My Neighbor's Loss

This morning my next door neighbor called. Her Irish Setter has been sick for several months, but today was the final day. She wondered, tearfully, if I could come over and help her get her beloved boy into the car to take him to the vet. I was still lounging around with my coffee in my nightgown. I hurriedly threw on some clothes and walked to her house. Another neighbor was also coming to help. The Irish Setter was lying on a rug in the living room. He could no longer stand. His rear legs had become atrophied. My neighbor said he had cried in pain all night. The consensus is that he had some sort of gastrointestinal cancer. He was a large dog, and it took all three of us to get him into the car. He was obviously uncomfortable, chattering teeth, trembling. He has always been such a sweetheart, was the first to welcome us to the neighborhood when we moved here. All three of us women had trouble holding back our tears.

Long story short, once we were at the vet's office, the doctor came out with the syringe and administered it in the back seat of the car, which was the way my neighbor had decided she wanted it done. I was holding the dog as he died, just as I held my dear sweet cat, Trouser, last year. I barely controlled my sobs. So many memories flooding back over me. I remembered that my doctor had given Trouser a shot to relax him first, before the big overdose. I held him close and spoke to him as he died.

I had another dog, our family dog, Missy. Always loyal, loved and looked after my boys, was an integral part of our family for over 12 years. She contracted a mysterious cancer that caused large tumors on her abdomen. She went through a surgery to remove them, and lived another two years. But the cancer came back with a vengeance, as it seems to do too often. She stopped eating, wouldn't come for loves and hugs anymore. The boys were in school, my ex was off in another town. We all knew, though, that Missy's end was nearing. Bravely, I carried her to the car and drove her to the vet -- all alone. I had never done such a thing before. The doctor thought it best to put her down. I began to sob uncontrollably as he took her away to a back room. I wrote the check. This was back when the banks still sent your canceled checks with your monthly statement. I barely recognized my own handwriting through the blotchy tear stains on the check I wrote that day. I did not stay with Missy, and always felt guilty for that cowardly decision. When it came Trouser's time, I decided that for his sake, so he would not be as frightened at being at the doctor and feeling so sick, that I would stay with him through to the end. It was peaceful, tragic, heartbreaking. My heart is still broken, but I am glad I was there with him.

Same thing today, with my neighbor's dog. She chose to have him put down in the backseat of the car, lying on his blanket. She already has a place picked out where she will bury him, wrapped, I assume, in that same blanket. Back at her house, she told us she didn't want anymore help, but she was thankful we had been there with her. I understand the need to do your private grieving. It is a special kind of love we have for our pets, our companions, it comes completely without strings. They give us their uncompromising devotion. It is our duty to give them the decency and respect they deserve in their infirmity and death. They just don't stay with us long enough. And as we lose them, one by one, our grief compounds exponentially, even when the loss belongs to a neighbor.

So this post is for my neighbor and her brave, sweet Seamus. He was a great dog, always greeted our car as it past his house. I loved hearing him come out in the evening, barking as he came, as if to say to all the creatures that might lurk in the dark -- "I'm here, and I'm bad, and you better watch out for me!" The first time I went into "his" house, he brought me all the toys he owned, for me to throw and him to fetch, his way of letting me know he approved of my company. We were friends. I will miss him. I feel for my neighbor and the emptiness of her house today and in the days to come. It will not be easy.

Onward....