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.