Six Months

The anniversary of losing Bella just passed the six month mark and I wanted to update this blog.  She is still very much in my thoughts and I still take frequent walks to "Bella's Corner" in a way that mimics the daily (actually 2-3 times daily) tennis ball retrieving sessions we'd have down at the barn.  As I prepare to leave the house I will very quietly, but still out loud, say "C'mon girl, let's go for a walk" just as I would have done when she was alive. I will look closely at the places she'd have stopped to pee, or where she'd have purposefully walked with her head and tail carried high.  Along the driveway approaching the barn I often look to my left and recall how she'd excitedly move along the grass right beside the gravel driveway.  At the corner that's now marked as "Bella's Corner I look across the grass and through the maple trees and remember how much she loved being there.  After a few minutes, I say" C'mon girl, lets go home.  Let's get a treat".  That was always enough to get her moving towards the house.  And as I walk back home, I recall how she'd carry herself and the different routes she'd take to go home.

I think a lot about life and death and what happens to a living being when they die.  I am not religious and don't believe in God.  I don't think there's a heaven or hell.  But maybe this is making become "spiritual".  I want to believe that something of Bella remains.  I look to the sky and wonder if her spirit or soul or life force is still there.  I feel like part of her still exists and maybe I am carrying that inside me?  For now, I think that's it.  It is more that just my memory of her...I think that I am carrying Bella's spirit (for lack of a better term) inside of me.  And whether or not that is true and provable is just not important.  It is enough for me to feel her spirit in me.  I can settle for that.

My mourning for Bella has transitioned.  I still come to tears on occasion, but it is becoming much less frequent.  The pain I felt for months has subsided somewhat.  I am more focused on remembering her personality and remembering her habits and behavior.  I miss her terribly and I doubt that will ever fade.  But it is easier now than before and I'm grateful for that.

For now I am content to savor her memory and to lovingly carry her spirit in my mind and heart.

I love you Bella.

Three Months

Today marks three months since Bella left us.  There has not been a single day since then that I have not thought about her.  Nearly every evening I do a walk to her favorite corner by the barn and imagine her trotting along, eagerly preparing for a tennis ball retrieving session.  I talk to her (memory) as I would have when she was alive and the sound of my voice, saying exactly what I'd have said to her, makes it seem a bit more real.  I try to remember the details of how she looked, how she moved and what she did throughout the walk.  As often as not it brings a tear to my eye.

I miss you deeply sweet girl.  You were my best friend and closest companion.  Life is not the same without you.  I think you had a good life and although I wish it would have been longer, we did the best we could for you.  Living on this beautiful farm with all the freedom you could have asked for was better than most dogs have it.

I love you Bella.

Our Walk

I have developed a routine that has become part of my day.  Every night around dusk I quietly whisper, "C'mon Bella, let's go for a walk" and I go out the front door and down the steps as if she was right beside me.  Just like we'd do when we were headed to her corner by the barn to retrieve tennis balls.  I walk along the driveway and picture her excitedly walking along with her ball in her mouth, head and tail held high.  Often she'd drop down to the willow tree and turn to see if I'd follow.  Usually I didn't and she'd take the hint, run back to the driveway and head for the barn. 

Once I arrive at her corner I envision where she'd be standing, looking at me, waiting for me to draw up beside her.  My eyes move from the corner fence post and scan the grassy area where we'd play.  I close my eyes and imagine seeing her running after the ball as she'd done thopusands of times before.

After a few minutes I say aloud, "C'mon girl, let's go to the house."  and then "Let's get a treat".  Those words were all it took to end the retrieving session and set her in motion for home.  I then imagine her walking beside me back to the house.

The pain of losing her is subsiding, though I still miss her dearly and wish that I had done more with her and that I had more pictures and video to look at. 

Emptiness

Its been over five weeks since Bella died and I still mourn her loss on a daily basis.  Multiple times each day I will turn a corner in the house and, without overtly thinking of her, I'll expect her to be there.  Its an instinctive reaction formed by thousands of repetitions over eleven years.

Of course as soon as this thought occurs it washes away as I acknowledge the reality of her death.  It produces the feeling that I am alone, without my best friend and constant companion.  It leaves me facing the permanence of my future without her.  The futility of wishing it weren't true and of wishing I could spend another hour with her presses in on my brain with an unshakeable weight.  It is a dark, hollow sense that fills me up and weighs me down.  It is an emptiness that I cannot push aside.

Bella was part of my life for eleven years. She brought me joy and satisfaction, she amused me and amazed me, she was my partner and best friend.  She fill up a very large part of my life at a time when there were few friends in my life.  At this point in my life Sherry has moved away from me emotionally, spending very little time with me and this has left me with an empty plate. 

Bella did her very best to fill this up and I loved her dearly.  Her companionship did a great deal to give me a relationship that I could count on every day.  With her passing, this emptiness has come roaring back and I have no idea how I'm going to replace her.  I've thought, ever so briefly,  about another dog but I'm not ready for that...and wonder if I ever will be.

Passion and Guilt

Yesterday I did my daily walk to Bella's Corner.  It begins with me going through the motions of gathering Bella and her Chuck-it and heading out to the barn for a phantom retrieving session with her.  It's often a very emotional session for me in which I am flooded with memories of her.

I thought about our last real session on Saturday, May 11, 2019.  She showed me all of the passion for what we were doing that I'd come to expect and had witnessed on a daily basis for years.  What I did not understand at the time was that she had five days left to live.  And that in just two days, she'd be unable to stand on her own.

It occurred to me that she must have been feeling awful at the time.  She could not possibly have been free from pain or other serious symptoms on Saturday.  And yet, there she was tearing after that tennis ball as passionately as ever.  She was somehow able to overcome the pain and sickness she must have been feeling to do what she loved.  This is the gutsy, fearless nature that Bella showed throughout her life.  I am so proud to have been her owner and friend and to have seen her passion and bravery up close.   She was an amazing animal and I miss her so much.

On Sunday, May 12, 2019 I decided that I need a break from Sherry and spent an entire day driving in the mountains.  This was to be Bella's last good day and Sherry told me that she chased tennis balls and hunted lizards all day in her garden.  I am so glad that Sherry got to spend an uninterrupted day with Bella and that Bella had one more of her trips to the Garden.  It occurs to me that I could have been with her as well, but instead, had a self-indulgent day of feeling sorry for myself.  I blew it, I missed out on her last good day on earth.  I will regret this decision for the rest of my life.

