November 16, 2016
I talked about her a bit in Momma Muriel, but now I want to talk about the end.
The last few years of her life were painful, I am sorry to say.
Baby aspirin helped ease the pain, but
she had arthritis in her hips as well as hip dysplasia. I am afraid pain was constant in her
life. In the last year or so, she would
bark incessantly. It wasn’t until the
end we understood that she had very little control over her back legs. She was barking to get our attention. I would
go over, pull her a few feet off of her bed, to get her started, and then she
would walk and do whatever she wanted.
Starting seemed to have been the hardest thing for her.
I watched helpless as her body failed her in the last few
years. Adding Boudreaux to the pack created
an extra annoyance she didn’t need. He
was always biting at her to try to get her to play, wanting to run and romp,
occasionally she has the energy to play back, but not often. I would watch with great sorrow, pity, and
compassion as she tried to lower her back just a few inches to get in and out
of the dog door. The last few months she
would sit, stick her head out, and cry or bark.
We knew for a long time that this was her long goodbye. I wanted to put her down a year ago. She told me again and again that she wanted
to go home. She would sit at Prince’s
grave. She missed her pack, her
friends. Jay would not have it. He wanted her to make it one more summer so
we could take her to the lake.
Princess loved to swim.
So much so we have kept a small swimming pool full for her, for many,
many years. I have seen her in that
thing, when there was ½ inch of ice on it.
For the last 3 or 4 years we have taken her to the dog swimming area at
Cypress Black Bayou Park, at least one day a year. This special day is known as “swimmy day.” It includes not only a lovely car ride, but a
picnic as well. We have in the past had
burgers, fried chicken, but this year it was Chinese food.
We all ate, then swam, and had the most lovely time. Princess liked the shallow water. Precious, who also loves the water and enjoys
swimmy day, loves the deep. So we try to
find a happy balance sitting in the mud, where Princess could lay down if she
wanted and then Precious, with her little Doxie legs could swim between me and
Jay. She likes to do laps. The sun was
warm that day and the water was perfect.
It was a wonderful time, and when it came time to go Princess did not
want to leave. I know she knew it was
her last swimmy day.
Then Jay got sick, and in the hospital her cried and told me
he wanted to put Princess down. He
wanted her to make it to Christmas. I
knew she had barely made it to swimmy day.
I talked him into a few days after Thanksgiving. She didn’t make it.
Thankful Jay came back from a festival in September with a
little money. We were able to put some
aside in case of emergency. As always
the emergency came.
I came home from Druid one Saturday and she could not
walk. She could walk when I left. Princess had suddenly become downed. She could not walk. She could not potty by herself. We knew it was time. She did not want to live like this.
We feared we would not be able to put her down humanely. That we would have to shoot her in the
head. We could not do that, not after
all the years of service she had given us.
She was after all our baby. We
had raised her since she was 8 weeks old.
We had just enough money in the savings to take her to the dr. We called for an appointment, on Tuesday
afternoon. Jay hoped that work would let
him off so he could be there. We were so
happy they did.
So for two days we dug her grave. Princess supervised the whole thing, lying in
the dirt we were digging up. Now in
Louisiana, unless you have a large piece of machinery, digging is not
easy. First you have to get through the
roots in the ground, this requires reciprocating saws and hedge trimmer, which
are often so tangled you have to use a spoon and a brush to dig out a root just
to cut it. Then a layer of sand and
finally clay, and once you hit it, the dig is over.
Jay and I worked on it together for a long time Sunday, and
when we went to bring Princess in the house, she did not want to go. She fought us and tried to head to the
truck. She wanted it over with. We had talked to her at length about what was
going to happen to her, and how she wanted things. But she was still pissed that it was not yet
time.
The rest of the day was just for her. She had so many experiences. We took so many pictures, and tried to lay
with her as much as possible. We took
her to Nana’s to say goodbye. Drove into
the Dairy Queen got her an ice cream cone.
We drove past Cross Lake at which she cried and wanted desperately to
get out and go swim. There was no place
for us to do that for her, and in the condition she was in it would have been
too hard to get her down into the swim area at Black Bayou. So we gave her one last swim in her
pool.
Monday I lay on my belly and dug the rest of her grave. Sophia and Boudreaux even helped. I had to yell at Boudreaux to get out of the
hole so I could work. He just thought I
was digging a nice whole to lay in. It
was very macabre. That night she had a
steak dinner with sweet potato, and a candle lit bath with her daddy. She went to the Gods clean, full, and happy.
Princess who had been mad at us Sunday, was damn near
despondent by Tuesday. But when daddy
came home and said, “Let’s go.” You have
never seen a girl so happy. She was
finally going home. Daddy Jay had smoked
her a pork bone and she got to lick on it on her way to the vet’s office. The only time I saw her nervous was when she
was in there. She was shaking but
happy. They gave her a sedative, and
then once she was asleep the pink juice.
We all wept.
I had been strong the whole time, a cry here, a cry
there. I knew what had to be done. I could fall apart later. When I got in the truck I screamed and cried,
till there was nothing left. At the base
of her grave is a quilt that Jay and I had made long ago. It had been part of her bed, and now was so
tore up it was beyond use. Her pink
pillow to lay her head on, her bone, and several chocolate chip cookies to take
give to Heimdall on her journey over the bridge. She is covered in the blanket that I made for
her this spring. I made is specifically
for when she would pass over.
The last year or so it became a thing with us. We would tell her to get in her bed, and then
Jay or I would cover her up with whatever blanket she wanted. She had two.
The one I had made, which is buried with her, and one made for me as a
baby, which I kept. I can’t even look at
that blanket now without crying.
It is rare that we have had to put a child down because of
age. Punka, and now Princess. We have cried ourselves silly. We came home and howled for her. I even recorded her barking, but it drives
the kids nuts. My pack did what they
were supposed to do the night she died.
They barked, cried, and howled for her, even Boudreaux. We woke up out of a dead sleep about 3 in the
morning to the most blood curdling sound we had ever heard. It was Boudreaux howling for her to come back
to the pack. He woke me the next morning
and said, “I don’t think she’s coming back.”
We had to explain to him again about death.
I cried and wailed for her for days. I still have yet to put her picture on the
ancestor altar, even though her collar is there. My house seems bigger with her gone, bigger
and emptier. This little tiny soul, who
had no idea she was so big, no idea why people were afraid of her. I miss having to go get her out of the back
bathroom when it thunders, or when Jay turns on the compressor, all things she
was afraid of. I miss covering her up at
night. I miss calling to her when I
clean the pool out, that it is time for a swim.
I miss her funny face, and they way she would boof at me to do
something, like I was not worth the whole bark.
I miss the way she rolled in the grass, and made these wonderful
noises. In a million ways every day I
miss her.
No words can sooth a mother’s heart who has lost a child,
human or otherwise. In my moments
sometimes I forget. Last night I though,
where is she? I haven’t seen her in a
bit. I waited a while to write this to
you because I wanted to be able to get all the way through it, without breaking
down. I know she had a good life with
us. I know I was a good mother to
her. I know now she is safe, and happy,
and no longer hurting. She was a gift,
and we are all richer for her having shared her life with us. Rest well little one, rest well.
Ilsa
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