Goodbye, My Girl.

"Dogs aren't our whole life, but they make our lives whole.” 

Monday started just like any other day.  I snoozed my alarm the  typical 30+ minutes and stumbled out of bed groggily to take the girls out.  We reached the door and the cold air hit me like a ton of bricks.  After Bailey and Jenna were outside, I turned around to begin to get ready for the day.

As usual, five minutes later, the girls weren’t quite ready to come in, but Jenna came running when she heard the food hit the bowl.  She rushed past me, but Bailey was still taking her merry time, as usual.  I turned around to head back to our bedroom, but decided to peek out and see where Bailey was.

That’s how some of the worst few hours of my life began.

As I peered out in the yard, I spotted Bailey on her side in the wet grass.  This is a dog that doesn’t like to step on wet grass, so I knew she wasn’t lying there willingly.  I ran out there, scooped her up and ran in, screaming to Clay to close the door so Jenna wouldn’t get out.  My heart simultaneously raced and jumped into my throat.

As she lay on the bedroom floor, I sobbed and shook and watched in horror as her breathing slowed down and became more labored.  I called the vet to figure out where to take her, and within minutes, had her on a blanket in my Jeep and was flying down the road, hazard lights.

I kept one hand on her the whole time and she lifted her head often, thankful for my touch.  As we neared Birmingham, she regained some energy and stood up to look out the window.  We flew into the emergency clinic parking lot and I ran in carrying her.  I had called to let them know we were on the way, so they were waiting to grab her from me.

I alternated between sitting and standing in the waiting room until they called me back.  The veterinarian said she was stable, her heart rate was normal and she was standing.  They were closing in less than an hour, and since she wasn’t in critical condition, decided to just keep on eye on her until our vet opened.

At 7:40, she was still doing well.  She was rather lethargic, but still looked more like herself, so we drove to her regular vet.  They had also been informed that we were coming, so we were ushered back quickly.  Upon arrival, her temperature was only 98 degrees, which is pretty low for a canine, so she was placed on a heating pad.

The doctor came in roughly 30 minutes later.  My first concern was when she listened to Bailey’s heart.  She didn’t say a word.  After the initial exam, she took her for x-rays, bloodwork and an ultrasound.  After nearly an hour, Bailey was back in the room, but I hadn’t seen the vet.  That’s when I looked up and saw her with a doctor on each side discussing something on the papers in her hand.  All three had looks of concern on their faces.  I tried to steady myself for the news to come, but nothing could have prepared me.

When the vet entered the room, she closed the doors that had been open the whole time.  She began telling me the prognosis.  She had a very large mass on the left side.  It was so big that it was pushing her stomach and spleen entirely to the right.  She also had fluid around her heart.  Once I was able to calm myself and really absorb what she was saying, we began to discuss treatment options.

While we were there, they could drain the fluid around her heart and do an echo to determine the cause, whether it was a tumor or heart disease.  Depending on the outcome of the echo, we may have been able to schedule a rather lengthy surgery to remove the mass. 

I spoke to the doctor in length about the potential dangers and effectiveness of surgery.  We discussed in great detail what the procedure would consist of, and what the long-term treatment would require.  I wanted to be fully informed so I could call Clay to fill him in, but mostly, to ensure we made the right decision regarding her care.  The echo would tell us what we were dealing with, but it could be painful to remove the fluid.  If we did the surgery to remove the mass, she may not even make it through the anesthesia because of her age, and if she did make it through surgery, it may not be successful, again because of her age.

When I called Clay, he made it clear that it was my decision to make and that if I chose to go through with the treatment, we would do whatever it took to get her well.  Together, we made the hardest decision I have ever had to make.  I had to decide to let my longtime companion go to Doggy Heaven. 

“Petting, scratching, and cuddling a dog could be as soothing to the mind and heart as
 deep meditation and almost as good for the soul as prayer.”

Upon making the decision, Clay left work to be with me.  My mom left work as well to say her goodbyes.  On her way, she stopped and got Bailey her favorite snack, a rotisserie chicken.  After getting off the phone with them, I pulled Bailey and her towel to the floor and laid down with her.  We spent the next few minutes “talking” about the things she had done to get Jenna in trouble and reminiscing over our time together.  I went from crying to laughing at things she had done. 

My mom arrived first and I explained the situation.  She had a few minutes with Bailey, then we got out the chicken.  As lethargic as Bailey was, she knew when I had opened the chicken.  She’s never been the most patient thing in the world.  I’m surprised she didn’t take a finger off!  She usually has to share the skin of the chicken with Jenna, but got every morsel to herself, and even got some of the meat Daddy never shares!

Clay arrived while she was enjoying her snack, and he spent a few minutes with her.  We called the doctor in and within a minute or two, she slipped through the pearly doggy door. 

From the time I found her in the yard to the time we left with her in a casket was less than 5 hours.  It hit me like a Mack truck: hard and with no warning.  The day before, she ate like normal and showed no signs of distress.

We went home and Clay brought her bed in and I grabbed one of her blankets.  We went outside and Jenna and I supervised as Clay dug a hole.  We put the bed in, then covered her with her pink paw print blankie.  Before we covered the grave, we sat around it in silence.  Jenna sniffed the box and scooted over to sit in my lap. 

It’s now Friday and we’ve made it through our first few days.  I’ve had meltdowns when I’ve gotten two snacks out of habit, and when I noticed a framed picture on my desk at work.  I even cried when Clay took his shirt off to get in bed and it stayed there instead of being made into a bed.  Each time Bryson calls out “Baaaaailey,” my heart breaks a little.  I know he’s actually calling Jenna because she’s his BFF and he thinks all dogs are Baileys, but knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.  Yesterday, I realized that Bryson wouldn't remember Bailey, so now when he calls her name, I tell him something about her.  It's been great therapy to my heart to share her quirks, silly behavior, smart things she's done and even what a brat she was at times.

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.” 

Bay has been my constant companion for over 12 years.  She’s licked away many tears and kept me company when I’ve moved to a new city.  She’s made me laugh with her hyper running and jumping, and has amazed me with how incredibly intelligent she was.  She's cracked me up when she did her prairie dog sit in front of an unsuspecting person with food... and weaseled a bite every time.  I've been amazed at her skill to do the "Bailey Curse" and make a team lose to Alabama (ask the '09 Tennessee team- that was all her). She’s been an important part of my life, but also of Jenna’s. They didn't hit it off immediately, but eventually, loved each other like they were really sisters. 

Jenna has never really been alone, but has done great this week while we've been at work.  She seems to be very sad, but is getting the royal treatment.  Bailey even sent the remainder of her chicken home to her. 

When my first dog passed away, I said I would never get another one.  I think the same thing now, but I know deep down that the pain I feel right now pales in comparison to the joy Bailey brought to my life.  She will be dearly missed, but my memories are strong and will last longer than the pain.  One day, I will look at a picture and laugh about her excited expression instead of burst out in tears.  One day, I will tell Bryson about his oldest sister and how excited she was to meet him.  One day, I’ll be covered in sloppy wet kisses and rub her hairy little belly when we meet again at the Rainbow Bridge.

"Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day.  It is amazing how much love and laughter they bring into our lives and even how much closer we become with each other because of them." - John Grogan, Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog