Gone

When I go to the back door, I expect to see him standing on the stoop, his head cocked straining to hear if anyone's coming to let him in.  In the night, when I get up, I walk well clear of where his dogbed lay, so as not to step on his paws in the dark.  And at breakfast, my husband leaves a forkful of scrambled eggs on the plate for him to lick.

    And then we catch ourselves, realizing that he's gone.  Dear Toby, where are you?    They'll always haunt us, these rituals of his daily care, reminding us that we don't know where he went.  It seems so strange, the silence, emptiness, in his wake.  Our house reverberates with it.  I find myself doing extra errands to avoid coming home.

    I took him in last Monday, at the fitting time of the gloaming, when the sun's horizontal rays lit up the low-lying black-eyed susan and queen anne's lace in the fields along the roads to the vet's in Gray.  Gray, the right name. 

 

     But Toby belied all the gloomy associations of the trip; he was having his first good day in weeks.  Instead of dragging himself over the kitchen floor like a seal, he had gotten right up that morning from lying down, getting his hind legs under him to walk right away.  He even made a last foray into the back meadow, drawn down to the slough where the clay is cool.  He knew better than to lie down and wallow as usual though, having learned in the last two weeks that he probably wouldn't be able to pull himself back up the slick sides of the bog.

 

     As I drove on in the fading light, I hoped that I'd be able to get the vet to come out to the parking lot and watch me walk Toby up and down, so she could ascertain that yes, there was a crick in his gait even though his back legs were now working - that yes, I was right to bring him in.  But I couldn't ask her for that reassurance; I needed it to come solely from her.

     The vet's assistants and secretaries all avoided my eyes when we came in.  They were overwhelmed by a mix of sadness and embarrassment; Toby's been lighting up their office for the last nine years, and they know how proud of him I am - our golden boy, rescued from the dog pound and transformed over eleven years into the epitome of canine exuberance.

They showed us to an examining room and we waited.  Toby lay on a blanket, and I sat in front of him, stroking his head, giving in for the first time in two weeks as he tried to use my hands as a scratching post.  He had "neurological itching," a reaction that developed as he lost control of his back legs.  So now I scratched his ears, and Toby luxuriated, leaning his head into my hands, his back leg making spasmodic scratching motions, but not controlled enough to reach his ears.  I have to imagine myself covered with poison-ivy to know what he's feeling: pure misery.

The vet came in and she sat down on the floor beside us with a handful of treats; she gave them to Toby one by one as she looked him over.  I was grateful she wasn't getting right to it, because I wanted her to make sure it was the right time.  She worked his back legs, studied the bare spots he'd worn in the tops of his rear paws when they curled under as he walked.  She took a stethoscope to his chest and listened to his narrowed windpipe, his rasps coming quicker now as he zeroed in on the treats in her pocket.  An assistant joined us and offered to hold his head still.  The vet shook her head.

I showed her some strange flaking along the margins of his ear I'd just noticed as he was using my hand as an itching post.  She peered closer, pulling the ear-flap straight out to study. 

 

Finally she said, "You've brought him in at the perfect time.  He's having a good day so he could get here under his own steam.  He's enjoying himself," motioning at his tail flopping against the floor as he eyed the treats.  "But in another day or two, everything would break down.  We'd be carrying him in here, and he'd be miserable."  She pointed at his flaking ear.  "All the parasites that the immune system normally holds in check under the skin are coming out.  His immune system's weakening; in another few days, his kidneys would start shutting down and then you'd really be in trouble.  You've saved him a lot of suffering."

I was so relieved, the words came spilling out: how he'd rallied today just after I made the appointment; how he suddenly got right up from lying down with his legs properly under him for the first time in two weeks; how he walked down to the meadow and back.  I didn't tell the picture in my mind of his coming back up out of the slough through the meadow grasses that were dried at the tops to match his coat, how he panted as he parted them with his nose, smiling as he headed home.

 

I didn't say how I'd worried all day that I was making a mistake. I didn't need to.

 

The assistant readied a syringe of pink liquid while the vet shaved a spot in Toby's back leg.  He cocked his head hard into my hand as I scratched.   The vet put the needle in his thigh and he didn't notice; she emptied the syringe slowly, and suddenly he sagged against me, his head falling in my lap. The vet put her stethoscope to his chest.  Everything was quiet as I felt the warmth in his coat seep away.

 

"He's gone," she said, taking the stethoscope down from her ears.

The next day was a steam bath of over 100 degrees, topped off in the late afternoon with booming thunder.  It came while I was off teaching, so Toby would have been alone in the house, desperately trying to pull himself under the too-low bed to get away from the lightning-flashes.

 

And so the vet was right; it was the perfect time for him to go.

