Taking Comfort in Saying Goodbye

Yesterday, I calmly walked into the PetSmart. My dogs, that are complete chow hounds, had run out of food again, conveniently this week. I walked back to the dog food section, picked up a small bag of food, and paused. Should I go ahead and get the big bag, anyway? I mean, it is 6 cents cheaper per unit. No. It's $10 more. I'll stick with the little one for now.

I made it all of the way up to the counter, and then glanced up and saw a picture of a border collie puppy on the wall. Tears started welling in my eyes. OK, you can do this. A couple of deep breaths, think about Molly, and you'll get through it.

I barely made it through swiping my cards and with a shaky voice answered with a quick "no" whatever the cashier had just asked. Then, ran outside to burst into tears alone.

I came downstairs after my shower on Tuesday morning, and Maggie had limped up to me. Smiling, like she always does, but still I just knew it was time. The dog can barely walk, and her only joy anymore is in seeing me, which she gets over in about 5 minutes and returns to her regular position, lying down and panting. A lot. Probably from pain.

4 years ago, when I took Maggie, I joked that I was "hospice" for her. She was pretty healthy at the time, starting to go blind and had a non-cancerous cyst, but pretty healthy otherwise. Still, we figured she would only last a few months without her brother. So, I was to take her, with a DNR order. Take the dog, but do not take extraordinary means to prolong her life. In other words, as long as she was happy, keep her safe and comfy, but as soon as the first thing happens that exceeds a couple hundred dollars, let her go.

And so now, as the cyst has completely firmed and spread so she can no longer walk, I have been trying to hide her condition from my dad. He's seen her limping a little bit, but hasn't seen her in the condition she's in, a three-legged dog.

But now, as I'm heading out to Africa, I knew I was going to have to turn her over into someone else's care. Whether it was a doctor or a friend, I could picture myself giving instructions, "Yeah, she doesn't ever go anywhere because she can't. It's a ton of struggle for her, too. Oh, and she might get diarrhea or throw up. That happens a lot. Don't worry, it just passes." Yeah. OK. That makes sense.

Still, I knew that if I were here, I could keep her alive. I can keep her alive as long as I want, and she'll just go naturally in her sleep. It'll be great. No problemo.

But then today, I found this article:
http://www.slate.com/id/2090327/

It described perfectly what I was going through, and said it was time.

I spent time yesterday with Maggie, taking final pictures of her. We walked around the block (really, I walked and sort of dragged her). And with every step, there was the resounding voice of, "It's time, it's time, it's time..."

Still, I just feel so guilty...