I'm not sure when exactly it felt as if we were on "borrowed time" with
our sweet Ozzie, but maybe it was the first time that I saw a new nodule
on his chest xray in April. Maybe it was in June when he struggled for
every breath ~ before we began to schedule him to have the malignant
pleural fluid from his lungs drained at the veterinarian's office.
Maybe it was in the morning, sometimes, when I would wake up and look
down at my sweet boy by my side in his bed, thinking that maybe it would
be the last time. And perhaps it was in August on the first night after
his chest tube was placed, and I held the warm fluid from his body in a
cup in my hands before I dumped it in the toilet. We would do this a
hundred more times in order to help our darling boy make it just a
little bit longer. He had a two week trip
to Colorado coming up! And he was going to meet his baby sister, Ava!
And he had some more afternoons of lounging in the grass and feeling the
sun on his sunken little body.
For as much as I remember of the details in the past several months, I remember everything from the past 18 hours. I remember how I went outside to him in the grass yesterday. I threw his ball no more than 3 feet from him, and he got up to chase it, but fell. His back legs were so weak that they couldn't carry him. He hadn't eaten in over 4 days. And so I made "the call". I cleaned him up as well as I could. And I remember now, how he has a big black spot on the right side of his back. And he has the soft part on the side of his ears without cartilage. (Do all dogs have that?) And he has black lips. He has a pink spot on the right side of his black nose. I could feel every bone in his body. He has a brown "good boy spot" on the top of his soft head.
Oh, and he has white eyelashes.... this.... the only sign that he has grown old. Because he is actually ... too young to die.
And the way that the sun was setting on the palm trees last night was so beautiful. His last night. I brushed his teeth still, like I do every day. Guy drained his chest tube. Oz stared into the flames of the outdoor fireplace in the evening with his big brown eyes, and then he curled up next to us on his bed while we ate dinner on our patio. And we looked at him, and we looked at each other, and we sobbed with heavy, heavy hearts.
Why is it that we cannot remember touch? Why will I not be able to remember the sensation of my lips on his muzzle as I kissed him goodbye? In a few months or maybe a year, will I forget what his fur felt like as I rubbed his neck beneath his collar today? I am going to try so hard to remember. But in the end, it seems like it is always pictures and videos and some lingering scents that remain with us. How many times have you really remembered the actual feeling of someone that you loved in your past beneath your hand or against your body? Do you remember the feeling of their breath against you? I know that the feeling of his skinny femur under my palm or that soft part of his ear will probably fade, even if I fight it tooth and nail. Isn't that true? I guess that I don't really know. I've never faced death so up close and personal before.
This morning, I hoped beyond all hopes that Ozzie would be "El Milagro" once again. I held out a bowl of food for him and he, once more, turned away. And that is how it went... he refused to eat again, and I listened to him, in all of the glory of his 40 pound wasted figure and his soulful eyes. Is this what it is? When everyone says, "It's time?" I will still never know for sure. Because, perhaps, he would have wanted to lay his body down in the grass again today and feel the sun on his tiny body. And maybe he wanted to taste cool water on his tongue just one more time as he delicately sipped from his bowl. Maybe he wanted to wag his tail once again when a visitor arrived "just for him". Maybe he would have wanted to lay in bed with me in the still hours of the morning for one more day, just so that I could feel his strong heart beat and his warm breath against my hand. Maybe he wanted to be loved for just one more day. Maybe he wanted to give me just one more kiss. I'll never know for sure.
Today, November 2nd, 2012, at 12:10 pm, Oswald West Borders, a.k.a. Ozzie, Manny-Mo, Good boy, left his ravaged body for good in exchange for his heaven: a huge green and grassy field, with a fence going across it (wouldn't want to forget that fence!) so that he could run back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... and bark and bark and bark at all of the passersby, who (yes!) are passing by just to see him! There may just be a few big orange squeaky balls in his running path as well. I will miss my Ozzie with all of my heart until I see him once again. So, he'd better not forget about me, and he'd better be waiting for me to come and press his "good boy" button on the top of his soft head when we meet again on the other side.
