I once knew it all, you know.
I cringe when I think of the many judgments I made on any given day, judgments I didn’t even know were judgments because they so sneakily pervaded my thoughts.
Many years ago, I remember a co-worker who was derailed by the loss of her precious Cocker Spaniel she purchased as a puppy. Her beloved Spaniel died at the age of thirteen and she was a mess.
I confess to a horribly judgmental thought.
I remember thinking, “For the love . . . it’s a DOG.”
Yes, I know. Naive. That was back when I thought I knew everything but really knew nothing.
Five years after that judgmental thought, I found myself in love with a man who was a new lover of Jesus. So was I.
He was divorced, a “starter marriage gone wrong.” So was I.
And he really wanted a yellow Labrador Retriever. So. Did. I.
I bought her eleven years ago for his thirtieth birthday.
She was the cutest thing we had ever seen – we were in love even before we got home.
There’s so much more to this story I’ll be telling in upcoming posts but the point is . . .
We had to put her down this past week and we are all devastated.
I now know what my co-worker was feeling when I so selfishly discounted her grief – as if grieving could only be reserved for humans.
I now know that we fall hard for our best friends. We take their presence for granted every moment but when they’re gone, they’re absence throughout the home is so unbearable you don’t even want to be there.
I now know that little annoyances, like the ever-present fur stuck to all Labrador owner’s possessions, are now small gifts of comfort, reminding us that she leaves a little and a lot behind.
I once vacuumed that fur relentlessly and should have purchased stock in Scotch, makers of the best lint brushes.
Now, I mourn for the day when that fur will run-out, when we will no longer find it attached to our clothes and ingrained in the carpet.
Ellie’s death was unexpected and sudden – the worst possible kind.
When she was taken to the emergency vet this past Tuesday night, she had exhibited symptoms for only an afternoon – but by 8 p.m. she could no longer stand and her abdomen was horribly distended. She was also in a fog.
Jason arrived home to find her breathing heavily, unable to stand. After a few phone calls, it was clear she needed to go to the emergency vet. Luckily, we live minutes away from Purdue’s animal clinic – one of the best veterinary schools in the nation.
I took a few moments to love on her because the boys couldn’t go. Sarah, however, was ready to accompany her father. Such a brave, courageous nine year old girl.
I took one last moment to kiss her gently in that place between her eye and ear, the place I’ve always loved to nuzzle. I lightly brushed my hand against her ears and spoke softly, telling her what a good girl she’s been to our family and how there will never be another like her. I told her how so very much I loved her, how she is my first baby and how I will miss her so.
Because I just knew she wasn’t coming home.
As Jason picked her up, I followed them to the door.
At the last minute, she raised her head and her tired, brown eyes locked with mine – a moment I’ll never forget.
An hour later, Jason called. It was cancer of the spleen and it had metastasized. A fast-developing and fast-spreading kind that doesn’t show any symptoms until it’s too late.
A tumor had ruptured and the fluid was building-up throughout her body.
Though we wanted to clutch her tight, we had to let her go.
And we are devastated.
Yet through it all, I know He is with us. I have seen His work in all of the details – big and small.
The kennel that was full for Thanksgiving so she want along with us. Her big, eleventh birthday celebration in December. New toys and treats for Christmas.The walk Jason and she took on New Year’s Day morning for some fresh air. The pillow she was for Spencer just a few nights ago.
We had no idea that cancer was eating away inside but God did.
So we’ve been talking a lot about rejoicing and praising when it’s good and rejoicing and praising when it’s not. We’ve been talking about grief and learning of the five stages. We’ve been talking about when we’ll be able to open up some space in our hearts for another silly clown of a lab – one that will never replace but rather be a testimony to the great-ness of the lovable pup who left such deep paw prints on our hearts.
When I posted and asked for prayer on Facebook last Tuesday, the response was overwhelming. So many of you have shared stories of losing sweet pets. I’m so sorry for your loss as well and so thankful you have spoken up to reassure me that we’re not alone.
Some people exercise through pain (wish I did.) Some people sketch through pain. Some people compose music through pain.
I write through pain.
