter each time, while the depths drop a little steeper.
Does it seem weird to compare a dog to a human, possibly? And if so, why?
The truth is that Chile is connecting me to my own past – to the loss of my father, my mother, and even my own son. There is no hierarchy here, that exalts the demise of one kind of being and dismisses the other. They are all souls who’ve been loved. I’ve made decisions about Chile that I’ve never had to make for a human: Should we try to make him better? (Yes.) Even if it costs money? (Yes.) What if he needs another echo-cardiogram? (So?) Will you pay for that? (Yes.) In that way, I’m forced to give my love for Chile a dollar value — a bottom line, so to speak — in the way we humans rarely are called to do for one another.
How much would you give to fix him? I would give what I could, because that’s what you do for love.
When my father died, it was a weekday, and the mail came as usual. I was in high school, and I remember I was surprised by the mail truck: How could the world go on, when such a tremendous thing had happened? Didn’t they know? Someone I loved had died, and the world would never be the same. Why is it that the world is the same for everyone else? That’s crazy and egocentric, of course, but that’s what grief (and teen-hood) will do.
Decades later, I’m there again, wondering how the world can tick on, and business can get done, when nothing is the same. At the vet, they’re doing all they can. I kiss Chile goodnight on the top of his little red head and I tell him: You’ll be okay. Love you, you knucklehead. See you tomorrow. I don’t want to go, but I have to.
Meanwhile, my parts are on the outside, aching. There’s a little bit of crazy, inside. I want to punch somebody. I want to climb into the cage and never leave my weird little boy. Or one better: I want to watch him tackle the beach and run at top-speed down the hard sand, and remember how it feels – maybe just one more time – when my heart fills with his joy.
Chile died the morning of July 3rd. I wrote this piece three weeks ago, in the midst of Chile’s treatments for one of two major illnesses. Despite his medical issues, Chile’s last few weeks were happy. He died peacefully, beside me, at our house in Maine, his favorite place on earth.
I always grow angry when someone refers to my pug as “just a dog.” I quickly point out, he’s part of the family…he’s my son. As a pet lover, I feel your loss and am truly sorry. When you lose a pet, at least for me, you lose a part of you. Although he’s gone, at least his final moments were with you and in his favorite place on earth. I am truly sorry for your loss, Ann.
I’m so sorry but so glad he was happy at the end in his favorite spot. I’m sure your Son, Dad and Mom are giving him the snuggles he needs as he transitions to his new life without you…for now. As my father said when our cat passed, you’ll see him again someday.
I hope so, Jill. Thank you so much.
Thank you George. There is no such thing as Just a Dog… I agree. Thanks for your understanding, too.
Love your last line…. so YOU!! Thank you, BL. xoxo
So glad you WON!!! I’m sorry for your loss, but so glad you got more time with Twister. Thanks for your note here.
Thanks for those links… will check them out. And I’m very sorry for your losses, too.
Thank you so much, AJ. Really, really appreciate your story… and I’m sorry for your excruciating losses, too. Said another way, death completely and totally sucks. : (
I’m so sorry – that is so brutally painful. I’m glad Amber connected us — and again so sorry for your loss.
Thank you Chris. “Quirky” is an awesome word for him. ; )
Thank you Karen. Considering myself hugged. ; )
So glad you have Cavaliers! They are awesome dogs. Please give them both a second hug from me. ; )
Love this comment, Jennifer. Thank you. So much.
Thank you Jonna. They do leave quite a void. Thanks for your note here.
Thank you Beth. Exactly right — on all counts. They love unconditionally, and that’s such a gift. xo.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ve been through both losing a dog too early, and fearing the loss of a dog who, after a week in the ICU, managed to come back. Both were incredibly hard.
I couldn’t agree more about your comment that “He’s a dog. Not just.” I don’t think I’m a crazy dog lady (though I might be walking a fine line), but god, I love these mutts so much it sometimes makes my heart hurt. Not because they can do amazing tricks or walk beside me on leash or anything, because they can’t, but because they’re my girls, and I don’t know how to love them any less.
