Today was a tough day. My wife has been having some medical problems, so she went in to have her gall bladder checked. Good news: it appears okay.
Bad news: we discovered a growth on our dog's gums this weekend. She was bleeding from it, so we took her into the vet this morning. The prognosis was quick and concise: she has cancer, and this is a really bad tumor. "Give it to me straight: How bad, doc?" The tumor has already engulfed (removed) one of her tooths, and is spreading across the roof of her mouth. The "bad breath" that we are smelling: that's dead flesh in the path of the tumor. This is the beginning of her end. She will die soon.
That was a tough meeting. But not as tough as our family meeting this morning when I delivered the bad news. Gwen is dying. Her body is strong, but the cancer is stronger. It is going to take her quickly.
We rescued Gwen nearly 8 years ago. We were still grieving over the loss of our beloved Labrador with a purple tongue: Max. We had to put him to sleep after he twisted his stomach one night after dinner.
Gwen was 1-1/2 yrs old, and a run-away stray dog. Very lean. Very demure. We fell in love with her immediately.
She has always been a wonderful dog around people, and children. And a wonderful dog off leash. I really enjoy taking her to the park and kicking pine cones for her to retrieve. She is so loyal, and so loving, which makes it so hard to part with her.
We are leaving for Yellowstone on Saturday for a family camping trip. Unfortunately, where we are camping, dogs are not allowed. We had arranged for our friends to care for her while away. But now, with the aggressive cancer, we have re-thought things.
My brain is telling me this is the right decision. But my heart is struggling with this. We have decided, as a family, that it will be best to give our dog the best week ever: hamburgers, hot dogs, table scraps and cake. And then, on Friday evening, the night before we leave, we will have her euthanized in our backyard, by our vet. This has been a very difficult decision, but one that we all agree is best for our friend. Our brains know this is right...and our hearts are heavy with this choice.
Tonight, the kids are sleeping with her. She acts no different. She is in great health, and great spirits. You would never know she is sick.
But this damned tumor: it's eating her alive. It's not fair. But it's life. We are going to do all that we can to make the next four days the best of her life! She knows that we love her. And she has been a wonderful addition to our family for the past 8 years. Which is why it's so difficult to let go of her. I'm not sure how we are going to make it through Friday...but I know that we will weather this storm together, as a family.
FOUR DAYS LEFT.
Tuesday.
One of my favorite routines with this wonderful dog is walking the kids to school and back, twice a day. In fact, one of the most cherished things I will miss is her wagging tail at 2:30, then 2:45, and 3:00. She KNOWS when it's almost time to go get her kiddos. "Not yet, girl". And then, at 3:05, "You wanna go get the kids?" She bolts out of my office like a puppy dog, excited to go and get her kids!
Or maybe it's being at the park that she enjoys most: leaving p-mail at her tree; chasing an occasional squirrel or bunny rabbit; running freely off-leash; or chasing the pine cones that her master so lovingly kicks across the park for her.
But it's summertime. And the kiddos are not going to school right now. With Friday quickly approaching, I have decided that school will be in session this week, and we will enjoy our bi-daily walks.
Today was very revealing for me. She did all that she normally does: poop by the trash can, pee on a tree, chase a bunny, sniff the grass, wander and explore her park. Then, after we made the turn, I found a wonderful pine cone for her to chase. I know that she has a menacing ulcer in her mouth that can easily erupt into a bloody mess, but right now I don't care. And neither does she! She may have this stupid growth attached to her gums, but let's not let it ruin our fun. So I throw the pine cone...and she excitedly chases it down. I throw it again, and she runs to get it. I throw it for a third time, and she chases it down...but stops halfway. Then she turns to me, and walks back. When I catch up to her, she lays in the grass to let me stroke her while the tears flow. I now realize that she is sick. She can no longer run like she used to, or walk as far as she used to, or chase the pine cones like she used to, or eat her dog food like she used to. She is sick. I realize that the signs have been there for a few months now...but I didn't see the whole picture. But now I do. She has been slowly dying, but keeping this a secret from her family. She is very maternal, protecting us from months of mental anguish. She is a wonderful dog, a valuable family member -- but now I can see how fast this disease has been taking over her. I thank her, there in the grass with my tears flowing, for showing me that is indeed sick. This helps my heart come to grips with what we must soon do for her. For us. For our family: all 6 of us.
