Journal4

Journal

Friday, April 27, 2001

My fur-baby's ashes were returned to me last night. I am going to have the words "Friend, Partner, Defender, Dog - May your soul soar freely forever" inscribed on Chocolate's urn.

The inscription is inspired from words found in one of my favorite quotes by an unknown author. Chocolate was by my side *sigh* when I read it for the first time:

He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion.

Wednesday, May 9, 2001

Chocolate and I were soul mates. You've probably heard the philosophy: The sum of the parts is greater than the whole. That was us.

I still wake up at night and cry, missing her head on my pillow. When I think of her (like most my waking time) I can still feel her soft snout, the little bump on the end of her tail (she had a deformed, but cute, tail), the way her warm tongue felt when she licked my face, the way she would smile at me . . .I�m spending much of my time wondering if I will ever get over her loss. I can only hope that someday the pain will pass, and I can smile when I remember her.

Not much more to say . . .

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Saturday, May 12, 2001

I've been putting together a web page in Chocolate's memory. I won't let her be forgotton. I feel as if she's here with me as I create this tribute. Maybe she is, giving me that big doggie smile of hers that I loved so much . . .

Monday, April 23, 2001

It's over. At 6:00 Chocolate received her injection. We had to carry her to the exam room - she just had no strength left. It was very peaceful, but so sad. Chocolate's spirit never diminished. Her eyes were full of love and understanding, and she was wagging when she was given her injection. I scratched her ears and kissed her face. I told her to just lay her head down, it was OK, to settle . . . she did just that and it was over in 4 seconds. She just went to sleep. She was big and strong right up until the last week of her life, and sweet and gentle and full of love to her last breath.

Our vet told me more than once that there was only so much a person could do to fight this hideous disease, and that I had done all I could have done. That I made the best choices possible under the circumstances. His words are reassuring, but they don�t make her loss any less painful. And he was right about letting her go - I believe Chocolate and I came to a mutual understanding. We were both so tired . . . And it was time.

Chocolate is pain-free now, chasing squirrels and rabbits on four good legs. And probably digging BIG craters in the dirt! (And rolling in the dirt and smelly things too, I�m sure.) I�ll try to keep those thoughts with me now. They�re all that�s left.

My baby is gone. The house is so empty. Toys and chew bones all over the house. Pieces of my Chocolate everywhere. An empty Tootsie Roll bag on my dresser - the bag of Tootsie rolls we shared our last afternoon together while saying goodbye to each other. (Well, actually I cried while Chocolate licked the tears from my face.) Sang �Wild Thing� to her one more time.

I'll be sleeping alone tonight for the first time in nine years (if I sleep at all). I don�t think I will ever get over this.

Sunday, April 22, 2001

It hurts so much to see Chocolate�s thin and misshapen body. She quit eating yesterday. Won�t even take food from a fork. Doesn�t want her medication. We spent last night at the lake. Chocolate loved every minute of it. I didn't expect her to jump in and swim, but that's exactly what she did. Today she has been absolutely worn out, as if she gave everything she had left to take that last swim. I almost didn't take her, but now I'm glad I did. Swimming was always one of Chocolate's favorite things to do. I'm so grateful she had the opportunity to do it one more time. One of my first thoughts upon hearing the diagnosis of osteosarcoma was that Chocolate would never get the chance to go to the lake again. That she would die in the middle of the coldest, longest winter I can remember.

She�s still being strong for me - trying to hide her pain. To this day, not one single whimper from her. Just last weekend (when she caught me crying) she brought me her football and tug toy and wanted to play. I thought, you must be kidding, you can hardly walk!! I know it was not so much that she wanted to play, as it was to comfort me.

In two days time she has gone from swimming to unable to walk. It�s been almost 4 months now.

Thursday, April 12, 2001

Life is so strange. Just within the last month, I began to look for an acreage to move to. I�ve always dreamed of living on an acreage, especially after getting Chocolate. I wanted so much for her to be able to run like the wind, ears flapping - no leash, no fence, no streets to get in the way. She'd have thought she was in Heaven. But it�s not the same now. Chocolate will never again run like the wind . . . She'll be taking another route to Heaven.

I don�t know now if I can stand to leave the house Chocolate grew up in. The yard she dug holes in - the carpet that must be full of her hair - the coffee table she cut her teeth on. I would feel as if I was leaving a part of her behind. I can�t imagine never seeing Chocolate chasing rabbits or lying in the sun again. Some days I can�t quit crying. I�m going to devote every single minute of my time to Chocolate until the end. I think it will be soon now.

Friday April 6, 2001

I see a change in Chocolate�s behavior since changing the way I give her the Torbutrol. She is alert again. But I can see that she is fading very quickly.

Tuesday, April 5, 2001

I called our vet last night to ask him if I would be jumping the gun to have Chocolate put down this weekend. He told me I would be justified at any time, but that it would be my decision (and Chocolate's). He said I would know when it was time - that there would come a time when Chocolate would have a "I'm tired, I give up" look in her eyes; or that she would be brave and hide her pain, but that I would get to the point where I couldn't stand to see her suffer anymore. That either way, putting her down would be out of my love for her and it would be a kindness.
Physically, Chocolate is about at the end, and I know it. But when I look into her eyes, she's telling me she's willing to stick around. I�m so scared I�ll rob her of quality time if I go ahead as planned. I don�t know what to do.

We are going to change the way I administer Chocolate�s Torbutrol. Instead of one tab morning and evening, I�ll try � a tab instead. If this doesn�t make a difference, I�m afraid this weekend will be her last.