Soapbox

Where the Shadow Begins.

Katie came by the morning or her final visit with Tucker. He goes to the vet on Monday morning for the last time.

I brought him in from a “walk” yesterday morning, and when Ted looked up from the sofa, I shook my head.
“Life is just too hard for him, I think”.
And Ted picked up his phone and made the call, right then, before we could second-guess ourselves.

Of course we still did. I spoke to my manager at work (a real dog lover) and said that it’s so hard when there isn’t something obvious, like heart failure or a tumor.
“What if it isn’t really necessary? What if we’re just taking him to be killed?”
He looked at me and said,
“If you even think it might be time… then it’s time. You know it inside, you just don’t want to admit it.”
Boy I sure don’t.

I’ve spent the last few months sleeping at least part of thenight on the couch (the 3/4 sized couch) because when Tucker lost the ability to climb the stairs, even with help, I promised him that I wouldn’t make him be isolated at the end of his days.
We carry him down the steps (working grocery for a year and a half has given me the muscles to lift him at 4 AM when he needs to go out to pee) and lately, coming back up. Twice this week we carried him back from his “Walk” (just one or two houses down now, when once we used to do miles together) because he just didn’t have the will to go.
We have a series of small rugs in the hallway and kitchen because his stiff back legs just slide out from under him on the tile floor. When he’s down in the living room he can still usually get himself up, but not in the kitchen, so we have to pick him up. When he falls down while eating, or getting a drink, or just on one of his many restless circuits around and around from living room to dining room to kitchen to living room.
When he slips, he waits patiently, trustingly for us to put down what we’re doing and come get him. But this is his world now.

For a while I told myself that since he still had a good appetite, enjoyed barking at cats, sniffing at things outside and being petted, that was a reasonable quality of life for him. But now I believe it’s just too hard.
Still, looking at him sleeping by the sofa and thinking “He has 2 more days to live” is really, really, really tough.

I’ve been struggling to write something about this whole shitty experience that pet owners have to go through.  What I’ve got so far is trite and shitty,- can’t decide to make it rhyme or not to- but it’s also true.

When you took me in, I promised
that I would love you with every breath,
greet you at every dawn,
leave you only in death.
I kept my word- I only ask
that you hold me as I say goodbye,
I wont be so frightened
as long as you’re nearby

Walk with me to where the shadow begins
This is our last journey.
I’ve always followed wherever you lead
Today I need you to walk with me.

My love is strong but my body is weak:
for this last part, could you carry me?
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you
This is all I ask for me.

And when we reach this long road’s end-
it’s just a few steps more,
I’ll go into the shadows alone
but won’t you lead me to the door?

Walk with me to where the shadow begins
This is our last journey
I’ve always followed wherever you lead
Today I need you to walk with me.

It’s been a long journey from spazzy little pup to “rodeo clown” to fine dog. And now the journey is almost over. A friend at work said “Soon the spark that lives inside him will be set free to wander”. given how crippled he is now, I like the thought that he will  be set free to run again– Lord, how he loved to run. Maybe his spark will find Boomer’s, and they’ll be together.

Good bye, my dear buddy.
My sweet boy.