Tonight was a bit more light-hearted for us. Kaleb wanted to recreate some old photos, so we had fun creating the different shots. For the pics with Jade and Kaleb -- those were taken within just a day after adopting Gwen. So, I guess the shots are bookmarks of our life and time with her.
One thing I wanted to do with Gwen, before she left us, is go camping one more time with her. Since this is all but impossible right now, Kaleb and I pitched our camp in the trailer last night, and let her snuggle between the two of us.
We openly shared about her, about what we are going thru right now, and how tough this storm is for us. She fell asleep next to us, to the caring words of her boys talking about how much they love her. Kaleb asked me if she knows that she is going to die. I answered, "Not that she is going to die...but she knows that she is sick, that she is not going to get better." I have seen this. I believe this. I felt so powerless, petting her while she slept. I am going to miss her. But I am grateful for the time we had with her.
We slept with her cuddled between us. One last time.
THREE DAYS LEFT.
Wednesday.
Just like any other hump day, we were busy. We had places to go, errands to run, meetings to attend. All of life's busyness. We all feel a bit sad that life is getting in the way, when our time with Gwen is very limited now. We feel guilty that we're not spending every waking second hugging her, and walking her, and playing with her. But the truth is: she's sick. And she's tired. She can't walk, and play, and love on us like she used to. Instead of walking her twice a day, she can only get out once. But we make the most of that one trip to the park. And when she's awake and playful, we make the most of it.
So even tho today was a bit routine for us, I think she was okay with it. She rested under my desk, like she always does. And when I left for my errands, she stayed there to rest some more.
For dinner, tho, we decided to grill steaks, and hamburgers, and hot dogs. Normally, Gwen would maybe get a few table scraps. But tonight, these were ALL FOR HER! I made her an extra burger, and two dogs, and we shared some of our steak with her.
She is living like a QUEEN! Not to mention, we are feeding her canned dog food now, since the tumor in her mouth has taken over the right side of her upper jaw, so chewing is a bit tricky, a bit painful. But she's not complaining: the canned food is YUMMY!
I served her dinner on a plate, and she ate with us. She's probably put on 10lbs already...but we don't care, and neither does she!
We spent the evening in the trailer as a family. The kids laughed and told stories in their bed. I cuddled with Kathy until she fell asleep. Then I slipped over to the bed that Gwen and I would take naps together on, and I called her up. She fell asleep between my legs, like she used to do when we would go camping. And I let her stay there for as long as she wanted to. I wish we were camping for real...at William's Fork, or the Sand Dunes. But for tonight, this will do. We are all together, and that's all that matters.
TWO DAYS LEFT.
Thursday.
But then I heard a sound this morning that I haven't heard in a while now, and it warmed my heart. As you will recall, Gwen and I have been on a walking hiatus since school has been out. But this morning, as she heard my coming down the stairs, I heard the sound of her excited tail at the bottom, in our doorway (for those of you who do not know, Gwen is not allowed upstairs. So she waits for us in the morning, wagging her tail against the door frame: thump, thump, thump.) It's a sound I haven't forgotten...but will soon miss. She is excited, she knows we are going for a walk to the park!
We stroll to the park, with no hurries, no worries. Once we arrive, I remove her leash and let her run. She lets her sniffer take her from tree to tree, and follows some unseen trail along the grass. Right now, in the park, she is a free and healthy dog. I love watching her roam. We walk to the end of the park, and turn around. And now she goes into a familiar and enjoyable routine: pine cone hunting. You see, she knows that the first leg of the park is about sniffing and peeing and pooping. But the return leg is what she's been bred for: retrieving! I tell her, "go find one!" She searches for a cone or a stick, anything for me to throw and have her retrieve. But it must be a different season for the pine cones, as the ground is void of any. I search the trees, and there's none to found there either. But I encourage her to keep searching as we walk. So she does. Her tail wagging happily as she races from tree to tree. "Did I find one?" she asks. Nope. That's a leaf. She keeps searching.
At the last stretch of trees, I see it. A simple stick on the ground. She doesn't see it, so I go and get it. Before I have the stick in my hand, ready to throw, she knows. She is sitting proud and at attention. Ready to go. She knows that she must sit first before I throw (a skill I worked on early with her). She has done her part -- so I do mine. I throw the stick...and she races to retrieve it.
