Aw, Ruffian, I am sorry for your loss. You’re a saint for taking Angel out of that horrrid pet store. That’s why I hate them, but that’s not a rant for here. Rest assured that Angel repaid you a thousand-fold with her love. I have been in your position a few times myself, and I’ve been through the doubts as to whether it was the right thing to do. It is never an easy decision, but in the end, you committed the ultimate act of love by relieving her suffering. I really sympathize with you, i’m crying as I type this.
After I had my dog Whitney put to sleep, I received a card from my vet with the following poem called “To Those I Love” by Isla Paschal Richardson.
*If I should ever leave you,
Whom I love
To go along the silent way. . .
Grieve not.
Nor speak of me with tears.
But laugh and talk of me
As if I were beside you there.
(I’d come. . .I’d come,
Could I but find a way!
But would not tears
And grief be barriers?)
And when you hear a song
Or see a bird I loved,
Please do not let the thought of me
Be sad. . .for I am loving you
Just as I always have. . .
You were so good to me!
There are so many things
I wanted still to do. . .
So many things I wanted to say
to you. . . Remember that
I did not fear. . . It was
Just leaving you
That was so hard to face.
We cannot see beyond. . .
But this I know:
I loved you so. . .
'twas heaven here with you!
*
I started bawling like a baby, but I felt strangely comforted. I could almost feel as if Whitney were still by my side. Angel may not have been able to speak, but if she could have, this is surely what she would have said to you. Do not regret what you did for her. You did it out of love.
She’s a beautiful girl, and as you know now she’s no longer in pain. You’ve done the right thing by her, and you’ve got the memories of her to take onwards, knowing you gave her the best life and as much love as you could.
I’m all cried out for today, but in my heart I’m crying for your loss.
Grieve for her as long as you feel that you need to. Then celebrate her life and keep her in your heart forever.
It’s the worst and toughest decision you ever have to make for a pet that you love, but it’s the love you have for that animal that makes you take that decision. You know you did the right thing and that Angel’s not suffering any more - and you still have all those memories of the time you spent together.
Maddie runs over and gives Angel a playful nip in the butt. They bounce and make funny noises. Maddie runs off to show Angel where the stinky bits of the creek are.
When we had to say goodbye to Mew, we had several prescriptions and prescription items that were still either brand new or relatively unused; an almost full bottle of Norvasc, several bags of Lactated Ringer’s solution, the IV tubes, needles, etc. Our vet had another client whose kitty had just been diagnosed with the same condition Mew had, and needed the same prescriptions. The vet said she trusted us thoroughly, not to have tampered with the medications and felt very comfortable passing them along to another pet in need, so I gave them to the vet so they could go to help another sick kitty. You might want to ask your vet if the same arrangements can be made for Angel’s meds and/or supplies.
I called the vet just a few minutes ago. They will take the unused medication as a donation. I told them it’ll be a bit before I can muster up the courage to drop them off, but they understood.
I want to write them a thank-you card, enclosing Angel’s story and a photo of her when she was youthful and bright. I’ll drop it off with the meds, later.
I had hung Angel’s collar on a cabinet door pull, but every time you’d open the cabinet, you’d hear her tags jangle. DeathLlama couldn’t stand it–“Augh, I keep thinking that’s Angel!” We’ve moved it to the mantle.
I’m amused by your stories of your beloved pets welcoming her. It’s fun to imagine. So it’s my turn…
Princess strolls over and squeezes out her half-meow while rubbing on Angel’s legs. Angel licks and grooms her, and Princess arches her back in pleasure.
Lady watches the scene in disgust. You’re a cat, fercryinoutloud…and a Siamese at that. Show some dignity.
Angel responds by romping over to her and bowing for play. Lady takes a swipe and hisses; Angel bounds back and forth until the svelte Siamese charges her. She runs, tongue wagging, with the cat (secretly thrilled to be playing, since Princess was always useless for that) at her heels.
Princess flops down in the sun and purrs, watching the unlikely playmates romp.
Edgar the parakeet sings sweetly to them all.
I left Maddie’s collar and tags in a brown paper bag on the back seat of my car for nearly a year and a half. They’re now on her teddy (one of many stolen from neighborhood kiddies.)
Soon the hyacinth’s and crocuses will mark where she lays. That dog always did love lounging on the flower beds.
I have been following this thread while busy with Real Life, so I never got around to posting. But boy do I remember the late great springer spaniel Miss Emily Kimberly’s last day. We did not know it would be her last, but we knew she was restless and possibly unwell. We’re grateful that, like Angel, she spent (most of) it snuggling with her best buddy, and they even took a brief nap together. She took her last breath in his arms.
Mind, we still talk to her, 8 years later. She’s still around here somewhere. You might try something Mr. S suggested to me once, when I called him at work on a bright fall day and was musing how Emily loved to sleep in the driveway on warm afternoons: Feel around in her favorite places and you might discover a dog-sized area that is just a little warmer than it should be. Or, like Mr. S, one morning you might hear a woof in your ear that has no earthly explanation.
We have a little Emily shrine on the piano: her ashes in a brass cube, a little springer figurine, the last biscuit we offered her (which she would not eat), one of the little mints that she loved to steal, and a small photo of a Very Dirty Dog after she’d been having fun digging in a pile of ashes – and, linked together, her first (and very frayed!) puppy collar and her last collar and tags, along with her successor Phyllis’s first puppy collar. In a cup around here somewhere is a clipping of her fur.
Yeah, you can still love them when they’re gone.
In the gathering on the other side of the bridge, I think Emily would be shyly off to one side, watching. She always was so timid around strangers. Either that or bossing around dogs who came into her zone.
I’m sorry to hear about Nod the Naughty, rocking chair. When you said she might be joining him later this week, I thought you were referring to Angel’s impending end, not his. Heh heh–“growling to the last.” Now that’s a cat.
Ruffian,
Reading your story of Angel, and how you came to be her angel, well, it left me in tears. She was a lucky, lucky, lucky dog to have you be her friend and companion. You gave her a beautiful life. An absolutely beautiful life, to the end. The tears are beautiful, too, you know, tears are graceful and awkward and terrible and truthfull.
You gave Angel everything possible, a great life from a poor start, and a conscious loving goodbye. You did everything as right as could be. No creature could ask for more in this life. Again, my heartfelt sympathy.
i have a soft spot for shelties. i worked at a bookstore where ellie would visit every saturday (she would have her owner with her). she was so very good. we all enjoyed her visit.
a very loving breed. and there really isn’t anything that matches love from a beloved dog.
So anyway, I was doing alright through most of the time in the vets office. You know, eyes watering a little. Must have got some dog fur or something in my eye. (Or, both of my eyes…maybe my nose, too.) But the part that just killed me was when Ruffian started thanking Angel. We were petting her all over her head and torso as she got drowsy from the sedative. She got too groggy to hold her head up and it ended up in an awkward position, so I picked her up a little to lay her on her side (it’s how she spent most of her time anyway). Then Ruffian just thanked her over and over, telling her what a good dog she was. That’s what sent me over the edge. I did more crying than I’ve done in a while (though still not much by many standards). She was a wonderful dog. She stank like hell, and from both ends, but that was just her physical condition. Her disposition was sweet as could be.
Yep. I cried. And I can’t help but think what terrifically insulated lives we lead that we have the luxury of grieving a dog’s death.
