I'm getting ready to leave on one of my whirlwind weekends. Leaving today will be one of the hardest things that I've had to do in a very long time.
This morning, I shared my last moment of solitude with our sweet Lola. This was my last morning coffee while she snored majestically at my side. This was the last morning that I came downstairs to her beautiful, brown eyes peering patiently at me from her kennel. This was the last breakfast I was able to feed her, the last walk I could take her on. She's been my daily companion and just a darn good dog for the last 11 years.
It is never long enough.
There is no turning back the clock to get this morning back, nor the many days we've spent together outdoors chasing squirrels. There will be no more evenings on the back deck watching the ducks dive bomb the pond or the small birds stare wonderingly at Mike's shiny bald head. No more dog hair to sweep up because she sheds more hair than she has on her body. The tumors that have been apart of her life for the last five years have finally made their internal presence known. It's not pretty and it's quite heartbreaking to watch a loved one, whether human or furry, have a full blown seizure and not know whether or not that gasp for air is the final one.
The kids have handled this week with dignity and understanding. When Lola seized a few days ago for the 3rd time, Sev and Miranda kept it together and made her as comfortable as possible - they even timed it. They kept their hands on her the whole time and spoke to her with all the love that has grown for the last eleven years. Though she's no longer a pup, she has been our "baby girl" and I can't possibly think that we could ever replace her with another.
Mike and I spent the evening out back yesterday reminiscing about the special times we've had with our girl. Is it bad that we can't remember any particular moments because they were all pretty fantastic? Lola wasn't a jumper, a licker (OK, she licked the air around you), a chewer, or a biter. She was; she IS such a good dog.
Mike will care for her through her last days as part of our earthly family. On Saturday, she will join her heavenly family and finally be whole again. She may still snore though. And that's OK. As long as they have ear plugs. Or a white noise maker. Maybe the whole Hallelujah chorus could drowned it out.
This is my eulogy for the very best of dogs that taught us how to be the very best of owners.
Mini happy (I think?) update:
Our flight was delayed tonight so, God willing, I actually GET one more morning with my gal. It's a silver lining even if it is really, REALLY small...