What I Miss

Its been three weeks since Bella left us.  I have her ashes and distributed some of her over Bella's Corner near the barn, on the front yard and below the willow tree.  The rest of her is on my nightstand where they've been a morning and night time reminder of her, though she's been in my thoughts every morning without any reminder necessary. This morning I scanned the pine trees to see if her silhouette is still there.  It wasn't.

The title question popped into my mind this morning.  There are lots of things that I absolutely do miss.

I miss our walks and watching her retrieve tennis balls.  She put such energy and passion into it.  She moved athletically and had so many sliding, leaping, twisting, turning, flipping moves and it was fun to watch her go at it.  Sometimes she'd bungle a move and it would be embarrassing, but she was usually poetry in motion.  As she matured she became a very powerful animal and watching her unleash that power and passion was so much fun.

I miss her working us for treats.  She loved Milk Bones and she had ways of begging for them that were interesting.  She'd lay on the floor in front of the laundry room (where her treats were stored) and stare at me.  Sometimes she'd bark.  Once she saw a connection between a treat and an action (like coming back into the house) the treat thing was one way....she'd NEVER pass a chance at that treat.  The instant she thought there was a treat coming, she'd salivate and would lick her snout...her anticipation was clear.  I don't regret a single treat I ever gave her.

For the past few years, every time I'd eat an apple Bella would either see, smell or hear me and come running to me.  She'd learned that I was going to share the apple with her and she loved apples.  This afternoon I decided to have an apple and my first thought was...Bella will want some of it.

I loved the feel of her muscular body and her sculpted head and ears.  The back of her head came to a beautiful point and I miss the feel of this point.   I miss holding, grooming, massaging and petting her.  She loved certain of these activities, but HATED grooming.  OTOH, she LOVED being massaged and would stand for 20 minutes or more. 

I miss the daily activity around caring for her...feeding, filling water supply, taking her out for 1&2, scooping her poop, telling her "kennel" at night (if you waited long enough she'd go by herself) and getting her out each morning by 7:00AM at the latest.

I miss her beautiful reddish blonde coat.  I'd often find myself staring at her coat; admiring the various textures and colors.  I loved the soft curls on her ears and smooth fur on her head.

I miss fighting with her over grooming.  She hated it and it made it difficult to keep her coat in the condition I'd have liked.  Still, it was her coat and I figured that if it got bad enough, I'd just cut it off.   Seemed to work for us.

I miss the mental connection we had.  She was extremely obedient and almost never needed to be corrected.  The hand signal system we developed to help her locate a "lost" tennis ball worked well and it was fun to have her look at me, asking for and accepting my help finding her ball.

I miss taking her for rides.  These were sometimes in my SUV, but mostly in the Kubota RTV.  She LOVED to ride seated next to me and I usually draped my arm over her shoulder to ensure that she could not slip out.

Bella Comes Home

Today I dropped off the payment for Bella's euthanasia and cremation at Clarkesville Vet.  Coincidentally (or maybe not) I got a voice mail from them telling me that Bella's ashes were back and could be picked up.  Hearing someone say "Bella's ashes" hit me like a hammer in the head and it immediately brought tears to my eyes.  Although I've thought about her cremation every day since she died, the reality of it all was driven home with that simple voice mail.

On my way back home from driving to Athens with KC to return the equipment we rented for Jon and Keila's engagement party, I dropped by the vet.  Fighting back my tears, I entered the vet's office for what is, in all likelihood, the very last time.  I approached the counter and told them why I was there.  Minutes later, with the box containing her ashes on my lap, I drove home.

After dinner I took a portion of her ashes and walked around the farm dropping ashes in her favorite spots...in the front year, beneath the willow tree, along the driveway going to the barn and at Bella's Corner where we spent so much time retrieving tennis balls.  It was  a deeply emotional experience for me.   I think I'll keep the remaining ashes in my night stand where she'll be close to Sherry and I.

Bella has come full circle and is now back at the farm, her home and playground for her entire life .  It doesn't ease the pain of losing her a bit but I do take some comfort in the life we helped her to have.  She lived a full and active life on a farm that represented her universe with a half brother and owners she loved.  She was loved as fully as any pet has ever been loved and I will think about her every day for as long as I live.

I love you Bella.

Memories

It's been two weeks since we decided that it was time to let Bella go and its been a deeply emotional time for me.  I've mourned and cried and swore as I've dredged up memories of Bella and tried to come to grips with losing her.  The memories of her have haunted me and I've spent hours thinking about her and the huge impact she had on our lives.  Two weeks in and I am very slowly adjusting to her no longer being my daily companion and best friend.

Nearly every afternoon since she died I have taken the same walk that I'd have taken with her while she was alive to chase tennis balls.  I've stepped through it exactly as I would have with her...first going to the laundry room to get her Chuck-it and to toss her the dirt and slobber encrusted tennis ball, then going out the front door and down the steps, turning left to let her pee on the front yard.  I usually speak to her as if she was there in front of me and I imagine her movements as if we were going to have a real retrieving session instead of just a phantom session.

I imagine that she'd glide along the driveway with the ball in her mouth, her head and tail carried high.  From her gait and carriage I could always tell that she was thrilled to be doing this.  Near the willow tree she would often drop down the slope and head towards the barn.  Invariably she'd rejoin me on the driveway and cross over to the right side where she'd often take a dump. From there she'd take the lead and head to the first fence, cross the driveway to the barn and then turn and wait for me at her corner.  There were other spots that we had retrieving sessions, but her corner at the barn became her favorite spot and she always headed here.  I have come to think of this as "Bella's Corner".  When she arrived at her corner she'd face me, drop her ball and wait for me to join her with her tail waving from side to side.  As soon as I got closer she'd pick up her ball.

Once I made it to her corner I'd take up my position under the canopy of the second maple tree, she'd circle behind me and on my right side, carefully drop her ball.  With the ball deposited, she'd turn to her left and slip behind me. As I moved to pick up the ball with her Chuck-it she'd shoot out on my left side as I launched the ball.  Her retrieve would bring her straight back to my left side.  She'd slip behind me and re-deposit the ball on my right side. And repeat.  This would continue until I thought she'd had enough and we'd retrace our steps back to the house.  When she was healthy we'd do this two or three times a day, every single day; towards her end it was only once a day.  It was a special time for us to be together and she loved it.  I loved it.  As I knew I would, I'd give anything to be able to do it again.

