May 1 was a rough day. Well, the rough day technically
started on April 29 (which happens to be mom's birthday). Maddie - my
Australian Cattle Dog and best friend for 13 years - stopped eating. She'd sort
of lost her appetite several days before, but now she even refused treats,
peanut butter, and yogurt. I knew it was not going to end well. I made an
appointment for Monday afternoon and hoped she'd snap out of it over the
weekend. My hopes were crushed on Sunday
night when her back legs gave out and she refused to even try to get up. I once
had a friend who joked that if Maddie were a soldier, she'd be the psycho pup
continuing on the front lines with shrapnel in her nose. That was the Maddie I
knew and loved; not this poor, limp angel lying in my arms. She would have
never admitted defeat willingly.
I guess the purpose behind my journaling this is not to
relive the pain, but to have a place to remember how raw and wounded I was when
I lost my love. Loving a pet is easy. Loving a pet enough to say goodbye...
well, let's just say Webster hasn't quite come up with a good word to describe
the way I felt. Feel. Whatever.
By the time Monday rolled around, I had given up on her. An
amazing friend of ours took Daniel for the afternoon so that I could get her to
the vet with as little distraction and interruption as possible. I am forever
in her debt for her kindness in my hour of need. I will also never forget how
much I leaned on my sweet Lia through that afternoon. I wore her in the Ergo as
I talked to Maddie, stroked her fur, and cried tears of guilt, of loss, and of
anguish. I had no real reason to feel guilty - I think it's just one of those
stages of grief you go through. Somebody agree with me. Please. Having Lia near
me - physically and emotionally - helped me get through the afternoon. Dr.
Parker ran some tests and determined she had a terrible infection. 105 fever
and some ridiculous blood counts.
The estimate was $508. I couldn't make that call on my own,
so I did what any distressed wife would do - I called my husband in tears. Lia
petted me, I cried, and I tried to get through the blood work results and the
costs associated with the overnight IV of fluids and antibiotics without
totally losing it. I don't know what I expected Doug to say, but his words made
me love him deeper and stronger than I ever have before. "She's a good
dog. And a tough dog. And she deserves to fight." Tears are streaming down
my face as I type this, two weeks after the fact. There's a quote I run across
pretty often - "We never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a
trace.' In this situation, these words touched me so strongly that I don't
think I'll ever forget them or the way they made me feel.
I went home that night not knowing what to expect. I knew in
my head that she wasn't going to make it, but my heart wasn't willing to give
up yet. After talking to Dr. Parker the next morning, I had even more hope. She
suggested that I stop by with the kids to visit. Maddie had stood on her own
and her fever had broken during the night. When we arrived that afternoon,
Maddie had back slid. When I asked Dr. Parker what to do the day before, she
gently told me that she didn't have a crystal ball and didn't know what she
would do in my shoes. This time, she couldn't look me in the eye and told me
that there was no reason for her to suffer any longer. God knows - and only God
knows - how I managed to get out of that office without breaking down into a
total blubbering mess. Signing a euthanasia consent form with a baby on my hip
and my 3-year-old at my side was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my
life. We said goodbye once more, Daniel not really understanding but somehow sensing
that this was *really* goodbye. He leaned in over Maddie and said to her,
"I'm sorry, Maddie. I'm sorry this happened to you." I have never
been more proud of him.
That night, I sat on the couch with Doug and cried. I cried
for how much I missed her. I cried for how much I loved her. I cried for so
many things. For the ache in my heart, for the happiness she brought me, for
the good times we had. Doug and I recalled our favorite memories. His were of
the time she defended him from his brother and drew blood and the time she
leaped over the front seat of the truck to land on the dashboard... she hated
windshield wipers. Mine were of the time my roommates painted her green, the
way she used to sit on her kennel and howl when I pulled out of the driveway,
the time she licked my tears from my face when my teenage world was falling
apart. I laughed about the time she penned the neighbor's horse. The way she
thought she could swim but really sunk like a brick. The way she used to pick
grapes off the vine as we drove to the lake.
The hardest part of losing my baby was having to be strong
for my kids. It never occurred to me that somebody would mourn her more
fiercely than I would. It never occurred to me that our 13 years together could
be trumped by Daniel's entire little life with her. He's never known a day
without Maddie. Telling him that Maddie was gone was every bit as hard as
telling her goodbye. He asked me if we could pray to God for Him to bring
Maddie home safely. All I could muster was, "He did, baby." The last
two weeks have been hard. I miss the way she used to lie by Lia's door as I put
her to bed. I miss her smell. I miss the way her coat felt under my hands. I
miss my dog.
But ultimately, I am thankful. I am thankful for the way
that she loved me and my family. I am thankful for the happiness she brought us
over the last 13 years. I am thankful that Doug agreed to give her a chance to
fight. I am thankful for that freezing Valentine's Day in Seguin when I plucked
her from the back of a pickup truck in the Walmart parking lot. A friend of
mine was too right when she said that Maddie was the best thing to ever come
from Walmart.
Goodbye, Maddie. I love you with all my heart. Thank you for
teaching me how to care for another. Most of all, thank you for loving me
unconditionally. May you rest peacefully knowing you did your job well. Well
done, good and faithful friend.
