Sunday, February 25, 2007
In the end, he seemed ready to go. When I looked into his face, there was a serenity and almost a wistful resignation, if dogs can be wistful. I just know this much, he was surrounded by love and kind words and warm touches. Children’s voices told him of their love and sadness at his leaving. Hannah wiped his eyes because she thought she saw tears; Sophie fed him ice cream from her hand and read to him, a book about puppies. She asked that we take some photos.
He rested his head on our laps throughout the day. I then took the girls out of the house when it was time for the vet to come. We were all exhausted, each in our own way, each with our own thoughts and memories. The girls fell asleep quickly in the car so I just started driving and driving the mountain roads, classical music playing, my charges safe and sound in the back seat. I was grateful for these precious moments of peace.
I thought of Jenn and David back at the house with the vet. I thought of my close cousin who passed away yesterday morning in her sleep after a long struggle of her own. She was so afraid of dogs. I smiled as I thought of the irony in her passing the same weekend. I imagined them getting acquainted, making a connection which they could not have done in real life.
He died in Jenn’s arms. He was, indeed, the best boy dog in all the world. I still feel his warm silky fur under my hand as I scratched his head today. We all got to say our goodbyes. In the grand scheme of things, you can’t ask for more than that.
We have all boarded the sad train now, companions on the journey.