Yesterday morning I was lying in bed looking out one of our bedroom windows at the tops of the pines behind the house.  I began to notice a pattern created by the dark pine branches against the morning sky that looked, to my eyes, like a silhouette of Bella.  I wondered if I was losing my mind, whether my mourning had gone too far and whether the wind would eliminate the silhouette.  But each time I closed my eyes and reopened them, the silhouette was still there.  This morning, I checked again and there she was.  I can't say how long her image will remain in the trees, but its nice, if a bit weird, to think that Bella is finding a way to stay connected to me.

I look at her photos every day and I am reminded of how her muscular body felt- especially her shoulders, how the different textures of her fur felt and how she smelled.  I would often bury my face in her neck and pull her towards me.  Generally she tolerated this, but at times she'd grow impatient and pull away.   She was a serious minded dog and was not given to sentimentality.  Having said this, she loved having her shoulders massaged and when a massage began she would slowly lower her head and press against my legs.  There was no time limit to this activity and we'd go as long as my hands could tolerate the work.  The massages usually took place in my office, but sometimes she'd approach me while I was seated at the couch and push her snout under my hand or arm and let me know she wanted a massage.  I always tried to accommodate her.

Bella was a collector.  But she only collected things that were mine or Sherry's.  Her favorites were shoes.  I'd often find one shoe missing and I immediately knew that she'd taken it and 99 times out of a hundred it would be in her kennel.  Never chewed them up, never damaged them...she'd just pick it up and drop it in her kennel.  Her other favorite was Sherry's eye glasses.

I am still mentally wired to the habits that were formed caring for Bella.  Out of her kennel at 7:00AM to pee and feed, a second feeding at 3:00PM, a treat and bedtime at 9:00PM.  Having lived by this timetable every day for eleven years, one month and a day...4,046 days if you are counting...it may take some time to stop my brain from falling into these well worn grooves.  But really, its OK...I like being reminded of her and our routines, though it jars me to walk past our laundry room and not hear her or see her or to walk into an empty house expecting her to come running, only to hear complete silence.  Those are the new realities I am coming to terms with and it is a slow, painful process.  

Where Did She Go?

I am going through the most painful grieving process I have ever had to endure.  It causes a painfully intense mourning to wash over me and usually brings on tears.  Its been happening 20-30 times a day and does not seem to be abating, at least not by much.  So I have thought about what I can do to deal with it.

I am not a spiritual person, I don't believe in Heaven, Hell or God.  But I've though....what if I make up some kind of afterlife and place Bella inside that.  Why not?  If I can convince myself to believe in it and visit this idea enough, maybe it will become "real" to me and I can imagine Bella living in this realm.

I began picturing her on a raft in a river, slowly floating away from me.  Maybe she can simply stay suspended in this beautiful river on a warm sunny day at a constant distance from me, resting comfortably, watching the birds and deer and fish as she floats along.  Or maybe she's on a smooth grassy lawn with an automatic tennis ball chucker and she gets to retrieve tennis balls as much as she wants.  Maybe she is simply a spirit that moved from her body when she died and now resides in my heart and I can hold her there and take her with me wherever I go.  I like all three of those scenarios and may work on internalizing them so that they become the new reality.

I know her body is in a refrigerator at Clarkesville Vet waiting for the crematorium to pick her up.  I hate the thought of her in a cold dark place and much prefer the idea that Bella is now able to move freely through a spiritual world and that is completely up to me as to how it is shaped and how she can spend her time.  There's no reason I can't reshape this spiritual world as new things occur to me.   I also thing that Bella should be able to communicate with me and tell me what she likes and doesn't like.

So, until I come up with a better idea, this is where Bella is.

My Best Friend

Its been just over 24 hours since Bella's death and I am not doing well.  I am constantly flooded with her memory and keep expecting her to be looking out the window for me when I drive up or come wagging her tail when I come through the front door.  This afternoon I left to get a haircut and for and instant I thought, "Now, what time do I need to get back to feed Bella?"  I am deeply, deeply sad and can't stop crying when her memory floods over me. I have NEVER grieved like this before and it is awful.

I have to confront the fact that she's gone and that I have lost my most frequent companion and best friend.  I suppose that calling a pet your best friend is an idiotic idea, but it really is true.  I spent more time with Bella than Sherry or my boys or KC and her leaving is ripping a gigantic, ragged hole in my heart.  I miss her so much...its just unbelievable.

Bella loved to hear guitar music and when I sat down in my office to play she'd come from the other end of the house and lay down in my office while I played.  It was so nice to see her do this.  During her last day at home she was in my office and I found a ten hour loop of mellow acoustic guitar music and played this for hours for her. I hope it helped her deal with her pain.

Today I called the vet and to find out if she's been delivered to the crematorium yet.  I learned that she's still at the vet.  The receptionist asked if I wanted to come get her and for a second I thought about doing that.  I know that would make no sense and would just make a mess of things.  She needs to be cremated, but I can't stop wondering where she is.

An Unexpected Visit

Sherry and I began sorting through Bella's stuff almost immediately after coming home from Bella's euthanasia.  Honestly I would have preferred waiting a while, but there was really no reason not to get started.  Her things were separated into a Goodwill pile, a trash pile and a pile of unexpired meds that Christy told us they could use as donations at the vet office.  So I made the rounds.

When I walked into the vet office the receptionist asked me how I was.  I told her it was the worst day of my life.  She said, "Aw, I know.  We're so sorry."  and then she asked if I'd like to see Bella again.  Actually I'd thought about this and immediately told her I would.  In a couple of minutes Christy came out and took me back to an exam room where Bella's body was on the table.  The smell of her "fluids" hit me when I walked in but I didn't care.  She was laying on a stainless steel exam table and had a baby blue blanket draped over her with her head and front shoulder exposed.  I was struck with how beautiful she looked, her strawberry blond fur was smooth and her face looked at peace.  I knew that the awful struggle she'd been through was over and that the cancer was now just as dead as she was.  They handed me a clay casting of her paw. 

