Abbie the Great

This is going to be a sad post, but hopefully a positive one. 

                                                      Abbie the Great

My dog died last month.  She was old, but in seemingly good health.  We woke up to find she had died by the front door.  She had eaten well the night before, went outside in the middle of the middle of the night to potty as she always did, and didn’t act as if she was sick.  The vet said it had to be a cardiac event or brain aneurism to happen so suddenly without warning.  For me, this was a blessing, because we didn’t have to make a difficult decision were she to become sick later. 

But, as grateful as I am that she never suffered and for the 13 years she gave us, it still hurts to not have her around.  It’s an empty feeling that anyone who has ever lost a beloved pet knows too well.  The tears are gone, but the sadness lingers.  I know it will get better with time, and soon I hope the memories of her bring a smile rather than a longing for what once was.  It does get a little easier each day, but I still look through the window of the front door when I get home, expecting to see her waiting on us, tail wagging excitedly. 

I grew up with cats, not dogs.  I was never much a dog person, but Abbie changed that.  She weaseled her way into our hearts the way only a dog can.  I remember being angry when my sister got her, because we had a dog a few years before that we ended up giving away.  We weren’t a dog family, so I thought.  It’s funny how things change – I was not happy about my sister getting her, and now I’m forever grateful that she did.  I don’t want to imagine life without having known the joy that she brought into my family’s life.  I’ve said goodbye to my share of cats over the years, and though it was always hard, this is worse.  Maybe that’s because it’s still fresh, but I think it’s more because dogs have a way of being everywhere with you, no matter which part of the house you are in.  I was making pizza the other day, and as I was putting the turkey pepperoni on and accidentally dropping cheese on the floor, I remembered how I would always feed her some and she would take care of the floor for me.  I wasn’t thinking about her at the time, but that memory was triggered instantly, and there have been countless other moments like this in the last month. 

As I’ve grieved over her, I’ve thought about the last year, and especially the last month of her life, and how I interacted with her.  One thing she loved was having her tummy scratched.  Pretty sure she wasn’t too unique in this as far as dogs go.  Before surgery, the only way this would happen from me was if she got right up to whatever chair I was sitting on and I leaned over to scratch her.  In the last few weeks of her life, her hearing was failing, and she wouldn’t always respond to my calls, so I found myself seeking her out.  Most of the time she would be on the bedroom floor resting.  I’d get on my knees, scratch her belly, and she’d be in hog heaven.  It didn’t even occur to me that this was different behavior from the way it used to be until I thought about how it this to feel  – pain, pressure, the contortionist act it took to stand back up – I was lucky to sit on my knees for longer than a few seconds.  I’d avoid it whenever possible, so to intentionally seek out a situation where it was needed – that’s pretty amazing. 

                           one of my favorite pics of her, with me before surgery

Besides our mothers, pets may be the only thing on this earth to love us unconditionally.  My dog never cared how much I weighed – I wonder if dogs even have the ability to recognize a change like that.  One thing is for sure, though: My sleeve surgery helped Abbie and I get just a little more joy out of the last few weeks of her life.  I can’t ask for more than that.