As she returns with the stick, I can see the joy in her face. She is smiling. She's not sick. Not right now. She drops the stick for me (another skill I taught her), and I throw it again. She races for the prize, once again. I do it again. #3. And again. #4. And again. #5. But now I see it. Now I see the sickness. There is blood on the stick. But she doesn't care -- so neither do I. Yes, there is blood. But our time together is limited. So I throw it again. She brings it back. #6. I have reached the sidewalk, where we would normally end our day at the park and go home. But today, neither one of us cares. So I throw it again. #7. She brings it back. And I throw it again. #8. But that's it for her. She can go no more. I don't know if it's the pain in her mouth, or in her bones, or in her lungs -- but she is sick once again. She comes back to me, without the stick, and I reward her with a hearty pat on her belly, "Good job, girl!"
I tether her once again to the leash, and she and I head home together. Both knowing that our time together is limited. But both enjoying one more day together. She is my dog. And I am her boy. **sob**
Tomorrow will be even more fun than today: this I promise! But tomorrow is all we have. Truly.
ONE DAY LEFT.
Friday...you are here. One final day together.
I have spent this week listening to the sounds of life continuing on. The radio still plays. The lawn mowers still whirl. The rain still falls. We have been very private about this experience, as we wanted to grieve alone, as a family. I wave at the neighbors. They do not know. I talk to my clients. They do not know. I watch the world unfold on Facebook -- they do not know. We have laughed together as a family this past week. And we have shared tears. This week we have been closer than most weeks before. We are enduring this storm together, each grieving in their own way. Each saying goodbye to our beloved friend. She is in pain. And she held on as long as she could. Maybe she could have lived another week. Or maybe another month. Who knows? On Monday we found out she was dying. And we spent this week coming to grips with this awful truth. But at least we were given a week to share with her. For this, as a family, we are eternally grateful.
This week we have spoiled her, and played with her, and slept with her, and cuddled with her.
We have done our best to make this the best of this week for her. I now understand the pain of watching a loved one die. Knowing that they will never get better. When we cannot save them, all we can do is make their remaining time here with us one of comfort. We help them die in piece, blanket them in our love, so that they may go to sleep, eternally, closing their eyes one last time with the final thought being that of love. That they have been loved, and that they will be missed.
I realized yesterday that I incorrectly titled this blog, "The best week of Gwen's life." I now know this is not true. There are numerous weeks that I think she would argue were better. How about the week of Oct. 12th, 2006. The week we adopted her. This makes me **smile** as I remember that time. We had such a huge hole left in our hearts from the passing of our beloved Max earlier that year. We didn't realize it, but we were still grieving, 5 months later. But from the moment she entered our lives, she filled that hole. And the memory of Max could move on, as it needed to. Or how about the trip to California? Bet she LOVED that trip! Or the numerous trips to visit Grandma and Grandpa's house in Arizona. Yes, there were a few times she didn't want to load back up into the truck to leave. "Sorry Gwen...even tho Grandma says you can stay with her, you belong back home with us!" Or the times spent running free in the Sand Dunes, and swimming with us at Williams Fork, or Cherry Creek. How about that camping trip in November, when it was just Kaleb and I, and it snowed, and we ate homemade chili by the campfire.
Yes, I understand. Even tho we did our best to make this week wonderful, it wasn't her favorite week. But a bookend to a wonderful life with us. There was a beginning -- 8 years ago. And now, today, this is the end.
FRIDAY
It's like a party. "Is it my birthday?" she asks. No, but we are celebrating you today, our beautiful Gwendlyn, our Gwennie! No tears today.
No tears. **sob**
This morning we walked to the park.
We found a pine cone. (thank you, Lord)
She chased it. It was good.
We made a special breakfast for her.
She got to eat it on the special "family" plate.
She got a grooming today...she LOVES being pampered and brushed!
We went to the lake. One of her favorite spots.
She swam, and swam, and swam!
And strolled too...
We did our best to give her the perfect day.
The perfect week. The perfect life.
In return, she loved us unconditionally.
We treated you EXTRA special today. You deserve it!
Words cannot describe how greatly
your family will miss you:
your family will miss you:
**Kathy**
**Jade**
**Kaleb**
**Kim**
And me. Your master.
You were my dog...and I was your boy.
We were your family, and you were ours.
Goodbye sweet Gwen.
Goodbye sweet Gwen.
You will forever be missed.
