Friday, July 15, 2016

How to say goodbye, I suppose

Tonight, my dog and I were alone in the house. I took her out of her kennel where she had been cooped up all day (she’s attached to an IV and can’t really move about), and walked her around our garden, trying to get her to pee, because peeing means she’s getting better and her kidneys are working again. No pee. Dejected, I started to lead her back to put her in the kennel.

When we got back to the front porch on the way back in, she stopped and sat down. I tried to coax her in to the house, but she just looked at me as if to say, ‘sit with me, human.’ So I did. She sat on my feet as usual, and we watched as the rain started to pour. We sat there for a long time, both of us just watching the sky and listening to the raindrops. For a moment, I wanted to just run out of the shade and get wet, but she couldn’t come with me and I thought it wouldn’t be fair to make her jealous. So I just rubbed her behind the ears — one of her favourite spots — and her head grew heavy in my hand and I think both of us felt peaceful for the first time in days.

A few days ago we all got blindsided by the news that our sprightly little dog had end stage renal failure. A couple of months ago, she was given a clean bill of health, and yet here she is now, hooked up to an IV, barely moving, barely even eating.

I suppose its too much to ask for another few years with her, even if that’s what I really want. And seeing her miserably restricted to small corners of the house at a time because of her IV is depressing, especially since this dog loves moving about and discovering new corners to hide in.

I hope I’m wrong, but our time with the pup feels like its coming to an end soon. I’m happy we watched the rain together tonight. I could do it every night for as long as she can hang on. But if that was a goodbye, I couldn’t ask for a better one — looking at and listening to and sharing a little corner of the world, just us two.

No comments:

Post a Comment