Don't know how to say goodbye
I lost one of my best friends yesterday evening. I'd had Max since December of '96, when he was a 6 week old fat little bundle of fur. I almost lost him when I was living in Memphis, after someone poisoned him, but he pulled through. He became ill this past December, and has been battling with right sided heart failure ever since. We thought he was going to lose that battle several times over the last months, but he always surprised us and came around. He began deteriorating again this past Friday, vomiting huge amounts of liquid almost every hour that he was awake, and he refused to eat anything, no matter what we tried to tempt him with. We hoped it was just a bug, but after 3 days of that over the weekend, I called the vet first thing Monday morning. I'd done some research the night before, and was pretty sure it was renal failure. Getting him to the clinic was a heartwrenching experience, as it was all he could do to stand up and take a few slow wobbly steps, so he had to be lifted in and out of the vehicle. He stood at first in the exam room, but the vet had him lie down when it was time to take a blood sample, and that was the last time he was on his feet. The tests confirmed that his kidneys were shutting down, and he asked if I wanted to try to treat it. I did, so they started him on I.V. fluids to try to force his kidneys to kick in. I sat in the floor with him in the back room for almost 4 hours, until the vet had gone home, and the techs were done cleaning and waiting to lock up and go home. It killed me to leave him there alone, as he hated that worse than anything in the world. One of the clinic cats had sniffed around him for a few minutes, and then climbed up onto the comforter he was lying on, and curled up against his back. Other animals always were able to sense what a big ol' softy he was, and weren't afraid of him. I didn't get much sleep Monday night, because I couldn't stop thinking about him there alone. I called the clinic from work yesterday to check on him, and as soon as the vet got on the phone and started really softly with "Hey honey", I knew the news wasn't going to be good. He said he hadn't shown any improvement, and that if the tests he was going to run again later in the afternoon didn't show positive changes in the numbers, that it was time to think about letting him go. It was all I could do to keep my emotions in check until I could finish at work and get out of there. I stopped at home to change into comfortable clothing, and drove back to the clinic. I had picked up a couple of cheeseburgers on the way, to try to tempt Max with, but he barely sniffed them, and refused to touch them. His moving his head back on the floor when I tried to get him to take a bite was the most response I got out of him the entire afternoon, except for when I held his paw, which kept twitching, and he curled his toes around my fingers for a second. He tried to get up once, but never made it past lifting his head a couple of inches off the floor and moving 2 of his legs a little, and then he gave up. I had hoped he would perk up when I got there, as there have been times in the past months when everyone was away from the house for the day, and the neighbors said when they checked in on him for us, they thought he was dying...but when one or all of us got home, he'd make a miraculous recovery, as if he'd just been having some sort of anxiety attack. Sadly, that wasn't the case yesterday. I tried using all the words that he knows, for his favorite things, asking if he wanted a treat, or to go for a ride, and if he wanted to go home. Those words always got him up and moving before, no matter how sick he was. He either couldn't hear me, or was so miserable he was beyond responding. Being brushed was one of his favorite things in the entire world, so I asked them for one, and I must have brushed the side of him that I could get to for over an hour, but that got no response, either. I stroked him and talked quietly to him for about 3 hours, and then slipped outside for a few minutes to call my parents and give them an update. I told my Mom that they were getting ready to run the tests again, but that it didn't look good, and depending on the outcome...that was as far as I got. She moved the phone away from her ear, and I heard her crying and telling my Dad that she couldn't even understand me, that I was crying so hard, and that he needed to go to the clinic. I finally got it together enough to tell her that I'd be fine, and he didn't need to come for me, but I thought he might want to come say goodbye, as Max was his buddy, and followed him everywhere he let him, until he got too weak to walk. I tried calling Mike, but couldn't get through, and I didn't want to leave Max alone any longer, so I headed back inside. My Dad showed up with one of the neighbors who has checked in on Max over the past months when he was alone