ODE TO AN OLD DOG

   You always hope it will not come to this, the end of a beloved pet who has shared your life, bed, couch, and kitchen for 17 years.

  Nita was a wonderful long-haired Jack Russell Terrier (JRT)

 given to us by my dear sister-in-law, Judy, when Ben went off to college. The puppy was to comfort Char in the days ahead, which the dog did. A friend who held the puppy once said, "This is as good as two Wellbutrins!" So true.

 Jacks are high-energy dogs, and Nita was no exception, although long-haired ones tend to be a bit calmer. I remember her on a lead 

as we walked her up our country road with the standard poodle we had then, both sniffing the ditches, peeing, getting in each others' way, with their mouths open in that happy doggy grin.

 She loved snow in the beginning, diving under it until we could not find her, as she had a white coat. Then she would spurt up out of the snow like a dolphin, smiling and full of energy. 

Though we could never persuade her to wade in a stream or even swim in our pool.

  Nita saw us through family troubles, through my chemo (licking my bald head on Maundy Thursday), through the pandemic, and always was a cheery presence in the house, even when quietly sleeping.

 But over a year ago she began to have seizures, which are really scary in a dog. After much blood work, our fine vet proclaimed, "She probably has a brain tumor." He put her on anti-seizure meds which mostly controlled them until recently, when we had to up the dosage. This was a sign that the tumor was growing.

 Being almost blind, mostly deaf, wobbly, sleeping most of the day or standing in confusion on one spot of the rug, also incontinent, we decided it was time to euthanize Nita. This is one of the hardest things to do, other than saying goodbye to a loved one. But she WAS a loved one. The vet was kind, gave us a soft throw to sit on on the grass behind the office, injected a sedative into Nita which caused her to tremble uncontrollably, then injected the barbituate which took her away almost immediately.

 

 Our lives were so inextricably linked with our Jack, even in the last unhealthy year. Get up. Clean up mess. Put on tea water. Feed dog. Give dog meds. Take out on lead to pee which might or might not happen. Sit down to breakfast and watch birds. The rest of the day unfurled softly with her meds, walks outside, feeding, then seeing her to sleep.

 I did not realize that not only would I miss her terribly (patting her soft ears as she lay on the couch and I read at night), but that a piece of my life was gone, incised out of my flesh. I cannot find it. It is gone somewhere, and please don't tell me she has gone over the rainbow bridge. WTF? Where did that come from? She has gone into ash, and I am visualizing the minerals from her body floating up into the sky to, perhaps, become part of the rain, some sleet, or to be carried by the wind to become part of the earth. Next time I am digging in the garden I will pretend that minute particles of my beloved companion are there with me, nourishing my lettuce, broccoli, and tomatoes.