I’m thinking of you today and hoping that, soon, you’ll be able to look back and smile about the happy times rather than tearing up while thinking about Chile’s last days.
Beautiful tribute Ann and so many truths in what you say. The world should stop it’s normalcy, even if just for a few moments, when one we love dies. Carolyn
Thank you for writing this beautiful piece. The brevity of our pups is the only bad part of loving them. I’m sorry for your loss.
I wish I could write as eloquently as you and Joe, but I do not possess that gift. Thank you for sharing your story. For what it’s worth your & Chile’s story helped someone – me.
I received word this morning that my cat has only 4-6 mos. I’ve been sitting at work, unsuccessfully trying to focus on the work at hand when your link popped up on my FB notice. Not sure why I clicked on the link, but I did and I’m glad. You very beautifully put into words my feelings right now. Just reading them helped. My pain, frustration and anger aren’t gone. But I’m dealing better, thank you and please let me extend my most sincere and heartfelt condolences for your loss.
Ann – thank you for sharing your story. My sweet CKCS, Jubilee Rose (JuJu B), also, 9, passed away this past week from complications of a stage 4 heart murmur and congested heart failure. Your article came to me at a perfect time. For this, I thank you. Though I only had her for less than a year, after adopting her from a rescue, she brought more joy and love to me than any dog I had in the past. Thank you, again. Blessings, Ronda
“forced to give my love a dollar value” rings so heavy on my heart. We have been there quite a few times, as we tend to “collect” dogs that people feel are no longer worthy of their company.. The best thing to come out of just such a conversation was one night, after almost losing a beloved furry family member, my 12yo daughter comes to us & says, “when I am a vet I will never deny an animal because of money”. I love that kid. She is going to change the veterinary world for the better. I am so sorry for your loss and want to thank you for sharing Chile with us, even if only for a moment. I hope you found some relief decompressing & sharing with us all. <3
Thank you for sharing your heart.
I have three dogs, the oldest is my “baby”. When he goes I will need time off of work and sedatives. These precious creatures worm their way in and stay. Nothing loves you like a dog does, of that I’m convinced.
I am so sorry for your loss and your story gave me the opportunity to remember these same raw, angry and helpless feelings I had when I lost Dixe (CKCS) in April. It still aches and I don’t know when this ache will go away. I feel your love for Chile and am grateful you shared. It’s companionship that can’t be explained, only lived. Thank you.
I completely understand where you were. Our youngest dog (2 year old GSD mix) has been in the hospital since yesterday. I’m lucky enough to say that he’s still there, for now. No one even knows what is wrong with him. Thank you for making me feel real and strangely normal.
Oh, I’m so sorry. As a Cavalier owner, I understand how these beautiful little buggers just crawl into your heart and make themselves at home. Mine is neurotic, intelligent, annoying, loving, sweet little guy who suffers from extreme separation anxiety. He also has bad teeth, chews underwear and regularly gets diarrhea from ingesting anything left in his reach but I love him shamelessly. He’s only 7 and I can’t even consider the possibility of him not being around. The pain when we lose them is the price we pay for being able to spend those brief years with them, I guess.
Again, I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Oh, I’m so sorry. As a Cavalier owner, I understand how these beautiful little buggers just crawl into your heart and make themselves at home. Mine is neurotic, intelligent, annoying, loving, sweet little guy who suffers from extreme separation anxiety. He also has bad teeth, chews underwear and regularly gets diarrhea from ingesting anything left in his reach but I love him shamelessly. He’s only 7 and I can’t even consider the possibility of him not being around. The pain when we lose them is the price we pay for being able to spend those brief years with them, I guess.
