Beautiful Cynicism III

Elle a vécu tant de choses avec moi: elle était là quand je suis devenu végétarienne; quand j’ai passée mes examens terminales à l’école secondaire; quand j’ai déménagée à les prairies; quand mes parents se sont divorcés; quand j’ai obtenu une license universitaire. Elle m’attendait pendant que j’habitais à Los Angeles pendant un moment. Elle a rencontrée chacun de mes copains (si nombreux ); elle a connu chacun de mes grand-parents. Elle m’a réconforté quand j’ai cassé mon bras, et quand mes grand-parents ont eu leur accident d’automobile. On a fait des promenades ensemble, des excursions de camping ensemble, des randonnées dans les forêts et sur les plages froides de la côte ouest ensemble. Quand elle courait dans l’arrière cour chez nous, elle ressemblait Falkor the luckdragon du film L’histoire sans fin. (Si, si!)

Daisy est décédée ce matin, vers 9h, chez le vétérinaire. Elle s’est endormie dans mes bras, le début d’un long repos bien mérité.

On Saturday afternoon we found out that Daisy was suffering from kidney failure, and that her kidneys were only functioning at 25%. We were told that without treatment, she would die in a few days, after going into toxic shock. Treatment options were much the same as with people: dialysis, intravenous fluids and medication, taken every couple of days; but even that would only provide temporary relief, making her more comfortable in her final days, as the damage was done and was irreversible. The decision to euthanise was made; I was conflicted, because on the one hand I didn’t want to see her suffer, but on the other hand, making a decision about someone else’s death seemed presumptuous to me. But after seeing how rapidly her condition deteriorated over the weekend, I knew it was the right thing to do.

The house is so empty now. When I got home, I sat and cried for awhile. I realised that it’s been quite awhile since I felt so profoundly alone.
I’m surrounded by evidence of her: her hair is still on my shirt, my skin still smells of her fur, her toys and pillow and leashes are still scattered around the house. Her food is in the pantry, her treats on the kitchen counter, her water dish in its usual spot. Even now, as I sit at the computer, when I hear a noise from the other side of the house, I automatically turn to look and see what she’s doing, before remembering that she’s not there.

The sadness comes with the knowledge that she will never again be sitting at the foot of my stairs in the morning, impatiently snorting and stomping her feet, waiting for me to come down and say good morning; that I will never again be able to bury my face in her unruly fur, which always seemed to smell vaguely of stale buttered popcorn; that I’ll never again hear the soft whine she made when she was scratched behind her ears. This morning, she wasn’t waiting by my stairs for me; she didn’t have enough energy to move about much. But when I rounded the corner to the living room, where she was stretched out on the floor, under the fan, her tail started wagging ferociously and her little body wiggled and squrimed and she whimpered until I reached her, singing “good morning” as I always do; she licked my hands and rested her chin on my arm. C’est toujours étonnant: il y a quelques jours, elle courait partout dans la maison et on dansait ensemble; il y a quelques heures, elle était toujours dans mes bras, à moitié endormie, ronronnant comme un chat. Mais elle avait perdue son spunk, elle ne pouvait plus marcher, elle n’avait plus d’énergie. Elle n’avait pas mangé pendant quelques jours déjà, et n’avait même pas la force pour boire – pour se hydrater, elle lèchait mes doigts, que je trempais dans l’eau pour elle.

On a passé sa dernière soirée ensemble sur le plancher, devant la tv, en regardant Singin In The Rain, et en dormant côte à côte.

Animals in general, but dogs in particular, are such generous creatures; they never sit in judgment of the people in their lives: they love and protect and comfort unconditionally. Daisy was a constant in my life, one part of me that never changed, never wavered, no matter what else was happening, good or bad. She was always there, and now she isn’t. And that will take some getting used to. J’aurai 27 ans en août; Daisy avait 13 ans et demi: elle était avec moi pendant la moitié de ma vie.

As we walked out into the waiting room of the clinic afterwards, there was only one patient waiting to be seen: a tiny, frisky little ball of fur, a husky pup. His life was just beginning as my dog’s life was ending. Something about that sense of continuity made me smile.