while they ran errands. I was struggling to hold it together, and when she leaned down and hugged me, I lost it again. We waited for the vet to finish with his last patient for the day, and then he ran the test again. It took about 15 minutes to get the results, and it was like waiting on a pardon from the governor. That pardon wasn't meant to be, though. Despite continuous fluids for the last 24 hours, his numbers had gotten worse instead of better. The vet started talking about how it wasn't fair to let him linger on that way, and how he'd put up one hell of a fight, and that by all rights, he should have been dead months ago. All I could get out was "I know". They left me to spend a few minutes with him while they prepared things, and then they came in with the form for me to sign, giving permission to euthanize him. I can't tell you how horrible I felt, signing that piece of paper. I wanted so badly to beg him to try something else, anything, at least give him one more night to see if he'd come around, but Max was so obviously miserable that I knew I couldn't let that continue. My Dad leaned over to take Max's collar off of him, and I lost it again. My Dad then tried to get me to leave, and let them do it after we'd gone, but I refused. After giving me 10 1/2 years of unconditional love, there was no way I was going to let him die alone. I moved around by his head, and got down face to face with him and told him how much we all loved him, and how much we'd all miss him, and that I was sorry I hadn't been able to help him this time. I kissed him on his huge soft head several times, and then the vet moved to my side and asked if I was ready. I couldn't speak, and he said "I know, but you will never be any more ready for something like this". Carol came and stood behind where I was kneeling, and put her hands on my shoulders. I stroked his face and talked to him while the vet administered the injection into the I.V. still in his leg. I'm glad they didn't have to stick him again, even though he's always been a trooper and never complained. I told him over and over how much I loved him, and what a good boy he was, and how much we'd miss him, but that I knew he was tired, and it was okay. Carol was crying, too, and kept saying "he's going to sleep now". I didn't even realize he was gone until Carol said the words "he's gone", because his eyes never closed. He'd been wild eyed the entire last day, like a horse that's been spooked, and his face relaxed and looked like Max again, but his eyes stayed wide open. I really lost it at that point, and they all stepped away to give me some privacy. His neck and mouth were still twitching, but they assured me those were just muscle spasms, and that it was normal, and that he was gone. They gave me several minutes to say goodbye, and then came back to help me up off the floor. God, leaving him there was so damned hard. I kissed his head one last time, told them thank you for taking such good care of him all these months, and then headed for the door. Daddy wasn't going to let me drive home unless Carol rode with me, so we both got into my Blazer. I had hoped to be alone afterward, so I could finally let go, but that wasn't to be for several hours. I stopped at their house for awhile to check on my Mom, as she was very attached to Max. I didn't want to show just how upset I was in front of her, since she was already upset enough. She cried and hugged me and said this was one of those times where parents wish they could take the pain in place of their children. I know she'll miss him just as much as I will. Silke just happened to drive past while I was sitting on the front porch, where I'd stepped out to try to get my emotions under control. She turned around and came back and sat with me for awhile. Daddy kept asking what I wanted to do with all of Max's stuff, and I just couldn't handle those questions yet. I couldn't stand to stay there any longer, because the whole house smelled like him, and all his stuff was everywhere, and I just can't imagine being there and his big furry butt not coming over to constantly be petted, moving from person to person. He's being picked up from the clinic today, to be cremated, and I know that's going to go through my head all day long. I just hope I can keep it together at work. I have to go pick up his ashes later this week. I don't know what I'm going to do with them yet. I wish so badly now that we'd found a female to breed him with, as there was never a sweeter tempered dog. I wish too that he hadn't spent his last night alone. I wish so many things. No matter how out of it he was at the end, I hope he could feel how loved he was, and how hard it was for us to let him go, even though he was ready. I'm glad he's not suffering anymore, but I feel as if my heart is tearing in two, leaving a big empty spot behind. Every time I think I can't possibly have any tears left, I prove myself wrong.