They left me alone to say goodbye to her one more time.  I stroked her head and ears and legs and feet.  I lifted her ear and smelled her-she still smelled like Bella.  Her body was cold from being refrigerated, but her limbs were still flexible.  I examined her toes and pads and toe nails and saw how I could have done a far better job grooming her.  I tried to close her eyelids, but they kept springing open.  I talked to her softly and kissed her head.  I told her that I loved her and would miss her so much. The tears began flowing and it seemed to me that I'd really not let loose when Dr. Wonders euthanized her.  I think I was trying to hold back at the time and this was an opportunity to let go.  After a few minutes I decided that I'd done what I came to do and left.  I thanked the receptionist on the way out and backed out of the vet's parking lot for the last time.

This afternoon I've thought about little else than my sweet girl.  I feel such deep emotions over losing her and have walked around the farm where we'd often go to retrieve tennis balls. I could picture the way she'd walk and run and how she'd carry herself.  I stopped where we'd always to to retrieve balls and in the places she'd often go to for rest.   I am in tremendous pain over this and I miss her deeply.

A Perfect Dog

I used to joke that Bella was a perfect dog.  I would go on to explain that she was absolutely 100% consistent in doing what I want her to do.  If she understood what you wanted, she would do it every time.

Bella formed habits easily and none were more consistently followed than how she retrieved tennis balls.  Once she'd located the ball she would made a straight line to me approaching on my left hand side.  She'd circle around behind me and drop the ball on my right side within an easy reach of my Chuck-It.  She'd then turn back around behind me and shoot out on my left side for the next ball.  She did this every single time, without fail.  I could pitch 25 straight balls and never move my feet.  And she did this on every retrieve, often 20 retrieves per session, three sessions a day, seven days a week for the past 10 years.  She was perfection in this.

I taught her to use hand signals to aid in recovering a "lost" tennis ball.  I'm not sure that it was the "by-the-book" system that serious retriever guys use, but it worked for us.  Once we worked out our system, she relied on me for years to help her find a stubborn ball.

If I needed her to remain in a position, I would simply hold up my hand and say "Whoa".  She'd stay as long as I needed her to.  She understood and obeyed "kennel", "sit" and "go lay down".  Every single time.

She wasn't a licky dog.  She loved to be stroked, but when it was over she'd go lie down.

She'd bark when someone came in the driveway, but would stop as soon as I told her to.

When it was time for bed, she'd happily go to her kennel...although she did expect a treat or two every night just before bedtime.

She was a great eater....never picky about what food she was given.

Around other dogs she was mainly disinterested...never territorial or aggressive.

She was fine around kids, but mostly disinterested.

She was intelligent, focused and, as I've mentioned before, serious minded.  There was never an ounce of silliness or mischief or laziness. She was all business, even when it came to eating.  She'd wolf down her treats or meals cleaning her stainless steel bowl of every crumb.  Food was business to her and she did not screw around when it was time to eat.

She was a beautiful animal with a gorgeous, thick, smooth coat.  It was the most beautiful strawberry blond color, though her undercoat was white as snow.  Her coat had many different textures...her ears were soft and wavy, her tail feathering was long, coarse and prone to tangling, her leg feathering was somewhere in between.

Her feet, especially her front feet, were huge and provided a solid foundation for her athletic feats.  I think she developed these with all of the hard charging retrieving she did.  Speaking of athletic, Bella was a world class athlete and would often twist her body in mid air as she adjusted her attack angle for a retrieve.   Some of her landings were messy and she'd roll and tumble when the landings were ill-timed.

Her head was blocky but proportioned and balanced, with a chiseled look and a pointed crown. Her muzzle was square and handsome.  Her breeder referred to her as a "block-head" for good reason.  She had beautifully set ears and a beautiful face.

I've spent some time combing through the photos I've taken of Bella over the years and I am struck with what a beautiful animal she was.  She was a powerful dog, made tougher and more resilient through the endless hours of work she put in retrieving those tennis balls.  She developed massive shoulders (that she loved to have massaged) and hindquarters and many people noticed and commented on her huge feet.  Her coat was thick and shiny when her Dad put in the time to brush her, never suffering from hot spots like her brother Buck.   She was a gorgeous Golden Retriever and I would often sit and study her, marveling at how beautiful she was.

When we'd first set out for a retrieving session she'd carry her tennis ball and trot along the left side of the driveway.  The way she moved was poetry...she carried her head and tail high and her gait looked like a show dog moving through a ring.  Her movement was part dance, part athletic and I loved to watch her move with such purpose and pride as she anticipated the working session that lie ahead.

She's Gone

Yesterday we made the decision that it was time to bring Bella's suffering to an end.  I called Dr. Wonders and described how her condition had deteriorated...not eating, difficulty getting on her feet, complete shutdown of her energy, periodic whining/yelping.  Dr. Wonders thought it was time and said he'd do whatever we needed.  We agreed to keep her one more night and barring a miracle, bring her to the Clarkesville office at 8:40 in the morning.

At 3:00AM I woke and began thinking about her.  I imagined the cancer roaring ahead on its deadly path throughout her perfectly beautiful body.  I wondered about the hellish pain she was feeling in spite of the pain meds we'd been giving her. Powerless to do anything but end her life, to give her, as the Greeks called it euthanatos or "a good death".  As I tossed and turned, drowning in the grief I felt for poor Bella, I calculated the waning number of hours she had left.  We went out to check on her and found she'd moved to my office, probably to drink from my toilet.  I knelt and kissed her head.

At 6:30 we got up and found that she'd moved again within my office.  We slid a towel under her chest to help her up and headed her towards the front door.  She refused to go down the steps, so I slid the towel under her and guided her down.  She peed and then turned for the front door.  Once inside she refused to eat and laid down in our master bedroom hallway.  I dressed for the morning and knelt beside her, stroking her and talking to her quietly.  I decided against giving her more pain med since she has less than two hours left.

The car is ready to take her to the vet.  Sherry is getting dressed now and in less than an hour Bella will take her last ride, something that she loved to do.

We are home from the vet and Bella's last visit.  The vet agreed to euthanize her in the back of my SUV to save her the stress and discomfort of having to go into the office...never one of her favorite things.  We dropped the tailgate and Bella sat up.  The morning sun was shining in her face and we spent 15 minutes with her, stroking her and saying our goodbyes. She was calm and seemed at peace.

Christy, who's doggy sat with Bella over the years came out and joined us. Dr. Wonders came out to my SUV at 8:40 AM.  He laid his hand on Sherry's shoulder and and assured us that we'd given her lots of extra time and were now doing the right thing for her.  He administered a sedative which was intended to relax her before the lethal injection was administered.  Within a few minutes I could feel her muscles relax, her head lowered, she slowly melted through my hands and eased onto her side.  It felt, for all the world, like her life force was draining away.