Thank you, darling boy, for being a part of my life. My perfect boy, my perfect dog, my perfect manny. I loved you with all of my heart.
For as much as I remember of the details in the past several months, I remember everything from the past 18 hours. I remember how I went outside to him in the grass yesterday. I threw his ball no more than 3 feet from him, and he got up to chase it, but fell. His back legs were so weak that they couldn't carry him. He hadn't eaten in over 4 days. And so I made "the call". I cleaned him up as well as I could. And I remember now, how he has a big black spot on the right side of his back. And he has the soft part on the side of his ears without cartilage. (Do all dogs have that?) And he has black lips. He has a pink spot on the right side of his black nose. I could feel every bone in his body. He has a brown "good boy spot" on the top of his soft head.
Oh, and he has white eyelashes.... this.... the only sign that he has grown old. Because he is actually ... too young to die.
And the way that the sun was setting on the palm trees last night was so beautiful. His last night. I brushed his teeth still, like I do every day. Guy drained his chest tube. Oz stared into the flames of the outdoor fireplace in the evening with his big brown eyes, and then he curled up next to us on his bed while we ate dinner on our patio. And we looked at him, and we looked at each other, and we sobbed with heavy, heavy hearts.
Why is it that we cannot remember touch? Why will I not be able to remember the sensation of my lips on his muzzle as I kissed him goodbye? In a few months or maybe a year, will I forget what his fur felt like as I rubbed his neck beneath his collar today? I am going to try so hard to remember. But in the end, it seems like it is always pictures and videos and some lingering scents that remain with us. How many times have you really remembered the actual feeling of someone that you loved in your past beneath your hand or against your body? Do you remember the feeling of their breath against you? I know that the feeling of his skinny femur under my palm or that soft part of his ear will probably fade, even if I fight it tooth and nail. Isn't that true? I guess that I don't really know. I've never faced death so up close and personal before.
This morning, I hoped beyond all hopes that Ozzie would be "El Milagro" once again. I held out a bowl of food for him and he, once more, turned away. And that is how it went... he refused to eat again, and I listened to him, in all of the glory of his 40 pound wasted figure and his soulful eyes. Is this what it is? When everyone says, "It's time?" I will still never know for sure. Because, perhaps, he would have wanted to lay his body down in the grass again today and feel the sun on his tiny body. And maybe he wanted to taste cool water on his tongue just one more time as he delicately sipped from his bowl. Maybe he wanted to wag his tail once again when a visitor arrived "just for him". Maybe he would have wanted to lay in bed with me in the still hours of the morning for one more day, just so that I could feel his strong heart beat and his warm breath against my hand. Maybe he wanted to be loved for just one more day. Maybe he wanted to give me just one more kiss. I'll never know for sure.
Today, November 2nd, 2012, at 12:10 pm, Oswald West Borders, a.k.a. Ozzie, Manny-Mo, Good boy, left his ravaged body for good in exchange for his heaven: a huge green and grassy field, with a fence going across it (wouldn't want to forget that fence!) so that he could run back and forth, back and forth, back and forth... and bark and bark and bark at all of the passersby, who (yes!) are passing by just to see him! There may just be a few big orange squeaky balls in his running path as well. I will miss my Ozzie with all of my heart until I see him once again. So, he'd better not forget about me, and he'd better be waiting for me to come and press his "good boy" button on the top of his soft head when we meet again on the other side.
Thank you, darling boy, for being a part of my life. My perfect boy, my perfect dog, my perfect manny. I loved you with all of my heart.
1 comment:
The soft sweet touch of their whiskers is something that you will always remember. Those soft warm ears seem distinct on each dog.
There will be moments, when you least expect it, that very memory, that warm breath, that soft hand caress will warm your heart.
Ozzie will always be with you, in your heart and in your spirit. He will shine his love on you as your love for Ava grows and be happy that your love of him and all your four legged friends continues.
My deepest sympathies.
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