Otis started to fall apart, as any 20+ year old dog might do, right before Christmas. It seemed to me, that because he still had the fight of a hundred dogs left in him at that time (my wishful thinking perhaps), I took him to the vets' office and begged them to fix him so that we could have him for the holidays. I sat on the floor of the vets' office sobbing as I begged our beloved pooch to promise to rally at least through the holidays.
And lo and behold, after medications of all sorts and a series of subcutaneous fluid injections over a series of doctor visits over a few days in a row and all the while, at home, giving him a special diet that had me spoon feeding him 6-10 small meals a day and meds to be given every few hours and some sleepless nights and a whole lot of carpet cleaning every day, Otis made an unbelievable comeback for us for the holidays. Eating, drinking, peeing, pooping, not vomiting everywhere and walking around to where he wanted to go, sometimes even prancing. We were so grateful for the extra time we got with our old man. We received nothing short of a Christmas miracle considering how grave his condition was just a few days prior. And through the week of Christmas to New Years Day, he was almost his old self.
As the days passed during that week, despite the fact that I knew somewhere WAY in the back of my mind that this rally would be short lived, I denied the fact that I would end up having to say goodbye to Otis sooner rather than later. My denial had me thinking that he would still live forever and that we could go on fighting forward like this forever. I know.... It's childish, but I really don't care what you think of it. He was Otis. So, hope beyond hope, wish beyond wish, we continued on, grateful for every day he gave us.
After New Years Day passed, his systems failed completely, almost overnight. He stopped drinking, he stopped walking, he stopped trying, although being a food hound, he did manage to lap up a small bowl of canned food mashed with chicken broth his last morning. A couple of tablespoons, at most. I wanted to see it as progress. He didn't bother getting up, so I spoon fed it to him, but he seemed to appreciate it. Then, he lay his head back down and took a short nap. I thought he might be showing me another rally, but alas, that was not the case. He awoke a short while later, trying desperately to get up yelping in pain and then collapsed. I knew.
He didn't fight me when I wrapped him up in his favorite blanket, although he whined and winced in pain from time to time. He didn't fight me when picked him up off the floor, save for a little yelp to let me know of his discomfort. He didn't fight me when I put him in the car. He didn't fight me when I walked inside the V-E-T 's office. Even though I (for selfish reasons, I know) was taking him in to beg the vet to fix him up again, I knew what he was trying to tell me. He was letting me know that he had no more fight left in him. At this point, after 20+ years on the plantet, I knew that he really didn't owe me any more favors. I did. But, I stayed in that denial place a little longer anyway, hoping that they could help him out again. But I still knew. I knew that he had lived a spectacularly long life and when all things were said and done, I knew that he had fulfilled his one final promise to me: One last rally through the holidays. He did that in spades.
After a brief conversation with the vet about his absolute certainty that hope was lost (Possible stroke? But, regardless, his systems were shutting down on him hard and fast), I had a long conversation with Otis as I sat with him on my lap on the floor in a private room. My fears, my sadness, my selfish reasons to keep him around had to be put aside and I took a good look at this broken, old, dog wrapped in his favorite fluffy blanket, in my arms as he slept and occasionally whined in pain. I sat on a cold, hard, tile floor with him and I begged him to give me an indication that he might be okay and that he would rally again. I sobbed and kept begging. He looked up at me briefly through his cloudy eyes and he licked my hand with the tip of his tongue just once and fell back to sleep again. I understood. And then I promised him that I would see him through to his end. My one final promise to him.
His passing was quiet and quick. He didn't fight at all, and all the while, through everything, I held him and assured him, "I gotcha buddy. I'm here.... I love you......" even after he was gone. I'm not really sure how long I sat there on the floor like that with him. I wasn't even aware that the vet and the aide had left the room, but some time later, I was being handed a box of tissues. I continued to sit on the floor, as I rocked him and kept whispering in his ear for a while afterwards. So many secrets I had told him over the years. And a few more I told him then. Always kept safe. And forever would be. The vets didn't seem to mind while I sat there and were very understanding and kind.
My heart is heavy and it feels like I am about to shatter into millions of tiny pieces. I guess that's normal when you lose a very good friend and a very loved family member. I guess that my lala land belief that he's up in "Doggie Heaven" brings me an iota of comfort. He's running and jumping and playing and chasing things, with his body, young and new. He's eating all sorts of nommy things and crayons (I never understood his cravings for crayons....), with a mouthful of clean teeth. He goes when he needs to go and does what he pleases, remembering all of us and how much we love him, and forgetting that in his end, he was an old and tired, mostly deaf, somewhat blind dog with no teeth, a bad back, arthritis everywhere, and was falling apart as his systems continued to shut down. My beliefs are that he knows not pain nor fear nor sadness and only knows that he is happy and loved and has a warm fluffy bed to sleep in and a warm fluffy blanket to sleep under and everywhere is a happy sunshine spot to roll around in before taking a nap in and that his every happiness is right there for him.
My Otis....
I'll miss you terribly, my stinky dog. Know that I'll be thinking of you in that happy place. I love you old man. Goodbye my dear friend. Good dog. Sleep.
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