I'm going to miss so many things. The high, sharp bark he'd do over and over when he was still well enough to chase his big "unbreakable" (he broke 2 of them) ball around the back yard. It sounded like it ought to be coming from a 3 pound dog instead of from one that weighed 170. The way he'd go nuts if you said "outside", "ball", "treat", "walk", or "ride" in a normal tone of voice, but if you said any of those really softly, he'd stop and tilt his head sideways, and just stare at you, and keep tilting his head everytime you said it again. The way he'd lean more and more of his weight on you while being petted, to the point of knocking you over if you lost your balance. The way he'd stick his head between the front seats when he was riding in the car with me, and would lean his head on my shoulder for as long as I'd let him. The way he'd whine and come lick my hand or leg or face or whatever he could reach when I was crying, and wouldn't quit until I stopped. The way he'd "sing" with us when we howled, or when he heard a siren. How aggravated he got when he couldn't figure out how to get through the dog door with the big giant bones I'd buy him all the time, because they were way too wide. How he'd sneak my pillow off the bed when I got up in the morning, and I'd come back to find him snoring, with it under his head. How he'd come up and lay his head in my lap and insist on being petted anytime one of the cats was getting attention, and he and the cats would actually wind up grooming each other. Well, one cat did. The other one would quickly get irritated by the big slobbery dog tongue that was almost the size of his entire head, and would head for higher ground. How he was never aggressive to anything or anyone, and the worst he ever did was pee on a couple of guys' legs when they'd trespassed on his territory. LOL How the one tree my Dad didn't want him to pee on in the yard was always the first one he'd head to. How he stuck to my Mom's side like glue since the first time he was in the house when she fell. They had to pull her part of the way down the hallway on a blanket until they could get her to an area big enough to get her up, and Max was right there, tugging on one corner of it, and wouldn't let go, no matter how many times my Dad yelled at him to. That was months after his heart started failing, and he was still in there, pulling for all he was worth. From then on, whenever she left the room, he followed her to make sure she was okay. The way he'd refuse to go to bed alone, but would huff and puff and sigh until we were ready to go down the hall, and he'd walk halfway down, then stop and look over his shoulder like "well, c'mon already" until we caught up with him. The way he'd attack a vacuum or lawnmower, but would run from the sound of a plastic bag being snapped. The way he used to love to sneak up behind people and pop his head between their legs. He knocked one of my Dad's buddies right into the mud one day doing that. The way he'd nudge his head between someone's body and arm to make them start again if they stopped petting him. I called that his goat move. The way he'd dance and put his head up and lick the air when he was getting buttscratches. The way he'd run around the side of the house and back to where his was kept when he heard the word brush. The way you could mix lima beans in with his food, and when he got done, there'd be nothing left in his bowl but lima beans. I don't know how he did it, but that was about the only food he wouldn't eat. The way he'd wait when you told him to, while putting food down for him, but he'd start drooling like someone turned on a faucet in each corner of his mouth. The way he'd give puppy kisses to say thank you, like he did the last night before I took him to the clinic, when I held his paws for him because they kept sliding on the hardwood floor and he couldn't get comfortable. He licked my hand when I took his paws, and I didn't realize at the time that was the last kiss I'd ever get. Mostly, though, I'm just going to miss how big his heart was. How ironic that's the very thing that killed him. He was always the one to make me feel better when I was sad, but he can't do it this time, or ever again. I want so badly to just be able to hug him again, and bury my face in the side of that big neck that was the size of an average size adult's waist. I want to hold his face and kiss the spot on his nose, right below his eyes, that was SO soft. He was my gentle giant, and there will never be another one like him.
Rest in peace, Max. I love you, big guy. I hope where you are now that there are all the balls and treats and buttscratches that you could ever want, and no lima beans. I can still see you in my head, standing in the hallway, looking over your shoulder, waiting impatiently for us to catch up. I'm sorry you had to go on by yourself this time. I know you waited for us as long as you could. You save us some nice shady spots over there, and I'll save a shoulder for you to lay your head on for as long as you want. We're going to miss you something awful until then, though.
1996 - July 24th, 2007
edit - I apologize for the length of this, but I couldn't get the lj-cut to work, and I'm just too drained to try anymore. Thanks to those who listened, and who understand.
