Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Goodbye, My Little Girl

I write this tonight with the most pain in my heart that I've ever had.

My dear, sweet Dixie spent the weekend throwing up and on Sunday night, she vomited blood and stomach bile. I looked at my husband and said, "This is bad. I think this is the end now." She was wiped out all weekend from being sick. It wasn't so much the amount as it was the effort, I think.

I had "the talk" with her before I went to bed on Sunday night, and told her everything would be alright and if it was easier for her to go on her own, that I'd understand.

She made it through Sunday night, but on Monday evening, just last night, we had to have her put to sleep.


My little girl was with us for 15 years, 1 month, 1 week, and 2 days. She was the best girl ever. Even complaining about the amount of vomit coming out of her, I never would have ever given her up for anything. But I know what we did was the right thing to do. For a girl that got down to 4.9 pounds from 9 pounds, there was so much love in that little body, no matter the size.

As we left the vet's office, I saw a woman in the parking lot, crouched down next to the back passenger door of her car. She looked like she was going to be sick. I asked her if she was okay. She looked up at me and had tears running down her face, a cigarette in her hand. "I'm putting my dog to sleep tonight," she said to me, "I'm sorry." She looked to be about 30 years old or so. She was waiting for her brother to get there so he could say good-bye. I started to cry with her and said, "We just had to put our cat to sleep tonight." And then I did something I wouldn't ever have dreamed of doing.

I hugged her.

As I came in for the hug, I actually said, "Look, I'm sorry, but I have to do this." We stood there together, hugging each other and crying for the babies we were losing that night. I told her it's going to get better and it was okay because we chose this to help them along. When Shane and I walked away, I told her I'd keep a good thought for her. She said she'd do the same.

I never found out her name, or the name of her dog.

My body hurts in a way that I never would have imagined. When it hits me, I can't breathe very well. I know she's no longer sick or hurting, but I feel like I'd give a year of my life to have her back for one last snuggle and kiss and to boop her on the nose. The thought of never having another head butt from her (the happier she was, the harder she head butted) is heartbreaking to me in a way that people who have never loved an animal will never understand. 

It just about killed me tonight to throw out her litter box and set it aside to be cleaned and then donated. I hung her little red harness and tags from my rearview mirror. A few of her favorite toys now sit on my desk. All of her food and extra litter will be given to Nicole the Knitter for her cat. I wonder if the memories and pictures will be enough to sustain me, once most of her belongings are gone to other cats who need them. 

It makes me sad to think I can't explain this to Cujo, as to why Dixie is gone and will never be back. If I show him Dixie's cremains when we get them back, will he be able to smell the container and know what they are, or rather who they came from? His "big sister" is gone and now he's an only child. He loved Dixie quite a bit.

But she's no longer sick or hurting. She is healthy. And I hope to God there's a heaven where pets are allowed. When I die and if I make it to heaven, I will be mightily pissed off if there are no animals there from life on earth to greet me. I know Dixie deserves a better afterlife than I do.

Good-bye, my love. You meant the world to me, you might not have ever known how much you were loved, but I hope you had an idea of the depth of your importance in my life.



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