The sad day and long night of good-byes
By Gina Spadafori
February 29, 2008
Around lunchtime today, I decided to run some errands, first to my friend Pamela’s shop. Her wonderful old white German shepherd knows me, and he tottered out from behind the counter to say hello, briefly. I petted him without thinking much about it, just a “Hi, Wally-o!” before I wandered into the next room to talk to Pam. She was distant and apologized for it, said she had a lot on her mind and couldn’t talk.
So I left with a few items, ran a couple more errands, ate lunch and then got back to work. Hadn’t been writing but a few minutes when Pam called.
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t talk to you,” she said, then started crying. “I had to put Wally down today.”
I burst into tears, too. I’d just seen him a couple hours ago. And then I realized I hadn’t been seeing him in the shop much these last few months, and when he was there, he was obviously having difficulties. This was the one last good day for the good old dog, when everything would be as it once had been always: He’d go to the shop, go to a field he’d always loved exploring. But then … to the veterinarian he’d known his whole life, the last stop.
When we finally stopped crying, she said she’d have to put up a sign in the shop, “Don’t ask the owner where her dog is,” because she just didn’t want to keep telling people that he was gone.
A few minutes ago I found out that some other friends had lost another special dog, their second in a week. I last saw my friends and their dogs on my birthday, two months ago. They knew the end was near for Seeber but didn’t even suspect that they’d lose Pete so soon. Cancer took them both, just that fast.
That got me thinking about a phone call I’d taken that day, when we took the old dogs out into the field, Pete, Seeber and my own old girl Heather. While I was there, another friend called to ask my help with her old cat. Mick died that day, the same day I last saw the other two dogs alive.
Four friends, two months, four pets lost. Yes, they all had great lives, not long enough but not that short, either. Knowing ending a life is the right thing doesn’t ease the hurt much in the end. I think I’ll empty a glass of wine in their honor — and to dull the sadness I feel for my friends — and go to bed early, trying to sleep. Godspeed to Mick, Walter, Pete and Seeber. Much loved and much missed. No one could ask for better. No one.
drag your fur kids in bed with you - soft warm fur works wonders.
Comment by cheryl — February 29, 2008 @ 9:27 pm
Tears on our pillows. We know about that and not so long ago. Many of us here can empathize.
Sorry to hear this sad news.
Comment by Nadine L. — February 29, 2008 @ 9:43 pm
Sad, sad, and more sad.
The ones that are alive help us get through the grief, I believe.
Comment by Colorado Transplant — February 29, 2008 @ 9:51 pm
Gina - maybe you could make a nice poster for her shop with Wally’s picture and a short statement about Wally’s trip across the Rainbow Bridge. That will spare her having to explain to everyone, but also will let her customers, who probably really liked her dog, know what happened.
You could also put a statement in that if people wanted to do something they could make a donation to a particular shelter in Wally’s memory.
Comment by 2CatMom — March 1, 2008 @ 8:14 am
What a wonderful idea 2CatMom. My heart goes out to all as I sit here with tears running down my neck. It never gets easier. Seems the more pets we have, the more painful it is when we lose one.
Comment by VJ — March 1, 2008 @ 9:04 am
I believe my Batman is a reincarnation of my cat Cindy.
I wonder if anybody else thinks that cat souls get reincarnated.
For me, death is always a great traumatic event. However, learning of paralel universes, reincarnation, and spiritual souls surviving make it less overwhelming.
I do not distinguish between human souls and animals souls. Maybe one of the reasons is my cats are like children to me, only less demanding in some ways.
Comment by Colorado Transplant — March 2, 2008 @ 4:45 pm
I am a secular humanist and an agnostic to borderline atheist. Yet when I lost Brandy it ripped me up in ways I did not expect.
She had been getting sicker and sicker and I was getting pressure from the family to have her put to sleep. She had started messing in the house since she had to pee all the time and at night I could hear the to nails clicking on the kitchen floor downstairs. I became very tuned into this sound and would immediately rise to let her out so that I didnt have to hear the admonishments again.
I knew that she had bladder tumors which sometimes made it hard for her to pee. What I did not know was that the melamine in the food I had just gotten her (and she liked) was making her produce excess urine and making her already uncomfortable condition much worse.
