Farewell, my Sweet Girl
I wrote this yesterday, after making one of the most difficult decisions of my life…
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In September 1996, I was reeling with the loss of my father who had passed away three months earlier. Losing my dad was the first time I ever had to deal with the death of someone I loved with all my heart. As “Daddy’s Girl”, I was shattered. I never knew my heart could feel so much pain. The pain wasn’t just emotional, but physical too.
We were stationed at Fort Bragg, NC and Steve was a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne. He warned me when we got the orders to leave Fort Benning, GA - that life at Fort Bragg was going to be a lot different. He was right. He worked long hours and was frequently sent to the field for training. Only a few weeks after we arrived he told me that he would be going to Panama for six months. I told him that I didn’t want to be alone with the boys, in a new city, without some sort of protection.
A few days later, we visited the local SPCA. I remember walking through the kennel, cages flanking the aisle, stopping to look at each and every dog. I wasn’t looking for a puppy in particular. Age didn’t matter. I was looking for a new family member. As much as I wanted to give every single dog a new home, I knew that wasn’t possible. But none of the dogs there seemed like a good fit for our family.
We were getting ready to leave, when the lady on duty told us about a puppy they had just rescued a few weeks earlier. They named her Phoenix because she looked like a coyote. She was found in a cat carrier, laying in her own waste, dehydrated and starving. She wasn’t in the adoption lineup yet, because she had a problem with her back legs going out from under her - a result of being kept in a tight place for most of her short life. She was about 10 weeks old.
The lady took us to see her, and my heart just melted. We asked if we could hold her, and the lady put Steve and I in a small yard off the back of the shelter with Phoenix. She was so darn cute! However, her hind legs weren’t very strong, and she’d run a few feet and then fall down. She’d get up and run a few more feet and fall down again. It was so sad. As adorable as she was, we knew we weren’t cut out to be parents to a lame dog. She’d need too much attention and care, and my boys were enough of a responsibility.
The lady made us an offer: Take her home and see if having the interaction of a family helps her to regain her strength in her back legs. If, after having her in our home for a week, we didn’t think it was going to work out - we could bring her back and get a full refund of the adoption cost. So we decided to give Phoenix a chance.
As Steve and I were driving home (the boys didn’t even know we had gone to the shelter; they were at school), we discussed her name. We both loved Arizona - in fact we had plans to retire there after he retired from the army. But Phoenix wasn’t our favorite city. We loved Sedona with its red rocks and wide open spaces. The puppy’s fur was a beautiful shade of reddish tan - just like those beautiful rocks. So she officially became Sedona.
Here is Sedona a few days after we brought her home with us:
And here she is a few weeks later:
It was a challenging first week. All night long, her puppy cries would fill the house, from where she was crated in the kitchen. There were puppy messes to clean up, and super-vigilance to catch her before she’d squat on the rug. So much responsibility! I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
Every day, we’d take her out in the yard and play ball with her. And every day, her hind legs got stronger and stronger, and soon she was running without falling down. We knew she was staying with us. As the weeks passed, she continued to get stronger until finally she was running like the wind; chasing balls, squirrels, and the boys. No one would have believed that she ever had a problem with her back legs.
We didn’t know her exact birthday, but when we counted back 10 weeks, I discovered that she was born around the same week that my father died. So I gave her the birthday June 18th. It comforted me to think that on the day my father left this earth, Sedona arrived.
Sedona was always my girl. Sure, the boys loved her too and they played with her all the time. But being the parent to a furkid is more than just playing. There are messes, and teething, and nipping, and training, and walks and baths. And I took care of all of that for the most part. She was my baby.
Once we survived house training, and teething, and puppy naughtiness, Sedona settled in very nicely with our family. I was so happy to have a dog of my own, and I pledged to love and care for her for the rest of her life.
When the boys grew up and left home, Sedona was my only companion when Steve was in the field training, or away on missions. She was very protective of me, and the slightest noise would have her on alert, barking a warning. When repairmen had to come out to the house, I’d leash her and she’d sit by my side, growling under her breath if the man got too close. She was quite intimidating, and I liked that. I remember one time when a heating and air repairman asked me “Does she bite?” and I replied “She will if I tell her to” and Sedona growled as if on cue. I had no fear when she was with me.
We moved to FL in 2000. We rented a third floor apartment, which made things so much more challenging. Several times a day, we’d climb up and down three flights of stairs to go for walks around the pond. Sedona loved the turtles and the egrets..actually, she wanted to EAT the turtles and the egrets! I sure got a workout holding her back.
That summer, Steve and I went tent camping at Manatee Springs. We took Sedona with us. That’s when we discovered that she loved the water. Not only did she love the water, but she was an awesome swimmer too. I remember standing on the shoreline, as Sedona (tethered by her long leash) doggy paddled in the turquoise spring water. She was in heaven!
I’d take her to the beach with me, and let her romp in the waves. She’d bite at them as they came crashing down on her. Such joy! I loved her doggy smile when she played at the beach.
She had such a thick coat of hair, that summers in the south weren’t very comfortable for her. She was truly a house dog, preferring the cool air conditioning over the sweltering heat and humidity. I liked it that way. When Steve was away, she slept in bed with me. When he was home, she slept on the floor on my side of the bed, never far from my fingertips so that I could scritch her ears or rub her tummy. My girl.
When we moved from FL to AK, she lived with us in our camper, enjoying the traveling and exploring new places. Each day she reveled in the new smells around her. She swam in lakes and rivers across the country and Canada, and has enjoyed the surf of both the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans. She’s waded in Kachemak Bay in Homer, and Resurrection Bay in Seward. Such a well-traveled dog. How many other dogs have had such adventures?