Again, I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Reading your post, in a weird way, makes me feel better. Maybe better isn’t the right word, comforted, maybe? My 8 yo dog, too, is dying. Just today the vet asked us to set a hard deadline for how long we would give ourselves/him. He has a nasty virus (3, actually) raging a war on his brain, and no amount of antibiotics seem to be helping us win the battle. And even if they are winning, the amount of brain damage it’s done may never allow him to live a quality life again. The humane thing would be euthanasia, they say – but how do you ever say ok, you’re looking at me, but I’m going to take you in now. You who have brought me so much joy.
So I won’t say comforted, because I’m crying while stumbling through a comment. But maybe less alone. And maybe it will help you feel a little less alone, too.
Beautiful tribute to one wonderful family member. Amazing how the four legged kind take hold of our heart strings and never let go. Never. Even when they are gone.
I have been in your situation more times than I have ever wanted to. Getting old sucks, and losing a best friend sucks the worst. It is total BS that we have to go through pain like this, but I hope you remember ever wonderful part of your little man. I hope you find comfort in that fact that there are SOOOO many of us that have been in your shoes one way or another and know what you are feeling. Hugs your way, all the way from Texas.
I’m SOOO sorry for your loss. Aside from my kids, my little Cooper (maltipoo) was my greatest comfort when my first husband died. He’s still with me and I can’t imagine how alone I’ll feel when he passes away. SOOOO sorry for you!
Ann-
I’m currently a vet student, and I want you to know how much your beautiful piece of writing really touched me, on a personal and professional level. Personally, because growing up on a farm surrounded by animals, I’ve been through this painful experience time and time again with a myriad of pets and livestock (that I loved just as much as my pets!). And professionally, because you remind me why I’m doing what I’m doing. Why I’m spending hour after countless hour, sleepless night after sleepless night, reading and highlighting and memorizing and spitting it all back out onto the exams. It’s easy to get lost and bogged down in the monotonous detail of it all, but when I take a step back and read a blog post like yours, I remember that I’m in this to help in a way that so few can. While us veterinarians (to be) can’t perform miracles, to know someday I’ll be in the shoes to help ease the suffering and prolong the life of a loved one, to then also ease pain and lessen the anxiety that YOU’RE feeling, I feel truly blessed and inspired.
Thank you for sharing your story. I cried along with you from beginning to end. Thank you for reminding me why I’m here.
-Jessica
Ann-
I’m currently a vet student, and I want you to know how much your beautiful piece of writing really touched me, on a personal and professional level. Personally, because growing up on a farm surrounded by animals, I’ve been through this painful experience time and time again with a myriad of pets and livestock (that I loved just as much as my pets!). And professionally, because you remind me why I’m doing what I’m doing. Why I’m spending hour after countless hour, sleepless night after sleepless night, reading and highlighting and memorizing and spitting it all back out onto the exams. It’s easy to get lost and bogged down in the monotonous detail of it all, but when I take a step back and read a blog post like yours, I remember that I’m in this to help in a way that so few can. While us veterinarians (to be) can’t perform miracles, to know someday I’ll be in the shoes to help ease the suffering and prolong the life of a loved one, to then also ease pain and lessen the anxiety that YOU’RE feeling, I feel truly blessed and inspired.
Thank you for sharing your story. I cried along with you from beginning to end. Thank you for reminding me why I’m here.
-Jessica
A testimony to the love we share for our furry children; the tears streaming down my face. I’m not ready. My Cocker Spaniel is 12 and healthy but I know that could turn in a moment. The funny thing is she drives me nuts sometimes. Follows me into every room, barks at the people on the street; no longer cares to snuggle so much but to be near…and yet? When she is gone for a day to the groomer, I miss her being in my way, I miss not knowing that someone is walking in front of the house and I miss not having someone to give a cookie to when I walk into the kitchen for a glass of water.