Once she was fully relaxed, they clipped the fur on her hind leg near an vein.  Dr. Wonders thrust the needle into her vein, backed out a small amount of blood and then gave her a deadly dose of phenobarbital.  She had no outward reaction to it.  After a minute he checked her heartbeat and told me there was a faint beat.  Shortly after that he gently touched her eyeball and there was no response.  He then rechecked her heartbeat and at 9:00AM softly said, "She's gone."  We spent another few minutes with her, I stroked her head and ears, smelled her.  I whispered my final message to her and as I fought back the tears, I told Christy that they could take her.

We'd done the last, right thing for Bella and had put an end to her suffering, snuffing out that fucking cancer in the process.  I then fell headlong into a dark and bottomless pit of grief.

Bad Day? Or A Turn For The Worse?

This morning I got up and immediately headed to the laundry room to let Bella start her day, usually by running to the front door, peeing on the front lawn, then running back up the stairs and back to the laundry room to eat.  But this morning was different- she was laying on the tile floor and was motionless.  When I called her name, her eyes moved to look at me, but her head stayed still.  No amount of coaxing ("Treats!", "Wanna eat?"...none of the usual) would get her moving.  I knew something had changed for the worse.

We eventually got her into the kitchen and from there she grudgingly moved to the porch and slowly down the steps to pee.  From there I got her in to eat (slowly...unlike her normal gulping) and from there she came into my office and laid in front of my desk.  She moved once to the floor near my closet, but otherwise has not moved. I sat beside her and slowly moved my hand across her side, noticing that she trembled when my had moved to her upper chest.  As soon as I moved away it stopped, but the trembling returned when my hand came back to a certain area.  It seemed to me that this was a sensitive, maybe painful area.  I also noticed earlier that when she stood she arched her back.

A call to Clarkesville Vet got us an immediate appointment and Dr. Parker did a thorough exam of Bella.  She noticed the trembling side and thought Bella was probably in some pain.  Given the length of time since Bella's initial diagnosis she thought it was likely a turn for the worse and that we should start considering her quality of life...a euphemism for "it's getting close to when we let her go".  I fought back the tears and asked if we could do anything to help her.  The answer was that we could try a pain med called Tramadol, which we agreed to so.

When we arrived home Bella needed help getting out of the SUV and it was clear she was not well.  She moved very slowly and tried to walk between some bushes that she shouldn't have.  I immediately gave her the recommended dose of Tramadol and it seemed to have a strong effect on her.  She's laying down near our bathroom and seems to be sleeping peacefully.

Bella spent all afternoon conked out near our bathroom and even at 5:00PM was unable to get on her feet.  A ham handed attempt to help her get up apparently touched a sensitive spot and she yelped.  Eventually we slid a bath towel under her abdomen and the two of us lifted her to her feet.  From there we went to eat-she attacked her food, and then outside for bathroom duties.  She hung out in the kitchen and beside the dining room table through dinner and eagerly accepted table scraps. 

Its now 7:00PM and she's laying down in my office. We confirmed again that she cannot get up on her own, so we slid the bath towel under her, got her up and convinced her to go outside to pee and poop.  She eagerly ate some more food and then joined us in the family room where she laid down.  This was to be the last food Bella would ever eat.  I think this is where she'll spend the night.

I've seen more weakness and vulnerability in my girl today that I've ever seen.  She had to be lifted in and out of my SUV and for the most part she was unable to stand on her own.  She's very weak and slow moving.  I doubt that this is just a bad day. Tonight Sherry and I had a talk about what "quality of life" means to us and what we think it means to Bella.

I am preparing for the end.

Slipping Away

Tonight we came home from dinner with friends and my attention turned to Bella.  Following a quick carrot "treat" I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk.  We strolled down the gravel driveway (was she trying to eat rocks???...a favorite past time of her brother Buck) and at a hundred feet before the driveway turns into the woods I decided to turn back for home.  She was walking slowly with her head down.  I called to to my side and stroked her head and neck, asking her softly if she was OK.  My impression is that she is showing her age more than ever and this late in the day, after two rounds of tennis ball retrieving, she acted like she was out of gas.  We started for the house and she walked slowly.  I wondered, "Is she slipping away?  How much more time do we have?  Does she feel sick?" 

This is both better and worse than how we lost Buck, who went downhill in days.  We barely had time to say goodbye.  With Bella we have had months to do everything with her that we can and to make sure that nothing goes unsaid or undone.  On the other hand, it is such a difficult process to see her decaying.  I am so profoundly sad that we are going to lose sweet Bella. 

It is breaking my heart.

Month Three

It is nearly the end of the third month that we've known about Bella's cancer.  The symptoms that I've described previously continue, though to be perfectly honest, she seems to have leveled off. The lymph nodes in her neck are now almost completely back to normal...at least it seems this way to me.  I can't feel them at all.  One of the growths at the top of her front shoulder is gone and the other has stabilized.  Her appetite is still good (maybe too good?) and she's still passionate about retrieving tennis balls, albeit with a somewhat diminished energy level.

Today I did some research about the average timeframe that a dog with Lymphoma will last being treated with just Prednisone and it ranges from 1-4 months.  Bella is now at month 2.5, so it is reasonable to expect that she has a couple of weeks, maybe six, left.  I will redouble my efforts to make the most of the time left.

Goddamn it I'm going to miss her so much.

Restless

Bella has developed a couple of symptoms recently that are troubling.  She will often lay on the floor near my office and whine quietly.  I don't know if she's wanting a treat (she ALWAYS wants food...more so now that she;'s on the Prednisone it seems) or if she's experiencing some pain.  Second, she's often panting...and not when she's been exercising...she pants when she should be relaxed and comfortable.  Third, her appetite seems off the charts.  I'm now feeding her three times a day and giving her treats more often than usual.  I'm told that an increased appetite comes as a side affect of Prednisone, so its not totally out of the blue.

Tonite Sherry mentioned that Bella seems restless...as if something is wrong and she can't get comfortable.  That seems like a pretty good description of her condition.

Still, her behavior seems pretty good;  she wants to chase tennis balls although her stamina is definitely in decline.  When I see her slowing, I will cut the retrieving sessions short and take her home for a treat.  In recent weeks I've had her out three times a day, though once or twice is more common.