Then she developed a fever and stopped eating and obviously was very very sick. Yet she would come to me and ask me to pet her and rub her ears and we would look at eachother, she with a worried and tired look and me with fear of what might be coming. I did everything I could to look for improvement so the day would never come or be put off. At one point I made an appointment with the vet but then for a time she improved after being off her food. Then like an idiot I fed her more !!!!!!! ;-(
She got worse again and for three days I struggled with it. Finally I made another appointment thinking that just maybe… but I knew what I was going to do from the start.
I took her out to the farm one last time where we had spent so many hours together and she loved. But it was cold and icey and she was in no condition to appreciate it. I stopped and bought her her favorite - Chicken McNuggets of which she ate some which gave me a glimmer of hope.
On the way back to town she always knew the way and was anticipating getting back home and to her bed. But when we passed the turn she let out a little whine and looked at our street with her ears up and an anxious look. It was like she knew….
I just said… “Not this time, girl… Not this time…”
She led me into the vet’s office and sat at my feet patiently while I petter her and held her thinking that I could still just get up and take her home.
Then the girl came and we went in the exam room and I had that terrible conversation with her.
Niether of us knew why she was sick and I didnt even insist on one last exame. I even turned down the possibility of catheterizing her to relieve the pressure thinking it would just cause her pain and prolong the agony both she and I were going through the entire week.
They brought out the syringe and the tube with the needle and I held her head in the crook of my arm and she pressed tightly into me.
And then suddenly she just fell away from me onto the floor.
I looked down at her sleeping form and all I could say as the tears and the snot began to pour down on her was “Oh, Brandy! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
I petter her there as long as they would let me but the urine was leaking out of her now relaxed body and the vet put her hand on me and said that Brandy was now gone and they needed to move her because of the mess.
She asked me if I wanted to have her cremated but I said no… I have a place for her.
The NEXT MORNING while watching the today show I learned about the recall…
Frantic, I went to their website and found the link to Menu and read to my horror that Sprout Beef Cuts and Gravy was on the list and the news reports said that many more lots were involved.
I have not cried and screamed like that for any human. I think I was crying for Brandy and screaming for myself for having made a bad choice. A very very bad choice.
It is nearly a year now… March 15th that this happened. I saw this blog yesterday but could not bring myself to write anything as I remembered the events of that day and its aftermath. I took Scout out there for a good run but while he was churning through the wet snow I took the picture below with my cell phone. http://www.newistech.com/Brandy1year.jpg
It is a terrible picture, but it was a terrible time. Alone in the cold and desolation sleeps my old friend.
Scout is sleeping quitely on the couch having worked off his energy after a week of confinement from my working out of town.
2007 is a year best done with. But I will not soon be able to forget it. I will never forget Brandy.
Beware the ides of March.
Comment by Bernard J. (Bernie) Starzewski — March 2, 2008 @ 8:29 pm
Bernie, although your situation is unique to you, I also have a lot of guilt about the end of life for past cats. Either I did not treat them medically at the right time, I euthanized them too early or too late, or did not seek the right doctor.
The animals put their trust in us, and sometimes we let them down. For me, I never get rid of the guilt. Only thing I can do is give my “now” cats better medical treatments sooner, suspect poisoning in foods (which I never expected from the big name companies), and try to know when it is their time to leave this earth.
However, the anger for the poisoned food will live with me until the day I leave this earth.
My cats got pretty sick. Your Brandy died. So many other cats and dogs suffered and some died. It should never have happened, but it did.
Comment by Colorado Transplant — March 3, 2008 @ 7:58 am
Oh Bernie … you make me cry. You bring so much to this space, even when I don’t agree with you. :)
Bless Brandy’s memory, and salmon cookies for Scoutie.
Comment by Gina Spadafori — March 3, 2008 @ 8:33 am
I too, won’t forget 2007. I thank Sandi for her early alerts to Nutro Cuts and Gravy 3oz tins which caused me to stop feeding my Tigger before the actual recall which I strongly believe saved his life. I have since thanked every day for my furkids and in a way I am sad that I fear they may leave me too someday. I am glad that I learned so much about cat food and veterinary care which I would never have done in the past. I love and appreciate every day with Tigger and now Cleo (calico) has joined us too. No matter what they do, good or bad, I love them completely like they love me.
Comment by Sindy — March 3, 2008 @ 6:21 pm