So I will be writing for those of you who have walked this path and . . . for me.
Writing is how I make sense of the senseless.
I would love for you to join me on the Facebook page, on Twitter, Instagram or Pinterest. Pick your social media, friends. I would love to hear from you.
So through one of the above social media outlets, tell me . . .
Have you been through the hard death of a pet? What did you learn?
I left a message on your facebook page. I am so sorry for your loss. I know how you feel.
Thank you, Sharon. I so appreciate your kind words both here and on the Facebook page. <3
Hugs, hugs, and more hugs. Let me reassure you…. you will still be finding her fur in the house at least 14 years from now. Just the other day, I found a Pali hair in a table cloth I hadn’t had out for a while. Let me know if you need more cookies or muffins. Or anything. You know we love you and your family.
Good, Anni! Thank you for that reassurance – I WANT to find them now! HA! Isn’t life funny sometimes? Thank you for loving our family – the feelings are oh so mutual…<3
This is the same diagnosis that we had with our sweet yellow lab. – only she had a while with us after her diagnosis. It was a roller coaster of good days and bad days followed by the last day. We had Koa for 11 wonderful years. She was a companion for my husband for a year before we were married, a first child for us as a couple, loved as the granddog, and eventually an awesome big sister to our kids.
And I promise, you will be finding her hair in the books as crannies for a very long time.
((Hugs))
I have learned since Ellie’s passing that the average life span for labs is 11 years. Sounds like your sweet Koa was much like our Ellie. They are such blessings – so thankful I’ll be finding Ellie hair for many days to come. :)
Awwww, such a tough, tough situation, Natalie. My prayers are certainly with you, Jason and the kids. So hard to lose a family member without warning and so young.
Do you remember our black cat, Claus? He was 18 and we put him down right before my folks left for Canada the year my mom died.
They are in heaven now keeping each other company. ❤️
Praying for you, dear friend.
So very sorry for your loss. I have lost many pets over the years…dogs, cats, guinea pigs, gerbils and a my beloved horse. BUT in April 2014 I said goodbye to my 15 year old yellow lab named Rudy. It never gets any easier saying goodbye. It has been 9 months and it feels like he has only been gone a week. I miss him so much every day.
I lost my boy, my Pitbull named Tater Tot on December 18 2014. It was sudden and unexpected. He was born with a liver shunt and whoever owned him prior to getting rescued butchered his poor ears for dog fighting and since he was so sick they threw him out like garbage. We adopted him in August of 2010. He fit in to our family perfectly! Got along with our other Pitbull Maisy. They cuddled all the time. Tater Tot was my dog though, he followed me everywhere and would do a cry bark if I wasn’t sitting down for him to cuddle with me in the evening. So on the day he died he wS acting normal. He had a bath and played and chewed on bones. Then around 7:30 at might he threw up. It was not uncommon for him to throw up. But then he was acting lethargic. An hour later I made a few calls as his heart was beating so fast you couldn’t count. Took to ER and he threw up again as we were waiting to check in. Then he looked up at me, took his last breath and his head dropped and he died. He was with me and I wouldn’t change ho he died. He was with me, my boy. But man do I miss him!! It’s been almost a month and it still hurts like it just happened some days.
I can’t imagine the pain you and your family felt when you lost Ellie. I’ve been Blessed to have my daughter Patches for 15 years. The thought of losing her terrifies me.
Sounds like your Ellie was super special. My husband and I just lost our dog, Stewart, and we miss him terribly. The timing of opening your post can only be God’s. Just seeing someone else write and process loss helps me. I had to navigate my feelings the same way. Words on the page to purge grief through tears and sometimes laughter, thinking on some of the shenanigans Stewart got into. Thanks for sharing your story …. even if I’m stumbling on it long since your publish date. The beauty of the internet.
Tracy, I am so sorry. It’s just so hard. I hope your heart is remembering those good times and can be at peace. We now have TWO dogs because our grief was just so thick we felt like we couldn’t get enough . . . HA! They’re precious but oh my . . . Blessings, sweet sister. Don’t every let anyone tell you it’s “just” a dog. <3