Sherry and I had talked about leaving home for a week or so to visit Mom in Victor, but I'm really uncomfortable leaving Bella right now.  Watching her closely.

Peaceful Road

       May there be a peaceful road ahead of you tonight
       May there be still waters
       Here my ship lies to take you where you can rest your head
       I will not watch you die 

                    from  "Peaceful Road" by City and Color


Its been two months since we learned of Bella's fate and as of today she shows almost no sign of what lies ahead for her.  She's behaving like her normal self, though we do see signs of an increased appetite and water consumption.  But her eating and activity seems nearly normal.  Her cancerous lymph nodes have grown only modestly and do not seem to be having any affect on her.   But she's a tough girl and may simply be playing through the pain...who knows.

After dinner tonight I went to my office and sat in front on my computer.  Within minutes Bella came in and sat at my side.  I could feel her staring at me.  I reached down to pet her head, then turned towards her and began massaging her shoulders with both hands.  She gradually dropped her head down and absorbed the massage.  When I finished with her shoulders I moved to her neck, her head and ears.  She loves this and sat quietly as I stroked her.  As I looked down at her I noticed her typically cockeyed seating, her rear legs splayed out at a funny angle as she often does.  I spotted a rock from our driveway on the rug,  without a doubt one that she'd brought to me hoping I'd throw it for her to retrieve.  When I finished her massage I clapped her shoulders once and said, "OK, go lay down".  She obediently moved around to the front of my desk and with an audible exhale she laid down.

I thought about the road ahead for her, hoping I can make it a peaceful journey for her.

Will You Let Me Go?

Last night I watched a movie titled "Christopher Robin".   It was a fantasy tale about a boy's animated stuffed animals and his reconnection with them after he has a family and a demanding job.  His favorite is a bear named "Pooh".  Christopher lets it slip that he is planning to "let some of his workers go".  Given the decades of abandonment that Pooh has endured, he asks Christopher in the saddest tone, "Christopher, did you let me go?".

It was the most touching scene I've ever seen in a movie.

I immediately switched gears and fast forwarded to the coming final minutes I'll have with Bella.  I pictured her looking at me like Pooh did and asking, "Will you let me go?"

Of course, the answer to this is, "Yes, Bella.  I will eventually have to let you go."  Not because I want to, but because it will be the kindest thing I can do for my sweetest girl.

And that thought brings tears to my eyes.  

Bella's Eyes

I have always thought that Bella (and to be perfectly honest, Buck too) has the most soulful eyes.  Her expressions tell you all you need to know about her emotions, whether that be excited or fearful or happy or whatever.  Its in her eyes.  Today I was studying her face and noticed how beautiful her eye lashes are.  So here's a remainder of what they look like.

A Tuft of White Fur

             "Who's gonna tell you when
                It's too late?
             Who's gonna tell you things
              Aren't so great?"

                   
                     -From "Drive" by The Cars

This morning I decided to ride my bicycle and went through my usual routine to prepare for it.  At my parking spot near Rock Road I pulled my cycling gloves from my bag and noticed a clump of white fur, clearly Bella's, stuck to them.  I pulled the fur away from the gloves and looked closely at the curly white strands.  Although our house is littered with fur like this, I knew that once she was gone I'd find fewer and fewer of these physical remnants of her.  At some point a find like this will be treasured. 

It was sunny and cool with a slight breeze coming out of the west. My iPod played "Drive" by The Cars, saying "You can't go on, Thinking nothing's wrong".

Believe me, that's NOT what I'm thinking.

I held the tuft of white fur up to my nose to see if I could detect her scent. Nope, I don't have Bella's sense of smell.  With the wind at my back I released the fur and it floated in mid air.  With the sun shining through the clump, I studied the tangle of hairs and wondered how long it had been since they were actually growing on her body.

Slowly the breeze began to carry it away from me, lifting it ever so slightly towards the blue sky.  I watched it steadily drift away on the breeze and strained to keep it within my view.  Eventually it rose over the road, climbing upward towards the bare winter tree limbs.  It crossed the road, floated through the power lines and disappeared.  I moved to try to regain sight of it and for a few seconds I  could see it.  The tuft came and went.  And then it was gone.

That's the way life is...it comes to us unannounced, surprising us with its gifts.  Then one day it drifts away on a breeze and is gone forever.

And that breaks your heart.

Changes

It may be my imagination but I think I am starting to see some subtle changes in Bella.  Yesterday I noticed that her stool was a bit looser than normal.  Dr. Wonders mentioned that diarrhea was a possible side effect of the Predisone.  I am also seeing a change in her breathing.  It seems more labored at times...like she can't quite catch her breath.  A few days ago Sherry said she thought Bella was struggling to breath and sounded like she was trying to clear her throat.  Otherwise she's acting pretty normal.  Still eating and drinking normally and still retrieving tennis balls.

If you watch this video you can see her rapid, shallow breathing.

Today was a decent day for Bella.  The Kubota dealer came to pick up our tractor for service and Bella and I walked to the barn to meet the driver.  Bella brought a rock to me and dropped it at my feet.  The driver watch me throw the rock for her to retrieve and was amazed that she could bring back the same rock over and over.  He said, "She must be able to smell it".  That seemed like a massive statement of the obvious, but I guess if you haven't been around bird dogs, it must seem like a bit of magic.

This morning Bella came to my office and sat beside my desk, trolling me to pet her.  I obliged her and leaned down to kiss the top of her head.  Her musty smell, earned through doing everyday dog things, greeted me.  I wish I could bottle that smell and save it for those times, coming soon enough, when she's gone and I am missing her.  I wish I could bag her loose hairs that are everywhere in the house and that will eventually be vacuumed away forever. But as sure as the sun rise itself, eventually all physical traces of my sweet girl will be washed away and I'll be left with nothing but memories.

Time

Its been about three weeks since we learned about Bella's condition.  I think about her life every day, wondering how much time she has left and what is going to go on in the last part of her life.  I ask myself at what point will she begin to feel something different in her body?  Will it come and go?  Or will the effects of the cancer set in permanently, faintly showing itself to her at first, maybe not really painful, but an unmistakable sign that something has changed? When will her quality of life begin to slip away?  I wonder when she comes to me if it is just for attention or is she asking me to take away the odd new feelings she may have. 

