Since Our Last Cuddle

This photo is time-stamped @ 1:30 pm, June 21st, 2023. As is our daily routine, I would sit in my recliner and BeBe would come over to my feet, waiting to be picked up. For the first few minutes, she would sit on my lap while I tried to smooth away her aches and pains, and then she would lie down on the extended part of the seat, between my legs. We’ve done this for years, since my retirement.

After taking this picture, Susan decided to take a video, which I won’t share here. It’s one minute long and recorded the sequence from the soothing caresses to the moment I take off my glasses and she moves to lie down. What made this one different was the way that BeBe looked at Susan for about 15 seconds (a long time for a dog), before she lay her head down. That look slightly haunts me.

Over the past couple of days, I’ve been reviewing our last interactions. She was lethargic and sleepy for the three days before we made our momentous decision. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t go for a walk; she drank sooo much water, and then would need to go out to the garden frequently, especially during the night hours (almost hourly). I tried tempting her on her last morning with a piece of chicken, but she wouldn’t touch it. That’s when I knew our time together was drawing to a close.

Normally, she is scared silly about going to the vets. When I said we were going for a car ride, she immediately got up and walked excitedly to the car door. I suggested that she have a pee (since she’d had a large draught of water before we exited the house) but she declined. (I knew I’d be wearing her pee later, when she had me lift her into the car.) She was quiet on the car ride into Barrie, but then she usually is.

When we exited from the 400 highway, Susan invited BeBe to come up to the front, thinking that she’d want to sit on Susan’s lap. No, she wanted to sit on my lap, even though I was driving on a very busy Mapleview Drive.

She was facing her future very bravely, I thought. We finally pulled into the vets and we got out of the car. Instead of taking her customary pee before entering, she wanted to go straight in. I didn’t use her collar and leash, I carried her into the building. We were on time for our 4 pm appointment, but we didn’t get seen to for almost 10 minutes. She got a little restless with waiting, but finally she got weighed for the last time (9.2 kg) and then we went into the examination room. I carried her in.

Normally, this is where things get a little tense. Susan held her while she calmly allowed her hind leg to be shaved (not a new sensation, since she goes to the dog groomer frequently), and then she was handed back to me to hold her while the sedative was administered. She didn’t react badly to the needle going in, in fact she was sound asleep before the contents were emptied. Then she was euthanized, in my arms.

It was a weird sensation to hold her little black body without her being slightly ticklish. In fact, I marveled at the fact of how she felt, even though I knew her life had been extinguished. With June’s help (the vet), we prayed over BeBe’s limp form and sent her on her way over the Rainbow Bridge.

It’s Been Three Days…

I have a mantra that goes something like this: in the grieving process, it takes…

Three Days, Three Weeks, Three Months and Three Years.

I came to this conclusion without realizing that this is the same process that adopted animals go through.

Wow, blooming wow! Even BeBe’s leaving process, while still alive, is reflected in her final three days.

But now it’s been three days since her departure, and I was wondering if she’d contact me, somehow. I shouldn’t have worried: right on cue @ 12:01 this morning, I heard her distinct ‘woof’. She was letting me know that she was alright. Now I can let go of my worries. Thank you, BeBe, for being my best friend and companion for the past 9 years and 3 months. Enjoy your afterlife.