Running With Perseverance

Sally passed away today, sparing us the final, awful decision of having to take her in to be put to sleep.  She spent the morning in a “hidey hole” that she had staked out under the shrub behind the grill, and departed this world sometime around 10:00 am.

It was Thursday or Friday that she first started hanging out under the shrub. At first she was easily coaxed out, but yesterday she stayed there for longer and longer stretches of time. Still, she came out on her own accord when I went out to get her. 

This morning I let her out as soon as I got up @ 5:30. She had had a bit of diarrhea overnight, so I took a few minutes to clean that up before bringing her back in. When I was ready, she was not. She was lying down under the shrub and did not budge when I went out to her. Since I saw no reason to force her inside–it was a pleasant morning and she clearly wanted to be there, to be alone–I left her there.

Over the next few hours, Beau and I checked on her every so often. Sitting in my kitchen with the patio door open, I could hear her tags jingle every time she moved. Because the shrub frames the patio perpendicular to the house, I could go around to the other side to see her face, pat her head, and cuddle her ears. The last time I checked on her I spent a while doing that, and that is the image that I am holding onto. Her beautiful face under the greenery of the shrub, her big brown eyes gazing out. I even thought of taking a picture, but knew that the shadows would make it too dark.

The next time I went out, she was gone. My poor mom was on her way over to say “good-bye,” and I had to greet her at the door to tell her she was too late. (I didn’t put it that way, of course.) I also had to call a dear friend who was on her way over to say “good-bye.” That done, I called the emergency vet who suggested that we call Sunset Pet Services for cremation. They are close by and open 24/7, so we decided to take her over without delay.

Matthew had spent the night at a friend’s house, but we decided not to call him–we didn’t want to wake him up and were pretty sure that he didn’t want to see Sally like this. He called while we were on the way to Sunset, and I told him that Sally “didn’t make it.”

Sunset is in a small industrial part of the city, but in a nice brick building, with a nice reception room. There were two families “picking up” their pets’ remains, so we waited for them to finish before dropping Sally off. The woman working there was very kind. How often does she have to say “I’m sorry for your loss” in her day’s work? She was patient as we said our final good-byes. I unwrapped Sally from the blanket enough to pet her head and smell/kiss her front paw. (Beau and I share an appreciation for the fine aroma of doggie feet.) We can retrieve her remains tomorrow. I still haven’t decided if I want to keep them or put them in some kind of urn. I don’t think so, but I will wait until tomorrow to decide.

I called Kristin to tell her of Sally’s passing. She always was the one to bathe Sally (usually for extra spending money) and once she had her driver’s license, she took her to many vet appointments and on Petco runs.

My friend came over later. We went for a walk and shared memories of Sally, and talked of other things. My dad and his wife came by with flowers and a note card made out of a picture of Sally. My announcement on Facebook was met with lots of kind remarks and text messages. I have good friends.

I will mourn Sally for a while, I am sure. The tears keep flowing, and she deserves every one. The memories of her mischief will be more enduring, though. Her raucous greetings with her beagle howl, her ability to sniff out anything edible no matter how well-hidden and reach things we thought were safely put away, her way of demanding a belly rub and pawing at you if you tried to stop too soon, her excitement for a walk when she heard the jangle of her leash, the times she ran away to get into the neighbor’s cat food or dog food or join the cookout down the street. I will remember her loyalty. The way she followed me around the house, sat at my feet wherever I was, joined me for naps, and made sure I didn’t sleep too late. I will remember her beautiful face, her big brown eyes, and the wonderful smell of her doggie feet.