For now she still seems fine; the only sign I'm seeing of any change in her is a slightly diminished athletic ability.  She seems to tire a bit more easily when retrieving her tennis ball.  So we cut her sessions short and maybe do fewer sessions each day.  But eating, drinking, pooping all seem normal.  I see and hear no signs of distress or breathing difficulty.  And so far she's handling the Prednisone without any reaction. She goes back to the vet on 2/22/19 so we'll see what he says.

There is one other thing.  Bella has developed a habit of whining.  I think that this is her way of begging for treats but there's a possibility that she's crying as a result of discomfort.   I do know she's doing it more frequently.  Have to keep an eye on this.

This morning I went to my office as I usually do.  Bella followed me in and laid down near my desk, as she often does.  I watched her resting, breathing.  She's such a beautiful girl and I will miss her when she leaves. We have a little bit of time left.  I hope to make the most of it and to keep her as comfortable and happy for as long as I can.

Predisone

          “The bond with a dog is as lasting as the ties of this earth can ever be.” 

               – Konrad Lorenz


Mid week Sherry and I re-examined Bella's lymph nodes and agreed that they were growing.  We also noticed new lumps, larger than the lymph nodes in her throat, just off her shoulders.  I also discovered a lump in her left hind leg, positioned in the same place as the one we noticed previously in her right leg.  It seemed clear to us that things were changing and she should be seen asap.

I called the vet and got her into Dr. Wonders.  He agreed that things were developing and recommended that we start her on Predisone.  And so we did.

Bella had a good week, showing no signs of any sickness.  She retrieved tennis balls every day and showed a little bit of slowing down, though I suspect it might just be advancing years and not cancer.

So we now know that her cancer is spreading and that we have a chance of slowing it down.  Predicting her remaining time is difficult, but Dr. Wonders thinks she has a few months before her quality of life degrades to an unacceptable level and we are faced with the last decision we'll have to make about our sweet girl.

762

          “The pain passes, but the beauty remains.” 
                   
                   – Pierre Auguste Renoir

This morning Bella and I went out to "play catch"...that's what we call it when I chuck her tennis ball and she retrieves it.  It was a beautiful morning, clear and cold.  She made a half dozen retrieves and then decided to sit down on the hillside with her ball in her mouth, looking back at me.  I thought it was odd, but I never push her in these situations.  When she wants to sit, she sits.


I approached her and asked if it was all OK.  She remained sitting and I decided our session was over.

"Wanna get a treat?", I asked.

Her ears perked up and she stood.  We turned for the house and she ran ahead of me, albeit at a pretty slow pace.  She hadn't worked hard enough to cause this slow pace...was it old age?  Was it the cancer?  I admired the silky feathering on her rear legs, knowing that I'd see that a limited number of times.  I thought about the end approaching and my eyes welled up.

This is only going to get tougher.

We came in the house and I wondered if the warm air felt good to her.  I gave her a treat and she followed me to my office, pausing in front of my bathroom where she often took a drink from my toilet.  Hey, she's a dog.   Before every drink I flush the toilet for her, my attempt to give her the cleanest water possible for a toilet.  I thought about how many times I'd done this for Bella and wondered what the actual count was.

For reasons known to no one, the number 762 popped into my head.  Was it 762?  No, it has to be more times than that, probably in the thousands.  Hell, she's been alive for nearly 4,000 days and this is a nearly daily routine.  So 762 must be way low.  Still, it is some number.  And there are a finite number of flushes ahead for us.

This I know to be true.

Our Precious Gift

“To call him a dog hardly seems to do him justice, though inasmuch as he had four legs, a tail, and barked, I admit he was, to all outward appearances. But to those who knew him well, he was a perfect gentleman.” 

       – Hermione Gingold

Retrieving her tennis ball

Today we locked in on our treatment strategy for Bella's lymphoma.  We have decided that we will not do chemo and we will treat her symptoms with Prednisone.  Note that I say "treat her symptoms" because that is all the Prednisone will do.  In a sense that's all chemo does for her...there is no cure, nothing will do anything other than reduce the severity of her symptoms, put the cancer in remission and hope to buy her time.

Where's the ball Dad?

We met with Dr. Wonders this morning and reviewed the treatment options...mostly for Sherry since she hadn't visited the vet since learning of Bella's diagnosis.  We walked through the two options...chemo (the "CHOP" protocol) and Prednisone.  There was nothing new here and we told Dr. Wonders that we'd decided not to do chemo.  He thought our decision, based on his experience and Bella's diagnosis, was a good one.  He asked to see her again on 2/22/19 or sooner if her situation changed.  At that point we'll decide whether to start the Prednisone or further delay it.

Our decision was based on a number of things..  First of all, the extraordinary cost of chemo is an issue for us, particularly since chemo only guarantees that she'll eventually slip out of her remission and die from her cancer.  Aside from that there is the burden of driving her to Atlanta for her treatments, stressing her with trips to a strange place full of odd smells and sounds, producing toxic waste that we'll have to dispose of and risking that she'll become sick from the poisonous chemo.  And with all of these downsides, there is the certain knowledge that she's going to die from it all anyway.

More bad days for us, more bad days for her.   Its no bargain.

Sherry and I are in complete agreement on one thing, that we will pull the plug on her at the first sign of distress or suffering.  As our friend Kyle said, protecting her from suffering is the most precious gift we can give her.

A Perfect Sunset

 “Dogs leave pawprints on our hearts” 

        – Author Unknown

After dinner tonight Bella came into my office and sat next to me.  I began stroking the silky fur on her head and talking to her in soft tones about nothing in particular, calling her, as I often did, "my sweetest girl".  She looked up at me with her imperfect brown eyes, one clear, one cloudy.  From my western facing office window I noticed a sunset blooming and suggested to her that we go watch the light.

We sat on our front porch and looked out at the smear of blues, yellows and oranges spreading across the western sky.  Bella sat to my left, her hind end flush against my side.  I can't say whether Bella was watching the psychedelic sky or was just pointing her muzzle into the air to savor the scent of the fresh chicken poop our hay guy had spread on the pastures over the weekend to give our grass a boost. It didn't matter, I was enjoying the moment and slowly stroked her head and neck.  I dipped my hand to her throat to see if the deadly growths were still there.  

The sky caught fire in front of us and the living colors that stretched for miles were magnificent, morphing in real time before our eyes.  I knew full well that the show wouldn't last long...that this  light, that had traveled millions of miles to arrive at this instant, would soon slip away, never to return.  The best I could do would be to enjoy it while it was there and to do my best to remember the moment.