So I know in your heartfelt comments how real that missing will be someday soon and yet I’m comforted by the words of another and hope you are too. Our dogs won the lottery. Your love for your dog and the care you gave Chile is a testimony of who you are and why people are here offering you comfort. You gave to that sweet creature all they ever ask for really. To be loved. And, well…maybe a cookie. Take good care; soon the pain will subside and the joy of remembering will take over. I promise.
I feel your pain, pets are like our children..
May Chile run free… I have known your pain and will again. Thank you for sharing your immense love for Chile.
The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein made me look at dogs completely differently.
I’m so sorry for your loss!!
I am so sorry for your loss.
When I noticed your post on Twitter I didn’t know if I could read it. I just lost my doggie Solomon on 7/03/2011. A 14 year old Westie. He was diagnosed with diabetes and because of his age even with insulin we couldn’t keep him comfortable. I made the choice to end his pain and let him go to Jesus. I am so glad I took courage to read your post. It brought me comfort to know many others feel this way about their pets. I know Solomon and Chile are together happy, healed and bragging about their wonderful people families below.
I’m so sorry about Chile. It sucks so much to lose someone you love regardless of how many legs they have or any other traits. Hugs to you.
Thank you for such a heart wrenching piece…. I too get really angry when I hear “its just a dog”, no, it is not “just” an anything…. pets are a part of your family much loved and much grieved for and missed.
We currently have three dogs, two of them are Cavalier King Charles spaniels, and one American bulldog. I love each and everyone of them with all my heart. Our Cavvies are 7 and 6 years old, the eldest Jarvis is beginning to slow down and has a heart murmur. Hopefully we have many years left with him and all of them but I am aware of the passing time and am dreading the day when I have to say goodbye to any of them! I am so happy to read that Chile had a happy last few weeks and died peacefully in his favourite place next to his favourite person! You! What more can anyone (or dog) ask for? xxx
Ann, I am so sorry for your loss! It brings a tear to my eye to think of losing any of my cavaliers. I remember back when I lost my beloved Tessy. She was a trained guard dog (bomb and drug trained as well) for a local security company. She saved my life countless times working in the field. She was a constant companion and when the chance came along for her to retire, I jumped at the chance to take her home. when we got there I came to realise that Tessy didn’t even know how to play and didn’t know what a true family was. It helps me to think that our family was able to show her ”the dogs life” before she passed.
Chile, Tessy and all the other fury angels are now at gods bridge to play for life.
I wish that every animal in life had the chance to have such a loving mum/family.
Thank you for loving Chile the way you did/do he will always be in your heart and memory. It does get easier after time, it will never be gone but you will be able to remember the good times without crying in the future.
Again Thank you for being such a great mum!
Bex
The first time I left the house after my German Shepherd mix, Emily, died on October of 2009 I felt as though someone had peeled me like fruit. The tender inner flesh was just out there touching the world without her. It sucks.
Long before she passed a friend and I started a tradition with our circle of friends, family, acquaintances, readers, anyone. When a pet dies, anyone’s pet, anywhere, all the pets in our homes get extra treats and love just for being. Tonight when I get home my knuckleheads (2 senior cats of questionable intelligence and attitude and a young terrier mix with more brains than sense) will get some extra delicacies in Chile’s honor. We’re so sorry for your loss.
what a wonderful way to honour all our best friends <3 totally love the idea
Wow. Ididn’t expect to find such an exceptional piece of writing passed in a Facebook link. Brought back the searing moment when a cow died…the last animal on earth who had lived while my husband still lived, bovine bearer of unmined sorrow. Dogs carry lightly for us the weight of past losses. No wonder we rail at reshouldering the burden when they prepare to leave us.
Thank you Karla. I’m sorry for your losses, too.
I agree… lovely idea. That fills my heart. ; )
Thank you, Bex. I appreciate it. And thanks for sharing your story, too.
So true… thanks, Chris.
Thank you so much.
I’m so sorry Maryellen. I hope the two have met and one-upping each other on how lucky they were. Nice image. ; )