      

    

   

       

Comments

[Cowtown Pattie]

I have dreaded to read this post, and here I am today with tears running down my face. Suddenly, I realize that the music playing in the background through my earphones is a Scottish bagpipe rendition of "Amazing Grace". I couldn't have timed it better if I tried. My heart goes out to you and your husband.

THE BEST PLACE TO BURY A DOG

"There is one best place to bury a dog.
"If you bury him in this spot, he will
come to you when you call - come to you
over the grim, dim frontier of death,
and down the well-remembered path,
and to your side again.

"And though you call a dozen living
dogs to heel, they shall not growl at
him, nor resent his coming,
for he belongs there.

"People may scoff at you, who see
no lightest blade of grass bent by his
footfall, who hear no whimper, people
who may never really have had a dog.
Smile at them, for you shall know
something that is hidden from them,
and which is well worth the knowing.

"The one best place to bury a good
dog is in the heart of his master."

--- Ben Hur Lampman ---

[wtuckercoach]

Dear, dear Toby.

Thanks, Mary Lee, for sharing this story. I lost three very dear four-legged friends in the last three years. The last one, Larry, left September 2004. I still see him out of the corner of my eye...and I still miss him.

May your Toby be rolling in the bog...and climbing out with joy!

And may you have many pictures in your head and much warmth in your heart where he now lives.

Bless you all.
Wanda

[Ronni Bennett]

Oh, Mary Lee, I am so sorry. It never matters that you know it is coming; there is no way to prepare. A heartbeat is missing in the house.

Love,
Ronni

[pjm]

Another dog story emphasizes what a good vet you have:

http://thewayfaringstranger.blogspot.com/2005/07/good-dog-rusty.html

Sorry to hear about Toby.

[Wallace-Midland Texas]

Your post is creates much sadness for me in remembering the passing of my last Golden, "Ranger" and for what lies ahead with my present best friend "Tres". As my website Big Gold Dog suggests, I cannot live a without a Golden Retreiver in our home. I know the sorrow you must feel. At these times I always need to read...

The Rainbow Bridge.....

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they miss someone very special to them; who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. The bright eyes are intent; the eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to break away from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. YOU have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

THEN YOU CROSS RAINBOW BRIDGE TOGETHER...

[Lisa]

Mary Lee,
So sorry to hear about the loss of your beloved friend. I have also sat with my childhood playmate and watched her nod off as we spoke lovingly to her. I still remember all the good times that Tiffany and I spent together, and I know that Toby will still bring so many smiles to your face in the years to come. There is something enduring and everlasting about a dog's spirit that never fails to bring comfort, even in a simple memory.
Lisa

[Tabor]

I have lost a number of 'best friends' over the years. It is always a sobering and "milestone' experience. And, yes, the worst part is coming home and waiting for your best friend to greet you.

[David Jones]

Dear Mary Lee,
I am so very sorry to read how you have had to say goodbye to your good friend and companion, Toby. We certainly miss our four-legged friends when they go. They work themselves into our lives with their unconditional acceptance of us and their surroundings.
I hope that the hurt you now feel at his loss will be eased and progressively dissolved by the many happy memories you have from eleven years with Toby.
with very kindest regards,
David

[Amy]

It doesn't seem fair that dogs' lives are so short compared with ours, especially the good dogs like Toby. I'm sorry. I liked the way he liked ice cream, and you liked to give it to him.

[Terri]

Mary Lee,
I just found your site via Ronni's. I'd read the post first about your new addition, Cody.
I was so enchanted with your site, I decided to keep reading and I'm so glad I did, because sad as it was I got to meet Toby.
Your writing of lovingly (and that's what we do) letting go of Toby was profound. Having experienced that sad event myself, I could empathize. But your love for Toby certainly came through. My 4 yr. old Boxer/Lab has her head in my lap as I type this and that's what caused the tears as I read. It's so difficult to think about "that day" in the future.
So instead we concentrate on the unconditional love and joy that they give to us each and every day.
I just wanted to add my deepest sympathies on the loss of Toby.

[Jennytc]

I have just discovered your blog via Tom Cunliffe's and read the post about your lovely dog, wiping away my tears as I type this. My lovely rescue dog, Lucy is showing some of the same problems and I know it won't be too long before we face the same decision as you. My best wishes to you at this sad time.

[kate]

I found you via scheherazade.org . . . the furry guys . . . we are so very, very lucky that we get to spend parts of living with them . . . Toby sounds like a pal I would have liked to meet . . . maybe I will when it's my time to head off into that unknown space passt this one . . . sending you well wishes :)

[linda haibara]

We just lost our family dog-a big beautiful Collie/german shepherd/husky mix-yesterday on Easter. She has lung cancer and was taken too soon. We have cried so much and there are too many reminders and i miss my sweet girl at every turn.....