Yesterday I lost one of the loveliest ladies of my life. She was a bit off-character on Christmas day during the evening, but we thought little of it. On Boxing day she kept to herself more than usual, but she was largely herself for most of the day. I went out that night and came home at 1:30 in the morning, when I noticed that she really was not herself. She was barely moving, except every so often to switch from the couch to the floor and vice versa, she would lift her head up and occasionally wag her tail. I offered her a bit of pork and she didn’t touch it (she is usually a glutton). So I laid down on the floor with her when she was down there, sat with her when she was on the settee, until around 5am when I was getting too tired, so I carried her up to my bed and let her sleep with me for a change. I’d already realised that she might be dying, so much of those four hours were spent telling her how much I loved her. During the night she moved position twice, then in the morning my mum let her out. Apparently she struggled with the stairs. She spent most of the day lying down, occasionally drinking, and her legs seemed to stop working properly. We eventually got her to the vets in the evening. As I went to pick her up to take her to the car I found that she’d pee’d where she was lying, and during the car journey she poo’d without seeming to notice. At the vets we were told that it could have been a clot, so we chose to have her put down. I wrote this poem for her that night:
A future lost, a past worth treasuring,
But you weren’t you as I said my long goodbye.
I would have carried you until my arms gave out, had you been you.
I threw my heart and you chased it, curled up with it, gave warmth to it.
You may not be in my sight, but your warmth is in my heart,
It warms my tears.
Below is a charcoal picture I drew of her around 8 years ago.