I'm going to miss so many things. The high, sharp bark he'd do over and over when he was still well enough to chase his big "unbreakable" (he broke 2 of them) ball around the back yard. It sounded like it ought to be coming from a 3 pound dog instead of from one that weighed 170. The way he'd go nuts if you said "outside", "ball", "treat", "walk", or "ride" in a normal tone of voice, but if you said any of those really softly, he'd stop and tilt his head sideways, and just stare at you, and keep tilting his head everytime you said it again. The way he'd lean more and more of his weight on you while being petted, to the point of knocking you over if you lost your balance. The way he'd stick his head between the front seats when he was riding in the car with me, and would lean his head on my shoulder for as long as I'd let him. The way he'd whine and come lick my hand or leg or face or whatever he could reach when I was crying, and wouldn't quit until I stopped. The way he'd "sing" with us when we howled, or when he heard a siren. How aggravated he got when he couldn't figure out how to get through the dog door with the big giant bones I'd buy him all the time, because they were way too wide. How he'd sneak my pillow off the bed when I got up in the morning, and I'd come back to find him snoring, with it under his head. How he'd come up and lay his head in my lap and insist on being petted anytime one of the cats was getting attention, and he and the cats would actually wind up grooming each other. Well, one cat did. The other one would quickly get irritated by the big slobbery dog tongue that was almost the size of his entire head, and would head for higher ground. How he was never aggressive to anything or anyone, and the worst he ever did was pee on a couple of guys' legs when they'd trespassed on his territory. LOL How the one tree my Dad didn't want him to pee on in the yard was always the first one he'd head to. How he stuck to my Mom's side like glue since the first time he was in the house when she fell. They had to pull her part of the way down the hallway on a blanket until they could get her to an area big enough to get her up, and Max was right there, tugging on one corner of it, and wouldn't let go, no matter how many times my Dad yelled at him to. That was months after his heart started failing, and he was still in there, pulling for all he was worth. From then on, whenever she left the room, he followed her to make sure she was okay. The way he'd refuse to go to bed alone, but would huff and puff and sigh until we were ready to go down the hall, and he'd walk halfway down, then stop and look over his shoulder like "well, c'mon already" until we caught up with him. The way he'd attack a vacuum or lawnmower, but would run from the sound of a plastic bag being snapped. The way he used to love to sneak up behind people and pop his head between their legs. He knocked one of my Dad's buddies right into the mud one day doing that. The way he'd nudge his head between someone's body and arm to make them start again if they stopped petting him. I called that his goat move. The way he'd dance and put his head up and lick the air when he was getting buttscratches. The way he'd run around the side of the house and back to where his was kept when he heard the word brush. The way you could mix lima beans in with his food, and when he got done, there'd be nothing left in his bowl but lima beans. I don't know how he did it, but that was about the only food he wouldn't eat. The way he'd wait when you told him to, while putting food down for him, but he'd start drooling like someone turned on a faucet in each corner of his mouth. The way he'd give puppy kisses to say thank you, like he did the last night before I took him to the clinic, when I held his paws for him because they kept sliding on the hardwood floor and he couldn't get comfortable. He licked my hand when I took his paws, and I didn't realize at the time that was the last kiss I'd ever get. Mostly, though, I'm just going to miss how big his heart was. How ironic that's the very thing that killed him. He was always the one to make me feel better when I was sad, but he can't do it this time, or ever again. I want so badly to just be able to hug him again, and bury my face in the side of that big neck that was the size of an average size adult's waist. I want to hold his face and kiss the spot on his nose, right below his eyes, that was SO soft. He was my gentle giant, and there will never be another one like him.
Rest in peace, Max. I love you, big guy. I hope where you are now that there are all the balls and treats and buttscratches that you could ever want, and no lima beans. I can still see you in my head, standing in the hallway, looking over your shoulder, waiting impatiently for us to catch up. I'm sorry you had to go on by yourself this time. I know you waited for us as long as you could. You save us some nice shady spots over there, and I'll save a shoulder for you to lay your head on for as long as you want. We're going to miss you something awful until then, though.
1996 - July 24th, 2007
edit - I apologize for the length of this, but I couldn't get the lj-cut to work, and I'm just too drained to try anymore. Thanks to those who listened, and who understand.