Humans can and often will encounter and adopt domesticated animals multiple times throughout their lives. The simple truth is the circle of life moves faster for our furry beings than it does for us.
The simple truth is, animals have very short lives in the grand scheme of things. The simple truth is, we'll probably find out later how short our humans lives are after all.
Before I went off to college, my mother located a reputable breeder of Bichon Frises. We already had a Bichon, Snowy, that I had been surprised with a week before my fifth birthday. But my parents had always regretted not claiming a puppy from a family friend who had bred a litter, and was also a professional show breeder, when I was barely in the double digits. All of the puppies found wonderful homes. For a while, there were annual reunions, until people moved and thngs changed.
First, our friend's older Bichon passed. The dog was a little snarly and particular, but always accepted my quiet affection. The dog had been a gift from our friend's partner, who had died of cancer before we met our friend. Both deaths devastated her.
Our friend kept one baby from the litter for herself, and the puppy (who had grown into an adult) passed very suddenly. Another heartbreak. As the years passed, it was just our friend and the mother of the litter, until the mama passed on too. Devastated, heartbroken and in so much emotional pain, our friend called us to pick up all of her "dog stuff." Everything from X-pens to Bichon stamped memorabilia to blankets, she gave us everything.
"I don't think I'll ever have another Bichon," she told my Mother. The pain of losing them was just too great.
We lost Snowy, when I was in college. It was over the summer. He refused to eat breakfast - he lived to eat - so I called out of work. Me, my brother and my parents went to the vet where we were told Snowy had a massive tumor in his stomach, and it would have to be removed for him to eat. "We could buy a little time with an experimental surgery..." the vet said, tapering off.
I immediately stated my opinion. It's time. An experimental surgery that would only buy us time is not only risky at his age but it would put him in so much pain as he recovered, causing unnecessary suffering. We decided to get lunch and think about it.
We ate Chick-Fil-A and tried to feed Snowy some of our treats but he just wanted water. We drove around the neighborhoods and let him stick his head out the window. Blind and deaf, we knew he still liked feeling the breeze. We were mostly silent, but we all finally came to a conclusion.
Snowy was blind by this time in his life and he was very fearful of the things he could not see. He panicked over baths, brush and grooming, so he hardly looked like himself. My grandmother was able to trim off the mats around his eyes on our last visit and she had tried to clean him us a bit for us. She had to use cuticle scissors.
We wrapped Snowy in a blanket and decided to sit outside behind the clinic, under a tree, in the grass. Snowy liked the outside. We all had our hands on him. My mother held him. The vet quietly made the injection and we watched our bouncy, cheerful, dim-witted-but-lovable pup relax, with his little pink tongue gently slipping out of his mouth. He was 15.
We sat under the tree for an hour, or maybe more. The vet techs came out to check on us. No one could stop crying. We didn't want to turn his body over until they finally asked us to. We sat under the tree and held each other and cried. My dad went to settle the bill. There was no charge for the doctor's visit or x-rays. As expected, he selected private cremation.
At the time Snowy died, we had just adopted Zoe and had Sparkle for a year or two. When the woman from the pet crematory delivered Snowy's ashes to our home, we invited her in. Sparke, who is typically shy, was all over this woman. In her lap, at her feet, behind her on the couch. She and Zoe knew who was in the urn. A red dogbone tag marked "SNOWY" dangled from the neck of the bottle. The woman also brought gifts: a paw print pressing with his name and death date and a single curl from his coat.
Now, Sparkle will be 12 this year, and she has lost some weight and shakes a bit. A new vet thinks she may have Cushings but no tests hae been conclusive. In the meantime, we love her up and are careful with her diet and medicine. Zoe is rounding out at 8 years old, still has the cuddle bug too.
Without asking, my mother apparently told my father that she will have a Bichon again.
It's hard to think that one day, I could be telling a story about these dogs and it will take me a long time to find a picture on my phone or how I will have to add that they're no longer with us. No one wants to lose a friend, let alone man's best friend.
So don't feel pathetic or embarrassed when you collect the whiskers your cat has shed in his bed, or ask the vet to save whatever teeth are extracted from the yearly dental. Go ahead and save old dog tags and collars. Pay the extra cost to cremate them separately - we still have the urns of my mother's first dog my father gifted her - or get a stone with their name to go over "their spot" in the yard - just like my grandparents did for their dog, Roxie.
We only have a short time with our pets. Don't ever feel like the ways you want to remember your pet are weird or embarrassing. Grief is a significant and individualized practice that must be handled with care. It's not just a dog, or a cat, or an iguana, or whatever. It's never just a pet. It is a lifetime of love that wasn't wasted.
After Snowy passed, I quietly slipped the tags off of his harness before anyone else could. I keep them in a special place, a little memory box with other knick knacks. I may have still been learning how to be an owner when he was alive, but he will always be my dog.
