RIP Brownie

1998-10/16/10

In case you haven't noticed, I've been kind of scarce around here lately. I've been weeks behind before, but never like this. Even though this post is dated the day it happened, it's taken me over two months to finish it...or clear out the backlog of posts from our trip for that matter...because I knew once those were done...this was next. But, I can't avoid this forever, as painful as it is to think about. Besides...it's been two and a half months and I'm still crying every day. Maybe this will help get it out of my system.

Let me start by saying, if you are not an animal lover and are not open to the idea of a dog being a family member, then you may just want to skip this post (please). Everyone gets that losing a human family member is devastating...but I don't really know how many people understand that the loss of a dog is also painfully devastating. Through this ordeal, it has been so comforting to have people around us that get this. Even though others have expressed their condolences and I've appreciated them...it's only been those who I know really get it, that have been truly comforting (either because they've gone through it themselves or I know they love their dogs like we loved ours). But to tell you the truth, those people have been few. It's been a real testament to me of the power of "mourning with those who mourn." It has been such a learning experience for me.

In the past nine years, whenever we'd come home (especially Cliff) Brownie was always at the door to greet us. And the longer we'd been gone...the more joyous the response. She would make you feel like a rockstar. Well, Tuesday night when we returned home from the airport, she didn't even react. She was laying on the bathroom floor and didn't even sit up. We called her and she eventually made it out to the entryway, but when she attempted to lay back down at Cliff's feet, she couldn't do it. It took her several tries to lower her body down to the floor. The difference was so alarming...I just knew. I had known she had been slowing down over the past few months. Instead of scarfing down her food in minutes, she would leave half of it. Instead of trying to prolong her walks, she would try to head back to the house as soon as she did her business. Now, there was no denying she was in pain...and declining fast.

The next day, I took her to the vet. There seemed to be quite a line of dogs and owners outside, so I just went in and had Coree wait in the van with Brownie. [We had had to carry Brownie out to the van (and she loves rides) so I knew it wouldn't be easy to get her into her least favorite place on earth.] I had been holding it together fine. I signed the roster and waited for my name to be called. As soon as I tried to open my mouth and utter the words, "I think my dog is dying," I fell to pieces. It was embarrassing. The place was so crowded. The tech tried to find someplace more private, so she took me around the corner, only to realize there wasn't a private corner in the whole place. I had to explain what was going on while everyone watched the tears and snot fly all over the place. I couldn't look at anyone. I waited while she went in the back to get another tech. They came out with a stretcher. I lost it some more. The whole thing was surreal. I could feel people staring in horror...it's every dog lover's worst nightmare...but you know that someday, it will be you.

They placed the stretcher next to the van and we lowered her onto it, but when they attempted to lift her up, she struggled to stand. She wasn't about to be carried in there. They let her stand and walk in on her own. She didn't even put up a fight. The waiting room was now silent...or at least it felt that way...and all eyes were on her as she passed. They took us right back to a room and the vet met with us right away. He got my permission to run tests, told us with her symptoms he was certain he'd find something...and then he came back with the news...a mass on her spleen indicating an aggressive cancer. She was on the downhill slide, and at her age surgery was just as likely to kill her. He gave me the options, and not wanting to put her through anymore suffering, I only considered two of them...either putting her down on the spot, or having at least one more night with her before returning. I called Cliff at work, and through tears he asked for one more night with her. We set an appt. for the following afternoon...and I asked the vet about a back-door exit, but by this time the clinic was closed, so we didn't have to go through the spectacle again.

That evening and the next day, we lavished her with attention. We each had a chance to say goodbye in our own way. Some of us cried more than others. She wouldn't eat...but she did seem to respond to the extra attention...which made it more difficult. Ultimately, Cliff couldn't do it. He called the vet and said he didn't think she was ready, and asked how he would know she was ready. The vet ran down a list of signs, like not eating, yelping in pain, unwillingness to move, inability to control bladder and bowels. He also suggested feeding her chicken and rice (which Brownie happily sucked down...leading us to believe this was all a ploy). He also said he would be standing by whenever we were ready...even on a weekend, if necessary. He had so much compassion and we appreciated him so much...he totally understood whatever we needed to do and didn't judge us.

Prolonging this made it harder in some ways, especially for Coree and I...but I understood that Cliff needed to be ready. I prayed for her to give us a sign so we'd know (but maybe I should have prayed for a non-yucky sign?). She laid around the house all day, except to eat the chicken and rice, and we lifted her onto a bed we made for her on Coree's bed each night. On Saturday morning, she let us know she was ready. She could no longer control her bowels and was obviously humiliated. She had never in her life done that and we knew it was time.

True to his word, the vet met us at the clinic late that morning. He told us how it was going to happen and that afterward he and the tech would leave and we could have as long as we wanted with her. The boys chose to say their goodbyes at home, but Coree wanted to be there with her in the end. The three of us held her and stroked her and cried buckets. I tried to memorize her face, the wrinkles of her neck, the softness of her ears...and thanked her for everything...the comfort, the memories...for helping me raise these children. She was nothing short of amazing. I can't believe we got so lucky. It's like she was sent just to us.

I have been married almost 20 years...and in that time, I have seen my husband get teary-eyed on occasion, but I've never seen him cry the way he cried for this dog. It was heart-wrenching, and added another layer to my grief...just like the kids' pain added more layers.

People have asked if we'll be getting another dog, or suggested it would help ease the pain. They might be right, but I think we are done. We are a one dog family. She came to us at the perfect time in our lives. It was such a joy to raise a family with her. I'm so glad my children had that experience. It may sound wimpy, but I really don't think I could go through this again...not to mention, any other dog would pale in comparison. Could any other dog really measure up to the bar that Brownie set?

When I close my eyes, I can still feel those soft ears, and hear her throaty-purr when I rub her belly. Some say all dogs go to heaven...others say they don't have souls and couldn't possibly. I have to believe she'll be there, because it wouldn't be heaven without her.

We will love you forever, sweet Brownie. Thank you for everything.