Saying Goodbye

Today we had to say goodbye to our beloved American Bulldog mix girl, Macy.

Macy arrived 8 years ago as a peanut-sized puppy, full of charm and teeth.  From day three, she slept with us in our bed up until just a couple of weeks ago when she no longer would go up the stairs.

I say day three, because I caved on day three, no longer able to listen to her pitiful cries for companionship and the afforded comfort. From peanut to overgrown pumpkin, that dog shared our bed.  In the last 2 months she became not herself.  It is as if someone stole her and substituted her for a dog that looked like her but was not her.  There was no joy.  No recognition of us, or even happiness to see us.  She would not get off the sofa unless required to do so. 

She was at the vet just two months ago with throwing up.  Blood work was done, so there was nothing evil (lymes etc) there.  After researching canine cognitive dysfunction, she showed all of the symptoms.  At the vet yesterday, I discussed these symptoms.  Brain tumor was mentioned as possible causation, and at a cost of $4,000 for an MRI, we agreed that this would not be the course of action that we would start.  Rather, we would ensure that she was comfortable.

Last evening she had the first seizure that we had witnessed.  Today, there were two more.  AFter the first, we agreed that we would have her euthanised.  My vet was booked but could work me in at 3:30.  Another violent attack at 2 prompted a call to see if we could get in earlier.  These violent seizures were identical to Lucy's.   When we witnessed her seizure, she came out of the first one, and never came out of the last one. After witnessing Lucy's seizures, we realized that she must have had these before.  We would find her asleep in her dog bed, soaking wet.  We chalked it up to her being old.  However, when we saw her seizure and the spray from the violence of it, we realized what had likely happened before.

Seeing Macy with these same seizures brought a flood of memories back.  As Mark and I were reflecting last evening after he came to bed from sitting up with Macy to ensure that there was not another recurrence, we have not heard one vocalization from Macy in over a month.  Not a growl, not a bark, not a whimper.  Even the UPS truck, her arch enemy of the past, didn't elicit anything but a look when she was outside yesterday.

So we gave her the dignified way out.  All the things that she enjoyed doing were no longer a joy.  Even Lucy to the last hour of her life was happy to see us and relished her food.  Sure, she  she rested most of the day as was her right.  But she got up and went outside and enjoy a brief walk and the presence of her family. 

Macy, though, had clearly passed through some veil that forever cloaked the dog that she was.  We were unwilling to witness other episodes because they put her at risk of injury (falling from the sofa to the floor) in the event that we could not be there to catch her and keep her out of harms way.  Nor could we risk the unending seizure that required trip to the emergency vet in the untoward hours of the night. 

Had she not been forever hidden from us from the unfolding of whatever health event she experienced, perhaps a different decision would have been made.  But she had been lost to us for a couple of months, and her then she fell off of the proverbial cliff.  These seizures merely solidified that it was time.

We were the center of her universe.  And when she passed, we could say that she was always much beloved, and lived the happiest life we or any could give her.  IN the end, we should be able to say that to all who come into our lives.