Before it died out and the sky turned ashen, the colors intensified one last time and spread across most of the sky.   The yellow shifted to orange, the orange to red, the red to maroon.  We listened to a flock of roosting doves noisily clatter their wings against the dry leaves in the magnolia tree next to the house.  Bella's ears lifted and her head turned slightly to the left to monitor a truck going up our road.  A pair of doves circled around the upper pasture and disappeared over our front woods. The temperature dropped and I pulled Bella closer.

Within minutes the colors in the sky began to slowly recede and soften, losing their intensity.  Cloud after cloud shifted from pale blue and orange to gray; the life in the sky seemed to drain away as the brilliant color shifted to monochrome. The sky began its relentless transition from light to dark.  It was a fitting way to celebrate the end of a great day, her beautiful life and her incredible connection to our family's lives.

It was a perfect sunset.

A Good Day

 “If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” 

                  – Will Rogers

Yesterday was a very good day for Bella.  She still shows no signs of anything being wrong and ate and exercised as normal.  Nick and Krista drove down from Chattanooga in his new Ferrari to show us his amazing car but also (I think) to be sure to see Bella at least one more time before trouble sets in.  It was a very good day for us all.

We enjoyed our best friends, the Campbells, over a great dinner at Mama G's.  It was nice to enjoy the company of friends our age along with Nick and Krista who relate to the Campbells as comfortably as we do. The conversation at the table was animated and engaging and full of laughter.  I was grateful for a chance to take my mind off the gloomy outlook for Bella for a couple of hours.

We drove home in the dark but it was still early and we all laughed and listened to music until fading out around ten.  Bella was long since in bed, having decided for herself when it was time.  With no fanfare, she quietly slipped into her kennel an hour earlier and fell asleep.  Before I retired I gave her a treat and told her I loved her.  Sherry and I watched "The Wire" for half an hour and then fell asleep ourselves.

It was a good day.

Lymphoma

“Sometimes losing a pet is more painful than losing a human because in the case of the pet, you were not pretending to love it.” 

              – Amy Sedaris

Bella's vet called me this afternoon and delivered the news we feared.  She has a high grade (fast growing/aggressive) large cell lymphoma that starts in her lymph nodes but will likely spread to her spleen and liver.  Left untreated it will kill her in weeks, so it is as bad as we thought it might be.

Had we not noticed her swollen lymph nodes, we'd have no idea that she has a terminal illness...she acts completely normal and retrieved tennis balls, took a walk, ate her food and treats as normal.  I suppose many people and their dogs simply sail right into the late stages of cancer blissfully unaware of what the future holds.  Unfortunately we KNOW and will soon have to  begin making decisions about what to do next.

I have asked her vet to refer us to an oncologist nearby to understand what's involved with chemo....costs, side affects, schedule of treatment, likely remission, etc.  Hopefully we'll get to do this early next week.  Time is of the essence;  I know that this fucking disease is doing its best to kill her RIGHT NOW.

I've spoken to Nick and Sherry and will soon talk to Jon about this.  I want them to understand that Bella is OUR dog, not mine and this is a decision that we should make together.

In the meantime, Bella seems completely unaffected- she's eating, pooping, drinking, sleeping and exercising normally.  We've been taking long walks at the farm and she's retrieving tennis balls the way she always has.  She bounds out of her kennel in the morning like a young dog and eagerly attacks her food bowl and begs for treats.  So far her quality of life is at 100%.

All the Nevers

  
“Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in. ” 

      – Mark Twain

This morning Bella bounded out of her kennel and ran, as she does every morning, for the the front door, eager to take care of her morning business on the front lawn.  I watched her carefully, looking for any signs of pain or weakness but she showed me only her healthy, energetic self.  Once finished she ran to her food bowl and ate in rapid gulps as she always does.  From the laundry room that serves as her kennel she went to the door to our bedroom and laid down, waiting for Sherry to emerge.  So far, business as usual.

When Sherry came out Bella followed her to my office door and Sherry asked, "Do you know where her Baby is?"

Bella has a floppy fabric dog toy that we call her "Baby".  Bella, who loves carrying things around in her mouth (I suppose its part of that retriever instinct) often carries her "Baby" around the house, softly whimpering.

I pointed to it lying on the floor near my desk, "It's there".

Bella scooped it up and followed Sherry to the kitchen.  As she trotted out carrying the Baby, I thought, "She'll never have real babies."

I thought about the other "nevers" in her life.  She never learned to swim.  She never hunted birds.  She never played with dogs other than Buck. There were probably others, but I was overwhelmed with the idea that the end of her life is probably close and, like all of us, there are limits in life that we all must accept...none of us get to do everything and life is all about the decisions and choices we must make that eliminate certain options.  The trick is to go out without any big regrets over the choices we make.

So, as I think about her life I ask myself, "Am I happy with the choices I made for her?  Did I give her the best life I could?  What regrets do I have?"

I don't have answers for these questions.  It strikes me that as our lives wind down, that these same questions will apply to us.  Do we focus on all the nevers (life's regrets) or do we savor the memories we have and celebrate the experiences we chose for ourselves?

I guess this is what life is all about.

Waiting

“Nobody can fully understand the meaning of love unless he’s owned a dog. A dog can show you more honest affection with a flick of his tail than a man can gather through a lifetime of handshakes.”      – Gene Hill

Me, Buck, Bella and Sherry

Dr. Wonders, Bella's vet, told me on Monday that he hoped to get Bella's biopsy results back today.  I've been anxiously awaiting his phone call and, not having heard from him by 4:00PM, I decided to call.  He advised me that they had not received any word yet from the lab and was hopeful that they'd get something back tomorrow.  And so we wait.

Bella enjoying 2010 snow storm

I tried to spend as much time with Bella today and do things that would be fun for her.  So we did two retrieving sessions and took a long walk through the National Forest behind our farm.  She tackled all three outings with her usual gusto.  She's eaten and pooped normally today and appears for all the world to be a healthy, happy 11 year old Golden...nothing would indicate that anything was amiss.

Bella pausing in Chattahoochee National Forest

I examined her throat several times and although it could easily be my imagination, the jelly bean sized lumps seem to have grown.  Dr. Wonders told me that this is entirely possible.  It was not what I wanted to feel and hear.