She’s lived half her life in Alaska. With her thick coat, I believe she was always meant to live in Alaska. Even when the temperature dropped to -40F, I’d put her booties on her and we’d go walking in the crunchy snow. Her muzzle and whiskers would be coated in frost, but I could tell she really enjoyed herself.
She’s gone hiking with me all over the state. With Sedona by my side, I never worried about wildlife encounters. She always knew when there was something around, and her ears would turn and she’d stop dead in her tracks. Unless it was a snowshoe hare. In that case, she’d almost rip my arm off as she took off on a chase.
Three times, while hiking with her, we came upon moose. She seemed to know that moose weren’t anything to mess with. We’d stop and wait for the moose to move off. Sedona would sit quietly at my side, watching. There was no barking or lunging. Just waiting. One time, while Steve was out walking with her, a moose suddenly came over the hill in front of them. Sedona was 15′ ahead of Steve and she and the moose came face to face. Steve prepared for the worst, and was amazed when they merely sniffed at each other - nearly nose to nose - before the moose ran off into the woods again. I wish I would have seen that.
Over the last year, I’ve really noticed Sedona slowing down. It takes her longer to get up off her bed and get moving. She can’t bound up and down the stairs like she used to. Instead, she takes the stairs slowly. Several times she’s fallen down the last few steps. This morning she fell again.
Her stomach has become very sensitive. She’s on a special lamb and rice diet because she can’t tolerate anything else. But lately, even the lamb and rice food isn’t staying down. This morning she vomited after eating her ‘after walk’ cookie.
She can’t hear anything but high pitched sounds now: The squeak of her ball, my voice when I speak in baby talk to her, Steve’s whistle.
Yesterday, after her physical, the Vet told me that she’s got cataracts in both eyes, and floaters in her eye fluid, which is affecting her eyesight. I’ve noticed lately that she doesn’t turn directly toward me when I call her, but seems to scan the room in search of my shape or shadow.
She sleeps all the time. She used to chase her ball over and over again, and now one toss is enough to make her collapse with exhaustion. Yesterday, I watched her collapse to the floor after just standing for 10 minutes. Her breathing is labored now. The Vet couldn’t hear her heart very well, and told me that she could have fluid around it, or not enough blood volume. Her blood tests show that she’s very anemic. The doctor suspects kidney disease.
Her beautiful and once thick fur coat looks mangy and unkempt. Her hair is falling out. Despite this, she is still beautiful in my eyes.
Over the past 24 hours I have been tortured with making the decision to send her over the rainbow bridge. She was scheduled for a vet appointment this morning, to have a urinalysis done in an attempt to determine if she does indeed have kidney disease. If the test didn’t give a definitive answer, the Vet suggested x-rays to look at her organs because she could have cancer or heart disease. At first, I was willing to get all the tests suggested, no matter the cost, so that we could start on some kind of treatment plan.
I was up late last night, crying and trying to decide what to do. Should I take her to the vet for more tests and meds? Or should I just accept the fact that she’s 14 years old and it’s time for her to leave this world? How can anyone make a life and death decision like this? The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is hold the life of another living soul in my hands. And yet, after all the years of love and companionship she’s given me, what right do I have to prolong her life when the quality of that life isn’t good?
This morning, a few hours after Steve left for work, she came to the side of my bed and barked to go out. Last night she wouldn’t go out, so I knew her bladder was probably bursting. We started down the stairs together, and just after stepping off the lower landing to go down the last four steps, her legs went out and she fell the rest of the way down the stairs. She yiped this time and had a hard time regaining her footing.
When we came back in, she didn’t run to the pantry like she always does. That’s where her cookies are. She always gets a cookie when she does her business. So I went to the pantry and got her a cookie, and she took it in her mouth but had no interest in eating it. Finally, she lay down on the floor and ate it. Ten minutes later, she vomited it back up. It just broke my heart.
So I sat with her on the floor, crying my eyes out. And I stroked her head and I told her how much I loved her and what a great dog she was. And I told her how sorry I was that she wasn’t feeling well, and that I knew that it was time for her to go. And she looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes and then licked the tears from my face. Sedona has never been a face kisser. Ever. So when I felt her tongue on my cheek, I just knew it was her way of saying it was time. And then she put her head in my lap and sighed.
I called the vet’s office and canceled her appointment. Steve starts his 7-days off tomorrow. It’s time to say goodbye to her. I hoped I could have her with me for a while longer, but not like this. This isn’t the way she should live her life. I can’t be selfish and keep her here for me. It’s not fair to her.
I’m going to have Steve call to make the appointment to take her in to be put to sleep this week. I can’t even talk to the vet office without sobbing. I will be there with her at the end, telling her how much I love her and wishing her well as she crosses over. And a huge piece of my heart will go with her.
My sweet, sweet Sedona… I will never forget you and the joy and companionship you brought to my life. Thank you for giving me your unconditional love over the years. Thank you for being a listening ear when I’ve been sad. Thank you for protecting me. I hope that your spirit goes to a place where there are hares to chase, and balls to fetch, and rivers to swim in.
My heart is shattered.
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I haven’t been able to stop crying since I’ve made this decision. Sedona is like a child to me. She has been a part of my life for more than 14 years. Last night, I slept on the floor next to her bed, holding her paw in my hand, stroking her head, and kissing her nose. I don’t know how I’m going to greet each day with joy, when she’s not here to follow me around the house, or go on errands with me, or take walks with me.
It snowed yesterday. Our first snow of the season. Big white fluffy flakes drifted down from the sky. Sedona has always loved the snow. So I took her for a walk around the yard. At times, she merely stood still, looking up at the sky, while the snow dotted her fur.
My life will never be the same without my baby girl. *cries*
