All good things must come to an end

Not sure why I'm typing this. Partially because I want to, partially because I feel I did it for Gunner ages ago, partially because she deserves it.

So I've mentioned that Lucy has been slowing down a lot lately. She's 11. *sniff* Nope. She was 11. Yeah. She was 11 and on Tuesday we had to let her go.

She'd slowed down a lot the last month. To be truthful she was an old dog since she was three, and she's had sore joints forever. We've been feeding her glucosamine forever. She hates... er... hated... sitting for ever because it hurts.

But she always got up (painfully) with a wag of her tail to go for a walk.

Her teeth had gotten worn down and brown. But she would still do whatever she could to break into the dog food and eat until she was ready to burst.

Used to protect me from the evil ironing board when ever I pulled it out.

But over the past 2 months she didn't have it in her to get up and bark at the ironing board.

And she needed to be let out a couple of times during the night or she'd have an accident.

And despite the fact she was turning into a big red bag of bones, her tummy was getting bigger by the day.

Last week she went for a walk but only went a little way before she wanted to turn around.

I've been finding little piles of undigested food that she's been throwing up. And Monday she stopped eating altogether.

So Tuesday I came home early from work because I had to go to Toronto that evening. There was an accident on the rug by the back door. She'd refused breakfast that morning.

I called my husband and he came home and we took her to the vet later that afternoon and said goodbye. And the stupid thing just kept wagging her tail until the end.

I stayed with her until the end. As crappy as it is, I found it comforting to do it with Gunner a hundred years ago, so that she could know that I was with her and loved her as she went to sleep. Richard stayed this time too. It was good for all of us, but fuck it hurts.

And then I had to get on a plane and go to Toronto and act like a grown up.

I'm home today, and I've taken it off as a mental health day because I just can't stop crying.

I think with all the pressures of school and the amazing pain in the ass work has been lately (have I told you that my boss has the emotional maturity of a 6 year old girl?) I'm ready to call uncle and could definitely use a couple of days off.

I'm so glad I have the other two goof-balls. At least the house isn't dead-quiet. We laugh, because we got Zoe four years ago because we thought Lucy was close to the end then. We've been so lucky to have her this long.

And with that, I leave you with two pictures.

( Lucy and I blowing you all a Kiss before she has to go. )

And if that doesn't tear your heart out

(  Some last alone time with Daddy )

And one last word that makes me cry, but still gives me comfort...



Love you all.

Soo...

Richard says it was Zoe.

However...

I called in sick today. To be clear, I can't go 20 minutes without crying. I'll call that sick.

This afternoon I went out to get a few groceries.

When I came back, Lucy's dish was in the middle of the kitchen floor.

When we last saw Lucy's dish, it was on the second from the top shelf in the spare bedroom. Full of food. Put there because she didn't want to eat it. It's been there since Tuesday.

When I came back from getting groceries it was in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Now, to be clear...

Zoe could have fairly easily stretched up to the second from the top shelf and helped herself. No question. She probably did.

However. I have only had one dog who carried their bowl around when they were hungry. It was not Zoe. Nor was it Chester.

It was Lucy.

Zoe has never, ever, ever, carried a bowl.

Lucy's bowl was in the kitchen. Where she throws it when she's hungry. Where she used to throw it, quite literally, every day of her life right up to the past month or so.

Somebody once told me that your animals stay with you after they're gone until they know you're ok.

She's telling me she's here.

Or that's what I choose to believe.

(She also left a big ball of her stupid red fur in the middle of the bath mat while I was in the shower this morning. You see, she always used to sleep on the mat while I was in the shower. This morning when I went to get in the shower, there was the empty mat. Of course I cried. When I got out of the shower, smack dab in the middle of the mat, was the big red tumbleweed of fur that I SWEAR was not there when I got in.)

She's sticking around to make sure I'm ok.

And I will be.

But wow.

This hurts.